Weeknotes: September 21–25, 2026
Monday, September 21
"I'm turning on the heat!" My upstairs neighbor and I share a thermostat; domestic climate control is achieved through texts.
Technically, it's the last day of summer, but the weather is giving off late-October vibes. I take a break from work to mow the lawn, shifting from vertical stripes to an angled pattern midway through, just to shake things up. I feel like I don't have enough spontaneity in my life right now.
At 4 p.m., I stop by a meet-and-greet happy hour at the Observer. I'm greeted at the back door by Bug, the editor-in-chief's Boston terrier. Staff and freelancers mingle and drink kombucha spiked with tequila (TK). There is pizza, and someone brought pimento cheese, which I spread on my leftover crusts, a delicious combo I've somehow never tried before.
After extracting myself, I navigate rush hour traffic, and arrive home just in time to log in to my 6 p.m. history class. We learn about the French-Indian War, which I am reminded was not between French colonizers and Indians, but between European rivals France and England.
H.O.M.E.S. Swimming Tour: 2026
In the summer of 2021, I swam in all five of the Great Lakes. I was re-examining the world after 16 months of lockdown and the end of a 17-year relationship. It was a heady, cathartic time. The same weekend I moved to Ypislanti, I took a road trip to Harbor County to hear harpist Mary Lattimore play an outdoor concert — it was my first live show since the pandemic started. At Weko Beach in Bridgeman, I swam out into Lake Michigan and tried to wash away the toughest parts of the previous year and a half. I felt compelled to list all the things I was grateful for, and recited them out loud to the waves. Over the next couple months, I repeated this ritual in Superior, Huron, and Erie, then wrapped up my baptismal tour just west of Rochester, New York, with an October swim in Lake Ontario.
Five years later, the catharsis feels more urgent and outwardly-directed. I wasn’t really planning on doing another swimming tour, but during a camping trip to Ossineke State Forest, I found myself delivering a fresh roll call of thank yous to Lake Huron. In this cynical climate, despite all the drama and political tumult, I still have so much to be grateful for. Between June and August, I bounced around the state, camping, paddling, and swimming in the remaining Michigan-adjacent lakes. On Friday, I took a day trip to Canada to complete my quest in the lake that will always be called Ontario.
Weeknotes: March 10–14, 2025
Monday March 10
The day rises bright and clear, an hour later than it's supposed to. Daylight Savings has begun and even though I enjoy the brighter evenings, it makes the mornings feel rushed. I put Grace Jones' Nightclubbing on the turntable and dive into Monday stuff.
CC sends me my horoscope from an app she uses:
Timothy Monger wants to push the limits today. Distract the museum guards while they kiss a painting.
I spend the afternoon with some co-workers volunteering at a local food bank. We sort giant bags of carrots and pack up about 120 boxes of dry goods. It's satisfying labor, but I wouldn't say I pushed my limits. Mostly, I just feel tired and can't figure out why. It's 65° and sunny when I get home. I sit in a camp chair in the yard finishing out my workday. To my left Islay assumes her customary position at the foot of the driveway, already in warm-weather mode.
March is a tricky month. You get warm days like this, but the sun is not itself. It's harsher and more unrelenting, glaring over dead lawns strewn with winter's detritus.
Here are some nice birds I've already seen this week:
Bald Eagle
Pileated Woodpecker
Harlequin Duck