Weeknotes: September 22–26, 2025
Monday, September 22
I'm listening to the Tannahhill Weavers, a Scottish folk band who include a glossary of pronunciations and Scottish words on their lyrics sheets.
Some are logical:
Dinnae = don't know
Gane = gone
Tae - to
Twa = two
Wasnae = was not
Some less so:
Ken = know
Maun = may
Muckle = big
Trews = tartan trousers
Yin = one
I've loved this band since I first heard them on a Rykodisc compilation sometime around 1990. They were my gateway to Celtic music.
Out my office window the ground's quiet applause welcomes rain for the first time in a month. Later, at the pet store, the ceiling has sprung a leak and two dog pools have been pulled off a nearby shelf to catch it. On the equinox the world is liquid again.
Weeknotes: August 11–15, 2025
Monday, August 11
I didn't expect to grieve so heavily for Briggs. I hadn't lived with him for four years when he died, but his passing stirred up a emotions I didn't realize I'd been harboring. My brother says "cats are different, they span multiple eras." He's right. Briggs was the last connection to several different parts of my life.
This morning I'm a little more myself. I listen to Robert Shaw Chorale's ridiculous, but transcendent Sea Shanties album, then Jules Shear's debut. Next up is Joan Shelley's beautiful self-titled album from 2017. I get halfway through the first song then remove it from the platter. Too sad.
The past couple of nights I've found unexpected comfort watching social media clips of the Oasis reunion tour. They were never a band I cared about. I wasn't into the songs and the constant in-fighting and drama always put me off. Now, I’m drawn to the sense of bonhomie surrounding this tour. Massive stadiums drunk on lager and nostalgia, shouting out every word, the Gallaghers seemingly getting on well. I open my Instagram feed to videos of Liam balancing a tambourine atop his bucket hat and Noel in a button-up polo shirt looking like a weekend dad-rocker. I’m oddly moved by all of it. Are Oasis our saviors?
Colonel Briggs: 2008–2025
I've lived with and cared for many animals over the years, but Colonel Briggs was the first pet I actively introduced into my life. By that I mean he was the first pet of my adult years — I chose him. When K and I started dating, she already had a cat (Das Meowie) and a dog (Sequoia). I loved them as I loved all the pets I grew up with, probably more.
Weeknotes: September 16–20, 2024
Monday, September 16
There's a bad smell coming from somewhere on the porch. Is it just my overripe trash can? I'm standing out there sniffing, looking over the rail for a decaying rodent when CC pulls up. I guide her up the steps to "the spot" but she doesn't smell anything out of the ordinary.
We play through a handful of songs in the living room while Islay whines, begging for treats. Her brat summer continues. Many of our rehearsal tapes have insolent dog noises on them, like ambient feedback. She eventually settles down, head on paws, and listens from the couch.
CC and I revisit songs from previous albums and scale down a newer one from its full-band arrangement to duo format. We also add a few more short pieces which preface longer songs like sympathetic key siblings. In this way, our next set will contain about 20 songs in 45 minutes.