Weeknotes: September 15–19, 2025
Monday, September 15
A night of dog-sitting for my parents who are enjoying a micro-vacation up in Empire, visiting the beaches they love. I'm glad for them. The world has felt so heavy lately — we all need a break. My mood tilts into nostalgia when I reach my hometown.
I hike the Penosha Trail and take the new spur that heads north up the U-Hill, my old childhood sledding destination. I know some of it is perspective, but the topography has also changed. This new path still young and needs some feet on it. I'm happy to oblige.
In my dad's workshop I use the table saw to advance a few woodworking projects, then drive into town to pick up another board at Home Depot. The gallery of ghouls just inside the entrance makes me smile — maybe humanity isn't that bad after all. If your job is designing life-sized Halloween monsters for box stores, you've got a pretty cool job. The clerk at the checkout asks what the board is for.
"My cat is moving back in with me next week after four years apart. I'm building a raised shelf for his food dish so my dog won't eat it."
She immediately warms to me — you know when you've found another animal person. She tells me about her 15-year-old deaf and blind cat and how they have to bang on the furniture, using vibrations to let it know where they are.
"I judge people by how kind they are to animals and children," she tells me.
This is a metric I can agree with.
Weeknotes: August 18–22, 2025
In my dream I'm a volunteer on a space station. I can't believe I got to go to space for free — I'll be the envy of all my friends. I move to one of the thick glass portholes and look out at the dark expanse. As my eyes adjust I see a large object resembling a human skull, obsidian black and tinted purple and green like the aurora. It's heading toward us and I immediately sense it's an alien spacecraft. I back away from the window and about a minute later feel the impact as it collides with us.
The next part of the dream is more benevolent, though bittersweet. I'm back on earth, trying to insert a folded wool blanket into a cupboard. My cat Briggs is in there, alive and seemingly in full health, though I somehow know there is a terminal illness within him. I pull him out and try to hold him, but he's not having it. Classic grumpy Briggs. While he lays on the rug cleaning himself, I marvel at his appearance. It's the younger, well-fed Briggs of feline middle age, not the haggard cat of his final days.
I wake with a co-mingling of fear and wistfulness. An alien encounter and a visit from my late cat. What a way to start the week.
Weeknotes: January 27–31, 2025
Monday January 27
Over the weekend I shot over 100 photos in multiple locations with the borrowed Canon, but forgot to change the settings to RAW. None will be usable for our first class project. My first lesson learned. This evening the light is similar and I head out at the same hour to try and recreate some of my favorite shots, knowing it's a fool's errand. Of course, yesterday's magic is nowhere to be found, but today's magic gathers around me the longer I look.
Weeknotes: December 16–20, 2024
I guess I felt like writing this week. Happy Solstice!
Monday, December 16
My Christmas lights shine weakly against the gloom. After such a crisp start, December has retreated into rainy drear. At the supermarket I stand in the baking aisle looking for cardamom pods. The woman next to me is coming up short in her own spice search and we exchange friendly smalltalk about holiday busyness. A few minutes later she finds me in the next aisle waving in victory a small jar of ground cardamom. Such a sweet gesture, but I really want the pods. I thank her anyway.
After work I head back out into the drizzle on a longer set of evening errands. Just over a week until Christmas, but I'm thwarted on most of my stops. I do find the cardamom, though. I walk around Ann Arbor feeling dispirited, carrying only one of the several gifts I'd sought. I catch the last ten minutes of happy hour at Conor O'Neill's. I remember when this Irish bar opened in the late-'90s. It felt like an overly-commercial upstart on Main Street, but tonight I'm drawn to its well-established and unpretentious vibe. Some type of Harry Potter party must have recently happened; there are "Wanted" posters for Fenrir Greyback and "I solemnly swear I am up to no good" signs are tacked over several booths. I work on a pint of Smithwick's and write in my notebook, replenishing my cheer sip by sip.
A father with his young son approaches the bar asking if the North Pole mailbox has been taken down. The boy has a letter for Santa. The bartender disappears for a bit, then comes back to confirm said box is presently in the store room being prepped for delivery to the North Pole. He accepts the envelope on Santa's behalf, and moves off stage with a smile, ferrying away the kid’s hopes and dreams.
Weeknotes: June 3–7, 2024
Monday, June 3
Lots of self admin to start the week. Whacking finances into shape, prioritizing my workload, and drawing up plans for a couple small builds to compliment my growing armada of Leopold-shaped lawn furniture. It's going to be criss-crossed legs a go-go out there.
After weeks of speculation Ford finally announces the roster for their big Live From Detroit concert at Michigan Central. Hometown heroes like Diana Ross, Jack White, and Eminem are the major attractions among an all-star multi-genre revue celebrating the reopening of Michigan Central Station. After being abandoned in 1988, Detroit's historic train station loomed for years over Corktown, a forlorn monument to the city's economic failure. Ford Motor Company has spent the past six years restoring this landmark into a downtown hub for themselves and various automotive innovators, retail spaces, restaurants, and galleries. In doing so, they also bought up much of the land around Roosevelt Park, pushing out residents and established businesses. Like anything in Detroit, it's not without controversy. Tickets were free and sold out within minutes. Somehow I logged on at the right moment and scored a pair.
In the evening I build a small side table/bench, its Leopold legs splayed wide underneath a short 2"x10" plank. It looks like a tent or a small blocky dog. I name it Miniskirt.
An Anniversary
This festive, distorted video was shot exactly 20 years ago at Jacoby’s, a German bar in Detroit’s Bricktown neighborhood. Back then, in the thick of our artistic heyday, we would never have used the term "rebrand," but that's what it was. February 21, 2004 marked the first gig by Great Lakes Myth Society, the band who for seven years prior had operated as the Original Brothers and Sisters of Love (TOBASOL, colloquially).