Weeknotes: October 27–31, 2025
Monday, October 27
Outside the pub the evening sky is lavender. A crew of runners, all in costume, piles up at the crosswalk, laughing and jostling on a Halloween fun run. I think I'll take the long way home.
At the bend on Norris I slip through the chain fence and walk past the old depot. To my left a man is chasing his laughing son down the hill on Maple Street. Everywhere, people are smiling. I am too. It's late October and I've been reading Ray Bradbury. Here's a gem from his introduction to the 1999 edition of The October Country:
Skeletons are wondrous ramshackle items that birth themselves when the humans they wore go away.
Ray loved skeletons. I wonder if his is glad to be unburdened of its mortal obligation.
Much of Depot Town is closed on Monday. With its silent barber shop, old brick facades, and ornate central clock, it resembles Green Town, Illinois, the fictional midwestern town where Bradbury set masterpieces like Dandelion Wine and Something Wicked This Way Comes.
At Schultz Outfitters I cross the street and disappear down the stairwell into Frog Island Park. Out on the pitch a group of friends are playing a pickup soccer game — coats are scattered across the terraced bleachers. A brown and white dog lays curled up, watching its human play. On the other side of the path the embankment leads down to the river. The stone firepit, built on the dry riverbed during summer’s drought, has been reclaimed by the rising water.
At the Forest Street bridge I lean over the rail to take my favorite photo. A man passing on the sidewalk says "I love that shot too." Another passerby comments "this summer was the lowest I've ever seen the river. I was worried about fish getting trapped in shallow pools."
"But look at it now," I say.
Weeknotes: October 6–11, 2025
Monday, October 6
"Sophia, bring it back to starboard, you're too close to that kayak! Sorry, kayak."
I wave at the coxswain — Sophia's oar wasn't even close. I'm finishing an evening paddle, upriver from Argo Livery, almost, but not quite to Barton Dam, then back past Bandemer, the Huron's regional rowing hub. I figured I might run into some river traffic, but didn't expect to share this segment with eight full crews and their launch boats. At a wide bend, about a half hour upriver, I tucked into some reeds and enjoyed a beer while the university and high school crews rowed noisily by. The season is starting to fade, but the weather tonight is gorgeous. Maybe I'll still have time for a couple more paddles before winter comes.
Back at Argo, a string band has set up under the pavilion. When I put in, a man was tuning a double bass, but now they are eight or nine strong with fiddles, mandolin, a dobro, and several guitars. I dock to "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" and sing along quietly while stowing my gear.
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.
A Story About a River
I live just a couple blocks from the Huron River. If you’re a regular reader, you may know something about my fondness for it. I cross it almost every day either on foot or by car or bicycle. I paddle my kayak on it. I like to stand in the middle of the Forest Street bridge and watch the river’s progress through Frog Island Park. I was born on a bluff overlooking the Huron at old St. Joe’s in Ann Arbor, and for most of my life have lived within a few miles of some segment of it. It’s my home river.
Earlier this year I was asked to compose a piece of music for the Huron River Watershed Council, Southeast Michigan’s oldest environmental group. I’ve worked with them before, many years ago, when Great Lakes Myth Society was hired to play at a couple of their fundraisers. They’ve been stewards of the river for over half a century. My friend Donald Harrison was hired to film a short video celebrating HRWC’s 60th anniversary, and he collected hours of gorgeous river footage which was whittled down into this succinct three-minute piece for which I provided the soundtrack. Donald’s wife, Jeanne Hodesh, came onboard to do the voice-over which we recorded in a makeshift vocal booth at my house. It’s a collaboration with people I love, made sweeter by the fact that it promotes a cause very close to my heart. We need the HRWC and groups like them now, more than ever.
Weeknotes: October 21–25, 2024
Monday, October 21
Battleground state fatigue. Two weeks unil the election and it's just a relentless slog of unwanted emails, texts, and TV ads. I listen to Death's classic debut Scream Bloody Gore over coffee and oatmeal. I hope it's not a harbinger of the violence we're all afraid will occur after November 5.
I remember when my brother first bought this album on cassette in the late-'80s. We were power metal guys (Iron Maiden, Helloween, Fate's Warning) and had never heard death metal. Jamie was already into punk and some thrash. He bought it because it seemed audacious and kind of funny. A band called Death with a bunch of skeletons in robes drinking wine on the cover. I was about ten or eleven and they were pretty heavy for me, but I was still rapt whenever he put them on. It was kind of scary and exciting, like when he gave me his Walkman and told me to go into the closet, turn off the lights, and listen to "In the Beginning" by Mötley Crüe. Shout at the Devil sounds lightweight now, but there was some great glam-Satanist theater to that intro that really tapped into the zeitgeist of the era.
I went to the John Williams pops concert over the weekend. I took my mom; we had a pub dinner then went to the symphony. Very classy. Honestly, it was one of the most transformative concerts I've seen in years. Even more than power metal, John Williams' film scores are the true music of my youth. They go straight into that special part of my soul where hope and green things live. My face hurt from smiling so hard and when I wasn't smiling I was crying, especially during the Superman march, Star Wars end credits, and E.T. theme. Damon Gupton was the guest conductor and proved to be an effective showman and emcee. Some of the players had costumes on; a few witch hats, a toy shark affixed to the top of the harp. We thought they were going to hold out and deny us the Raiders of the Lost Ark theme (we'd have gone all Scream Bloody Gore on them), but of course it was the encore. The joy of life was in that room.
River Notes: May 24, 2024
Friday, May 24
10:50 A.M. - I finish strapping my kayak onto the roof rack of my little hatchback which looks very sporty in summer mode. When I install them in the spring, the distinctive Yakima JayHooks poke up just enough to help me locate my car in grocery store parking lots. I also like to imagine they add an air of mystery or at least suggest to passersby that the person who drives this economy car is still sporty and adventurous even if they no longer own a Jeep.