Weeknotes: March 17–21, 2025
Monday March 17
It's Islay's 11th birthday, today. My dog and both my parents are now firmly in their senior years. Mom calls to tell me they've hired some arborists to fell a few trees in their wooded backyard. Slated for execution is Dr. Pepper, the massive white pine that grew directly outside my boyhood window. I don't remember why I named it Dr. Pepper — I was only four when we moved there — but it's become a beloved landmark and feels like an extension of the house.
When my parents started building in 1981 they spared this tree and cut a hole in the deck around it. As its circumference grew, my dad enlarged the opening until it reached a crossbeam, then he found a way around that problem too. It has been our primary shade tree and its evergreen needles have danced outside my old bedroom window for as long as I can remember. It became a popular destination for flying squirrels.
We all love Dr. Pepper, but he too is now a senior who stands perilously close to the house. My dad is afraid it will fall on the roof, an emergency that would be tough to handle. I understand it's time to say goodbye. My mom's voice caught when she told me the news. The house will look significantly altered next time I visit, but I'm grateful for the warning; I'd hate to be caught off guard.
At the brewpub a folk band is doing their best with some Irish tunes. I'm at the far end of the bar drinking an obligatory St. Patrick's Day beer. To my right is the kitchen service window where a hand periodically delivers plates of fried food onto the stainless steel shelf and rings a bell. My parents text my brother and I photos of Dr. Pepper's dismantling which are a little heartbreaking. They've found an old photo of my dad just after they bought the lot, standing next to the tree with only the foundation of our house behind him. The next image is of him today standing on the deck next to its broad stump. Everything changes. So long, Dr. Pepper.
Weeknotes: February 24–28, 2025
Monday February 24
I spend the morning listening to Robyn Hitckcock's Eye. I think it’s one of his solo benchmarks and it prompted in me an early appreciation for the merits of an acoustic album. I'm going to Kentucky to hear him play this weekend. I've seen him four other times, but it's been a while. There are few other artists whose careers I've consistently followed and admired for so long.
When I was 15 my brother took me to see Hitchcock with his erstwhile band the Egyptians in Royal Oak. They were at their brief commercial apex, having just stumbled into a minor hit with "So You Think You're in Love" from Perspex Island, an album that, until recently has remained "out of print" in the streaming world. It's not his best (Queen Elvis is my favorite), but it's the point where my adolescent self arrived in his career. I had just begun to pay attention to album credits and I remember noting the producer's name, Paul Fox; he had produced XTC's Oranges & Lemons two years prior. His name came across my radar again in the mid-'90s, helming Semisonic's first LP.
The Egyptians show we saw was in February 1992 and afterward we waited out in the cold behind the theater to ask Robyn for an autograph, which he graciously, if somewhat obscurely, gave. In black marker he inscribed on my ticket stub a capital R with a circle around it. It's still tucked under the CD tray of my copy of Element of Light.
Today, the sun is shining and the snow is melting in rivulets down both sides of the street. I listen to a grim Icelandic detective novel on my headphones. As we walk, Islay insists on hitting every snowbank, examining the dense neighborhood thaw. In the muddy driveway she stands for minutes on end, head cocked, nose gently twitching. Spring must be intense for a dog; such olfactory abundance.
In the evening CC and I rehearse a new song. Between illness, work, and school, I've been playing less often than I'd like and the act of harmonizing with another person feels especially welcome. I expect us to sound a little rusty, but we've played together for long enough now that it all comes together rather quickly.