Weeknotes: June 15–18, 2026
Monday, June 15
I help my parents shore up some wobbly fence posts in their garden and return home with a broken bird bath and six large moss-covered flagstones for my own garden. It's like shopping at a second hand Lowe's where everything is heavily used, free, and pre-loaded with sentiment. In the evening, I order a collapsible army cot. I've held out for a long time, sleeping on a thin air mattress, but it's time to make car camping more comfortable.
Tuesday, June 16
Watching social media clips of World Cup tourists enjoying American foods, cities, and customs is giving me a much-needed dose of optimism. Our behavior on the international stage has been horrendous under the Trump administration. I've felt such shame watching him bully and disrespect allies on almost every continent. And yet, here we are hosting the world's largest sporting event, with another chance to show who we really are. I choke up watching a video from Lawrence, Kansas, where the whole city seems to have embraced the Algerian national team. I've been to Lawrence. It's a Midwestern college town, not unlike the one I live in. In Boston, Scotland's Tartan Army marches with a full pipe and drum band to attend a Red Sox game at Fenway Park. In Houston, police officers dance in the street with smiling Curaçaoans. I'm sure there are problems I'm not seeing, but in general, it seems like we are receiving our guests with bonhomie and joy. I hope they can see we are more than our government.
Wednesday, June 17
In the yard, the epic mulberry yield has developed an aromatic funk. I'm met with a musty, sour-wine bouquet which is not yet cloying, but under the right conditions, could be. At the airport, I retrieve Jamie and Jen, fresh from their Alaskan redeye flight. They appeared tired, but in good health. Jamie lost his phone on their final evening. It's a small price to pay for his survival. My brother has suffered recurring bear-attack nightmares for much of his life. He joked about this vacation being his last, but I think he was partly convinced the dream would manifest itself in the Alaskan wilderness. I'm glad to see him unharmed.
Thursday, June 18
The new cot arrives in the mail and I set up my orange REI tent in the backyard to make sure it fits inside. Barely. It takes up most of the cramped space, allowing almost no headroom. As an alternative, I fetch my old yellow and teal Rokk tent out of the basement. This was the first tent I ever owned, purchased with almost no deliberation at MC Sports in 2002 ahead of my big road trip through New England and Canada. During the pandemic, I set it up in the basement and used it as my remote office. It had a small table with a lamp, a camp chair, and a cat bed for Briggs. For about four months I wrote most of my assignments in what I referred to as the Mind Palace. When I got far enough into recording my last album, I took it down to make room for the drum set. The cot fits a little better inside the Mind Palace, but it's still a squeeze.
ODDS & ENDS:
I'm watching the World Cup on Telemundo. Hearing the broadcast in Spanish adds to the global feel.
I'm reading The Gales of November, John U. Bacon's book about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Out my bedroom window a baby rabbit zooms back and forth in front of the neighbors' hedge.
The nest on the front porch, abandoned for over a month, now has a mother robin in it.
Another expensive car repair this week. I just want to go camping.