Weeknotes: November 10–14, 2025
Monday, November 10
I'm with Neil at Fox Science Preserve, a former gravel pit in Scio Township known for its geological wonders. Punctuating the scrubby landscape are hulking glacial boulders of granite, tillite, gneiss, and limestone, many of them bearing 350 million-year-old fossils. At work, Neil and I write about rock music, but apparantly he is also a "rock" guy. I've come into rockdom more recently, surprising myself with how much I've enjoyed my Geology of the National Parks and Monuments class at the local community college. The 12 week course ends this week — tomorrow evening I'll take my final exam and test my knowledge of volcanism and continental collisions.
Tuesday, November 11
The night ends with Bill Evans Trio, a celebratory dram of Bruichladdich, and some stories from Gary Budden's book, Hollow Shores. Earlier, in the pink-gray twilight, I raked and bagged at least 20,000 leaves, the bulk of them from the sycamore out front. Clearing out the storm drain, I thought again of Andy, my late neighbor, who was so fastidious in his lawn and street care. Maybe I should walk over and rake his unkempt lawn in tribute. The timed Geology exam, begun way too late in the evening, took almost the entire allotted two hours. And now, to decompress, I have my scotch, jazz, and dog — a real Ron Burgundy moment.
Wednesday, November 12
From the New York Times' eulogy of the American penny:
In its heyday, the penny had immense cultural impact. It was the going rate for thoughts. It was a symbol of frugality, saved and/or earned. It could sometimes be pretty and other times arrive from heaven. And how many ideas would never have come to light without a penny dropping?
Eras pass, but the penny is almost as old as this country — it's strange to think of something so familiar and ubiquitous being phased out. After today, no new pennies will be minted. According to family lore, when I was little I called Abraham Lincoln ‘Hambercom Licken.’
Goodbye, Hambercom. Thank you for being on the penny all these years.
Thursday, November 13
I'm at the local indie boutique, Wyrd Byrd, shopping for a birthday gift. From a rack of zines I select one called Car Stoppers. It's a slim volume of photos from Chicago alleyways depicting various metal posts, cement blockades, and other devices meant to stop cars. I pair it with Protest Grim Reapers, a zine documenting three decades of people wearing Grim Reaper costumes to protests. I'm won over by their simple, unwinking reportage. No bullshit — just pictures of dented posts and reapers. If someone gifted these to me I'd be elated.
Friday, November 14
I get my first great idea of the day while walking Islay through Highland Preserve. Ahead of me, she pours down the path like it's lubricated. I'm lost in my head and just hang on to the leash, allowing myself to be drawn along. An hour later, during a run, I have another creative epiphany. What is it about being on foot?
Back at home, I scribble down the details in my notebook, but will I follow through? How many days in my life have been electrified by some bold idea, only to have it usurped by another one before anything happens. How does anybody stay on track?