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 my boat 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.
Tuesday, October 7
Last night's supermoon rattled my dreamworld. When I wake, it's gray and raining, a proper October morning. At work I'm assigned a thorough edit of our biography for Tanita Tikaram, a name I remember only vaguely from the early-'90s. She's great. The more I learn, the more I like her. Smart, folky sophisti-pop with interesting rhythmic shifts and a low, smoky voice.
In Ann Arbor, my raincoat and I flow down Washington, following the current of the westbound sidewalk. I get my glasses adjusted on Main Street, then walk back east to Rackham Auditorium where author John U. Bacon speaks about The Gales of November, his deep dive into the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Of the 6000 or so known shipwrecks on the Great Lakes, everyone knows the Edmund Fitzgerald, thanks mostly to Gordon Lightfoot's 1976 epic.
I sneak out halfway through the Q&A and step out into the cool dark of central campus. Overhead, Burton Tower sends random, discordant bell tones out over the mall. A woman next to me looks up in confusion.
"They've gotta learn somehow," I say. "There's no quiet place to practice a carillon."
"I guess so," she laughs.
Wednesday, October 8
My dad is the first in our family to upgrade his skeleton — a new hip bone just in time for Halloween. I was surprised to learn that hip replacement is considered a fairly routine surgery. He's expected to walk on the first day. How can that be?
The operation is over in less than an hour, but they decide to keep him there overnight. I bring in my little transistor radio so we can listen to the ballgame together. Dad laughs at its jerry-rigged antenna, a length of narrow steel cable duct-taped to a nail jammed inside the aluminum antenna socket. With pride, my mom says it's the kind of fix her dad would have made. Granddad loved duct tape.
I walk my mom out to her car so she can get home before dark, then run back up to the short stay ward to catch the last inning. The Tigers come from behind and win 9–3, forcing a decisive Game 5 in Seattle. We beam at each other.
My dad, a Chicagoan by birth, left the White Sox behind when he moved to Michigan and adopted the Tigers just in time to raise my brother and me. We've been listening to ballgames together my entire life.
I say goodbye and leave him to his hospital dinner and a restless night.
Thursday, October 9
It's been two weeks since Esteban moved in with me. Having a cat in the house during cozy season is already a boon. I hope he's happy. He seems to be settling in and finding where he likes to be.
On a whim, I walk up the road to hear the EMU Symphony open their season at Pease Auditorium. Their program of two Brazilian batuques followed by Sibelius' Symphony No. 2 is ambitious. I’m not familiar with any of them, but am impressed by all three. The Sibelius is snowy and Nordic with warm woodwinds, muted brass, and an emphasis on the lower string range. Lots of drama — the timpanist has a big night.
For the second time this week I step out of a university concert hall into October darkness. The moon is gigantic and cantaloupe-colored. I lose it behind bare trees as I walk downhill toward the river.
Friday, October 10
12:05 AM: The power goes out. It’s localized — overhead, street lights still shine, but my side of the block is moonlit.
5:00 AM: Under my bed, the white noise machine whirs to life. Power is restored.
5:00 PM: (Interlude) I'm recording a part with the Casio SK-1, mellowing its chirpy flute tone with some Space Echo. This little keyboard came into my life in 1985, before I even got my first guitar. My brother has been its custodian through adulthood, but I found a second one at the Salvation Army store sometime in the mid-2000s. The replacement no longer works, so I've borrowed the OG. It's a treasure.
8:08 PM: First pitch of the decisive Tigers–Mariners ALDS Game 5. Tarik Skubal is on the mound. I’m in Brighton visiting my dad. We’re optimistic.
10:45 PM: 2–2 tie. Extra innings begin.
1:06 AM: Bottom of the 15th inning. Mariners second baseman Jorge Polanco’s walk-off single ends the longest winner-take-all game in MLB postseason history. The Tigers' season is over.
9:42 AM: The morning after.
I would have loved to have seen my team move on to the ALCS, but the Tigers just didn't have the bats during the latter half of the season. Too many wasted opportunities, too many men left on base. It could have gone either way, but I think the best team won last night. Still, what a heartbreaker it was. Thank you, boys. See you next year.