Weeknotes: September 22–26, 2025

Monday, September 22

I'm listening to the Tannahill Weavers, a Scottish folk band who include a glossary of pronunciations and Scottish phrases on their lyrics sheets.

Some are logical:

Dinnae = don't know
Gane = gone
Tae - to
Twa = two
Wasnae = was not

Some less so:

Ken = know
Maun = may
Muckle = big
Trews = tartan trousers
Yin = one

I've loved this band since I first heard them on a Rykodisc compilation sometime around 1990. They were my gateway to Celtic music.

Out my office window the ground's quiet applause welcomes rain for the first time in a month. Later, at the pet store, the ceiling has sprung a leak and a dog pool has been pulled off a shelf to catch it. It’s the equinox and the world is liquid again. 

Tuesday, September 23

8:15 AM

I'm reviving my morning meditation practice. For years I used the guided Headspace app , but let the habit slide. Now I'm doing a trial run with Insight Timer. I've enjoyed the two sessions I've tried, but its library is almost too dense. I’d like to remove some choices from my life. 

8:15 PM

"You gotta either laugh or cry, Dan."  

It's the seventh inning of the Tigers' make-or-break series opener against Cleveland. I'm listening to Dan Dickerson and Bobby Scales call the game on 97.1 FM The Ticket. After leading the central division for practically the entire season, the Tigers' have allowed their once massive 15-game cushion dwindle to a single game ahead of division foes, the Cleveland Guardians. There are six games left in the season, three of them against the Guardians who are surging right now. Everything that could go wrong does. Cleveland is playing the kind of small ball that we specialized in last year, dropping bunts and running the bases with moxie, flush with late-season momentum. The Tigers, on the other hand, have lost six in a row. Team morale is at an all time low and our ace, Tarik Skubal, just gave up the lead.

The small measure of calm from my morning meditation is long gone and I have to turn the radio off before it's over. About 45 minutes later I receive the barf emoji (🤮) from my dad, an indication that the Tigers have indeed blown it. Unthinkable for most of the season, they are no longer alone in first place. There are now five games left in the season.

Wednesday, September 24

In my dream I'm on a high ridge on Lake Michigan's north shore. I step out of my car and onto the top of a crumbling building which looks out over a ruined city. The Upper Peninsula is scattered with tiny ghost towns, but I’ve never seen one of this size. White stone buildings, several stories high, lined in rows, weathered and collapsing. It’s less dystopian and more like evidence of an lost civilization. I slide down a pile of rubble and into a Cracker Barrel-style gift shop selling tchotchkes and candy. I'm back in the peopled world of tourists, all making their way out to the same wooded trail to gawk at pine trees. I want no part of it and move on in search of a more secluded place.

I've only gone on a few runs since my marathon at the end of August. They've mostly been brief and listless, but today I feel a spark. The movement triggers such an intense flow of creativity that I can barely keep up with all the ideas I'm generating. When I return home I immediately have to dictate everything I can remember into my phone before it fades. It's not unlike a dream state, except I'm lucid — mind and body in perfect harmony. Maybe the meditation is starting to have an effect.

Later, I spend a couple distracted hours recording synthesizer parts for a song while half-listening to the ballgame on the kitchen radio. I am no longer in harmony — I never finish the synth part and the Tigers lose again, falling into second place.

Thursday, September 25

It's move-in day for Esteban, the black cat K and I rescued from a drainage ditch ten years ago. With Briggs gone and K traveling so much, we feared he was getting lonely and made the decision to relocate him to my house. I'm thrilled to reunite with my friend and hope Islay will be too. I sent her to spend the night with my parents in hopes of allowing Esteban a calmer transition to his new home — he never quite lost his ferality and spooks easily. He and Islay grew up together, but it's been four years since they lived in the same house. Ypsi is Islay's turf now.

After a couple hours of flattening himself between a storage bin and the bedsprings, he ventures out for a furtive peek at his new world. Watching him, I reassess my apartment from 12" tall. It’s half the real estate he’s used to — I hope he’ll be happy here.

In Cleveland, the Tigers finally notch a win after losing eight straight. It's going to be a nail-biter of a weekend as they head to Boston with the season on the line.

Friday, September 26

I suggest to one of the band threads I'm on that we meet up at a nearby fall festival. After an hour of roasting its website ("I just read that whole thing and aged 50 years”), I get a few takers who agree that it actually sounds fun.

I look for Esteban, still hiding in the bedroom, and notice a distinctive cat-shaped lump under the covers. Briggs used to do this all the time, but it's new behavior for Esteban. At least he's hiding on the top side of the bed, now. 

In the evening I fetch Islay from my parents' house and reunite her with Esteban who is still holed up under the comforter. She sits right down on the bed next to his lump. At first, I'm not sure if she realizes, but after I cautiously peel back the blanket to reveal two pointed black ears, she merely gives him a sniff and looks at me as if to say "I get it, he lives here now."  

I don't know why I expected something more dramatic.