Weeknotes: September 28–October 2, 2026
Monday, September 28
Tossing and turning in the predawn hush, I vow to manufacture at least one spontaneous moment in the day ahead. By 5 p.m., I have little to show — it's been a routine, though not unpleasant day.
About a half hour before my online history class starts, I decide to build a bonfire in my backyard. I sit on my wooden bench with a glass of wine and log in to the lecture. My profile photo smiles back at me from the Zoom gallery while the professor unpacks the events leading up to the Revolutionary War. I stare into the embers and lose the thread. When I come to, I hear her quip "when times get tough, the tough build a fort." I built a fort to help me get through this lecture.
Tuesday, September 29
I'm going to hear guitarist Nathan Salsburg play a show in Detroit on Thursday. I've seen him on tour with his wife, Joan Shelley, a couple of times, but never solo. His 2018 album, Third, is a masterpiece, probably my favorite instrumental guitar album.
I've been stockpiling material for my own acoustic guitar album for years. Without lyrics to hide behind, the music has to be very strong. After decades of flying very far under the radar as a singer/songwriter, I can only imagine how an album of instrumental guitar music will be received. Who knows? Maybe it will be my breakthrough.
Wednesday, September 30
Following a stretch of sublime September days, the sun has disappeared. The cool overcast creeps through my office window, settling in a microclimate over my desk. I light a day candle and work on a review of Susanne Sundfør's new album, Revelations of Divine Love. She and keyboardist Kit Downes have written a group of devotional songs inspired by motherhood and the 14th century English mystic Julian of Norwich. An esoteric pipe organ album recorded in a Norwegian cathedral might be a challenge for her pop fans, but Sundfør's unpredictability is already well-established. And her voice sounds incredible.
In the evening, I walk up to the pub to meet friends for trivia night. Before the first game, my academic advisor spots me and walks up to say hi. Ever since suffering through last semester's math class (abject misery), I've been pestering her with questions about how to avoid my other general education requirements. I was able to test out of my composition class over the summer, but we've run out of loopholes. I have to remind myself it's just a community college, and I'm getting a free education through a state-funded scholarship. I apologize for being such a handful, which she doesn't deny.
Thursday, October 1
I'm perched on a stool, sipping a botanical soda at the Moondog Cafe. On the counter behind me, next to the espresso maker, is an old glass vase containing three brown plastic recorders and a hand-drawn sign: Recorders $3.
Opening the show is a new duo, Saltbreaker and David Day, playing guitar duets with occasional lever harp. I know John (Saltbreaker) from past musical projects, and once played at a house concert festival he organized in Grand Rapids. We catch up after their set, then Nathan Salsburg comes on. His droll song introductions belie the grace of his playing. Hearing "Impossible Air" and "Timoney's" in a tiny cafe is an unexpected gift. Afterward, I chat up another concert-goer. “It was so jaunty,” she says with a smile
Friday, October 2
I walk across town to the little weed shop next to Dairy Queen, which is decked out with pumpkins and hay bales like a cozy cafe. I so rarely use marijuana that I never know what to ask for. "I need something for chilling out after a long day, and also something for being creative and playing guitar." She recommends a couple pre-rolls, and I add "do you have anything that can help me stay asleep?" I leave with two joints called Apple Cheesecake and Blue Dawn, and some sleep gummies called Smackerz. Weed culture is so dumb.