Weeknotes: April 1-5, 2024
Monday, April 1
April Fool's Day. One of those weird holidays that has never really registered with me. I love to laugh, but pranks aren’t really my brand. Instead, I'm thinking about my uncle who died on this day, four years ago. It was amid the first big wave of lockdowns and hospitals were completely shut off to all non-essentials. He'd been complaining of respiratory problems for several weeks and was admitted to his local hospital in Mississippi in late March. He never tested positive for COVID-19, but ultimately died of what the doctor claimed was double pneumonia. It was a heartbreaking, miserable mess, all dealt with from afar, like so many other deaths in 2020. I was saddest for my dad who couldn't be with his only sibling when he passed and for my cousin, locked down far away in Honolulu mourning his father. Like my dad, Uncle Dick was a woodworker. Years before when I was working at the violin shop, he gave me a brass Sweetheart block plane, a tool I used frequently and continue to treasure. The Christmas before he died, he gave my brother and me each a pair of knives he'd crafted. Thanking him over the phone that afternoon was the last time I spoke with him. After getting the dreaded call from my dad on the afternoon of April 1, I went out to the garage and spent some time sharpening all the tools Dick had given me. I couldn't even gather with my family the day he died.
Today is a better day, though the anniversary still weighs heavily. I repot two plants out on my back stoop, repair the rear latch on my car, and spend the night recording a demo of a new song I unexpectedly finished late last night.
Tuesday, April 2
Outside a gray drear persists for the entire day. I spend the morning organizing my lyric notebook, making notes, editing lines, and relearning chords to songs in progress. I'm rediscovering a bunch of previously shelved songs which now sound great to me. I get impatient and want to finish songs more quickly, but time has always been a key ingredient in how I work. I have to wait them out until they’re fully cooked. I've been very productive over the past week so I know it’s time to buckle down and ride out the streak.
Yesterday, K messaged me from France complaining that Mercury had gone into retrograde. I first learned about this phenomenon years ago from a hairstylist and used to enjoy blaming Mercury for various slights and ills. It was a big, easy astrological trash can to toss frustrations into. I'm not saying I'm no longer frustrated, but I may as well direct blame to its proper source (self). "Ignore it," I told her. "It's only there as a scapegoat. I have no time for Mercury and its bullshit."
I print out lyrics to five songs, send out a barrage of booking emails, finish several assignments, and continue kicking ass until about 8:30.
Wednesday, April 3
After a happy hour beer with a friend, I cook two dinners, one for myself and one for my dog. Islay has endured a life of pancreatic distress and we've moved into a phase of bland, low-fat home cooking mixed with her prescription kibble. It seems to be working and she's had fewer episodes in recent months.
Before bed I read about 20 pages of The Wall, Marlen Haushofer's sad, pastoral 1963 novel set in the Austrian Alps. CC recommended it. It's a dystopian tale written in one long unbroken chapter about a woman who becomes trapped in a remote hunting cabin when a mysterious invisible wall suddenly appears cutting her off from the rest of civilization. She builds a solitary life, surviving in her little mountain kingdom with only a dog, cat, and cow for company. It's a strange and beautiful book. I'm transfixed.
Thursday, April 4
In the morning I drive a friend to the airport. When I ask where she's going I'm a little astounded to find she's off to Glenwood Springs, Colorado. It's a lively little tourist town in the Western Rockies known for its natural hot springs and she is going to the same hot springs resort I did and staying in the same hotel. Glenwood also has an amusement park perched atop a mountain and a saloon claiming to have been frequented by Doc Holliday who died there of tuberculosis in 1887. I visited neither. On the morning of my visit I had run a marathon through the Colorado National Monument in Fruita and treated myself to a soak and overnight stay in Glenwood on my way back to Denver.
As I drive back down I-94 from the airport a fencing truck filled with tools passes me and I'm temporarily mesmerized by the rippling bristles of a push broom. At home I begin and abandon several projects, a pattern that seems to last all day. At 6PM I have a burning desire for tacos and am thrilled to find the red El Mariachi taco truck parked in Depot Town as if I manifested it. It's one of those rare meals where you get the exact thing you want at the exact time you imagine it.
CC and I have a rehearsal and work on one of my new songs. The harmonies practically write themselves. It's just one of those songs that feels good to sing. We both instinctively know what to do with it. I wish I could write ten more of its ilk, but then it would feel less special.
Friday, April 5
It's First Friday, the first of the year and I'm on foot. I browse books, overpriced vinyl, and vintage clothes in Depot Town then run into Andy by the weed shop. The new pet store across the street is having a sneak peek opening so I duck in and ask about low-fat treats for my pancreatic pup. Up the Cross St. Bridge the spring sun is glaring out over Riverside Park, illuminating the green river valley behind which a wall of navy blue clouds glowers. On Huron it hits the brick face of St. Luke's like a spotlight and I stop to take a photo. I then pause for a while on the bluff behind the arts center looking out over the park and note Greg's distinctive house across the river. Moments later I bump into him. "I was just looking at your house!"
I visit the art supply shop for the first time then stop at 22 North which is showing pieces by EMU art students. Usually the gallery is bustling on First Friday, but I'm the only one there. The combined work is nice, a mix of print media, video installations, textiles, and sculpture. I talk with Nan for a while then message my brother to meet up for a beer at Tap Room. We sit at the bar laughing and catching up. I tell him the news I heard this morning about the death of my old high school friend and fellow musican Todd Price. Todd and his twin sister Amy were very important to me during my teenage years. I hadn't been in touch with either of them for a long time, but I’m struggling to process it. Tom walks in as we finish our second round, so we rally for a third. It's lively in there and feels good. I love this crazy little city. When I left the house, this is the night I wanted to happen tonight.