Weeknotes: December 16-20, 2024

I guess I felt like writing this week. Happy Solstice!

Monday, December 16

My Christmas lights shine weakly against the gloom. After such a crisp start, December has retreated into rainy drear. At the supermarket I stand in the baking aisle looking for cardamom pods. The woman next to me is coming up short in her own spice search and we exchange friendly smalltalk about holiday busyness. A few minutes later she finds me in the next aisle waving in victory a small jar of ground cardamom. Such a sweet gesture, but I really want the pods. I thank her anyway.

After work I head back out into the drizzle on a longer set of evening errands. Just over a week until Christmas, but I'm thwarted on most of my stops. I do find the cardamom, though. I walk around Ann Arbor feeling dispirited, carrying only one of the several gifts I'd sought. I catch the last ten minutes of happy hour at Conor O'Neill's. I remember when this Irish bar opened in the late-'90s. It felt like an overly-commercial upstart on Main Street, but tonight I'm drawn to its well-established and unpretentious vibe. Some type of Harry Potter party must have recently happened; there are "Wanted" posters for Fenrir Greyback and "I solemnly swear I am up to no good" signs are tacked over several booths. I work on a pint of Smithwick's and write in my notebook, replenishing my cheer sip by sip. 

A father with his young son approaches the bar asking if the North Pole mailbox has been taken down. The boy has a letter for Santa. The bartender disappears for a bit, then comes back to confirm said box is presently in the store room being prepped for delivery to the North Pole. He accepts the envelope on Santa's behalf, and moves off stage with a smile, ferrying away the kid’s hopes and dreams.

Tuesday, December 17

Today is less dreary, but still gloomy. There is a difference. During my lunchtime run, I plan to stop at Dollar Tree to buy a couple gift bags. I've tucked a $10 bill in my running jacket, but when I get there, the doors are locked with a hastily scribbled "power is out" sign taped to the door. I'm listening to Donovan's Open Road album. I think it's one of his best. It’s more streamlined than Hurdy Gurdy Man or Barabajagal (though I also love those albums!) and feels like the last focused effort before he went adrift on the HMS Donovan. It gets me through my last two miles.

In the evening I walk into Depot Town and stop at the pet shop to buy a toy for Islay. It's her Christmas present, a stuffed tortoise whose flippers move when you activate the squeaky part. Next, I head across the alley to Andy's bar and share a couple merry hours with my friends. When I leave, my gloves are missing. I think I left them in the pet store, which is now closed. Walking home, I dictate a note to Siri reminding me to call there in the morning. I have time for one episode of the Americans before bed. Only two left before the series finale. I've been watching this show since September, and it's been surprisingly consistent through its six seasons. 

Wednesday, December 18

The full moon has passed, but my dreams are still a little wild. I'm a child in a television family band like the Partridge Family. The two actors playing the parents are former Schlager stars from Germany, but they lip-sync in English. We're not very good. There's an uncomfortable scene where the cameras start rolling and we all mouth the lyrics with great reluctance, furtively watching each other from the corners of our eyes. When I wake up, it's a half-rain, half-snow mixture outside. I post the day's Advent Photo Project theme ("Craft") and read a guest essay from Pope Francis in the New York Times. It's about the power of humor and he tells some legitimately funny jokes.

At dusk I'm in Detroit on a last-ditch gift-buying run. The city lights look cozy as the sun sets and I'm glad I came. I stop for a quick dinner in Midtown at Baobab Fare who make East African comfort food. Hearty stews with rice, beans, and fried plantains. Walking back to my car on Milwaukee, a woman in a Santa hat smokes out the passenger window of a black pickup, looking exhausted. I feel my own energy dissolve on the drive home.

Thursday, December 19

My first semester grades have been posted on the WCC student dashboard. For the only time in my life I have a 4.0 GPA. I certainly never cared about my grades when I was young and it feels strange to have achieved a perfect score so many years later. My pride is tempered by amusement; I'm still not sure if it means a lot to me. More than ever, it seems like grades are beside the point. It’s about learning and retaining. I've already signed up for a couple more classes in the winter semester. I’m excited about them, but don't know what I'll do beyond that. If it feels good, I'll keep going. If not, I'll apply what I've learned to continue improving my creative life. Regardless of the future, I already consider my back-to-school endeavor a success. My albatross has been dealt with. 

I drive out on yet another multi-stop tour of errands amid rush hour traffic. I deliver a few gifts to friends' doorsteps, then head into Ann Arbor. I used to think the Waters Road Target was the nicer one, but I've realized it's all smoke and mirrors. Its classier facade obscures its smaller footprint and I never seem to find the staples that are more abundant at the Carpenter location. On WCBN the DJ is playing MF Doom, Biz Markie, and Cornelius deep cuts and I weave through the neighborhoods around Geddes, applying hard-won townie knownledge to circumvent the main thoroughfares.

Friday, December 20

Wet, heavy snow falls outside my window. A FedEX truck pulls up behind a UPS truck and the drivers exchange some friendly banter outside the neighbors' house. Clearly not a strong rivalry. I finish up the last of my work before vacation, writing about young country artists and rising Afrobeats. I pick up my guitar a few times and play through the song I started writing Wednesday night. It's still being hammered into shape, but I love the feel of it and lyrical hook is a doozy. It reminds me a little of something from Leonard Cohen's New Skin For the Old Ceremony which I listened to last month. This makes me think of PJ Harvey’s great version of “Who By Fire” that opens every episode of Bad Sisters, another show I’m enjoying right now.

By afternoon, I'm officially on vacation and I celebrate by lounging on the bed with Islay and thinking about international travel. I need an adventure in 2025. I have a few ideas. At 3:30 I finally attempt to repair my toilet tank which has had a small leak for almost a month. Why begin this process now? It's late afternoon on the Friday before Christmas, the first few hours of a long-needed vacation, and I'm on my way to Home Depot to buy a new fill valve assembly. I'm not good with downtime. I see empty space on the calendar and my immediate instinct to be productive. I promised myself I would really try to let some things go over the holidays and maybe I will, but after I fix the toilet, wrap and deliver the remaining gifts, go for a run, update my blog, maintain the Advent Photo Project, etc, etc. 

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