Weeknotes: February 5-9, 2024
I’m new to the concept of weeknotes. Here’s how I found out about it.
In December Field Notes, the Chicago notebook company that I use religiously, posted on their Instagram account about getting a mention in Russell Davies' book Do Interesting: Notice. Collect. Share. I had never heard of Davies or the U.K.-based Do Books series, but I bought it and loved it. I mean, I really loved it. It inspired me to start this blog. Davies mentions weeknotes as a type of journaling meant to reflect on and break down the events of the work week. From there I found the wonderful English blog Walknotes from a South London resident who documents their daily commute. I find Walknotes deeply charming . An old school barebones Wordpress blog with no visual frills, just great, succinct writing. I’ve become a subscriber and look forward to it in my inbox every Saturday morning. Since I already journal and love capturing small details I thought I’d try my own version of the weeknotes format. Here goes.
Monday 2/5/24
I'm up early to knock out some assignments before the contractor shows up and removes a section of ceiling in the little room I use as my office/studio. A persistent leak from the shower in apartment 2 has caused a stain and bubbling in the plaster. I don't own much of value, but what I do lives in this room along with all of my notebooks, hard drives, and instruments. Water damage would be devastating to me. It turns out the contractor is also a musician and he takes great care in taping up my studio like, as he describes it, "a Dexter kill room."
Fortunately, I'm able to take Islay (dog) upstairs to the currently vacant unit and continue working while she paces anxiously, whining about the construction noises and unexpected displacement. Later, after we run a few errands together and walk through a lonesome misty park, she barfs on our coir doormat while I am upstairs fetching her bed from the other apartment. I make an evening trip to the nearby IKEA to buy a replacement which ends up being too large.
Tuesday 2/6/24
Today it's the plumber's turn to hopefully repair whatever is going on with the offending shower. The sun doesn't realize it's February and shines uninterrupted all day. Unable to work in either unit, I drive out to my parents' house so Islay can play with their two dogs and we can celebrate my dad's birthday a day early. I sit on the bed in my childhood room working my adult job while downstairs my parents carry on a loud speakerphone conversation with an old classmate. I try not to eavesdrop.
In the afternoon, Islay and I take a walk in the forest behind the house. The Brighton Recreation Area and its primary trail, the Penosha, can be accessed at the back end of their wooded lot. On our way out, I leave some sliced apples and cracked corn on the old metal garden table out back for Uncle Buck, the disabled deer my parents have been feeding for a couple years. His right front leg ends about five inches above where his hoof should be, a likely birth defect he has somehow overcome. A desire path, created over the years by my family, cuts through a stand of white pines and we startle Buck as we pass. He sometimes rests out there, knowing someone is looking out for him. It's hard not to love Uncle Buck. He's still there when we return, so we cut around the side of the house so as not to disturb him again. Islay is unphased and surprisingly uninterested in this much larger animal. She's just happy to be out of the city.
Wednesday 2/7/24
I'm not much of a gamer, but lately I have been playing Grand Mountain Adventure on my phone. It's a skiing game (I use a snowboarder avatar) and I've enjoyed unlocking new trails and chairlifts. I find it very peaceful. I decide to treat myself to the paid version and gain seven more mountain resorts to explore.
The contractor is back to patch up the hole in the ceiling. Before he comes over I go upstairs and run the shower for five minutes just to make sure the leak is fixed. The mild sunny weather continues during this strange week of interruptions. I feel scattered and can't seem to focus on anything for very long. I email with friends about an upcoming ski trip to New York, wondering whether or not there will be any snow. I sort out details about a house concert TMSP is playing in Northville next month. I participate in a lively text thread about Detroit's Boblo Island and learn that my friend Jim has a family connection to another defunct amusement park in Chicago. I eventually get some assignments finished, though they don’t come easily.
The night feels just as tedious. I open the bottle of Chimay my friend Pat gave me for my birthday and try to work on a poster design, but instead spend an hour or so decluttering the startup disk on my ancient MacBook. I’ve been making music and designing things on it since 2011. It's a time capsule of obsolescence on a slow cruise toward retirement, but I can't put it out to pasture until I'm able to afford to buy a replacement. This is a problem right now as its poor performance is hampering current and upcoming projects.
Thursday 2/8/24
The contractor makes his final visit to sand and paint my office ceiling. Islay and I head back upstairs and I spend a sunny morning reviewing the enchanting new album by Swedish band Dina Ögon. While the contractor is out at the paint store, I head back down to my apartment, pick up my guitar, and in a sudden burst finish writing a song I've been working on since last week. It's a brief micro-song about the post office box I've rented for a quarter century in downtown Ann Arbor. It’s intended for an upcoming project I'm working on in relation to the city's bicentennial celebration. I've been thinking of discontinuing my longtime proxy residence, but if I end up memorializing it in a song, I might have to reconsider. Is it worth the annual expense which seems to increase every year? I don’t receive much apart from 20lb Uline catalogs (bastards) and junk mail. You can lobby for its continued existence by writing me at P.O. Box 8036, Ann Arbor, MI 48107. It hasn’t seen anything handwritten in quite a while.
I drive out to the vet to buy Islay's monthly heartworm medicine and then pick up some groceries. I don't know if it's the warmed up weather or some molding piece of food under one of the seats, but my car smells awful. It's in winter mode, dusty and dog-haired with a crumpled green towel on the passenger seat failing to protect it from muddy pawprints. I roll down the windows, remarkably comfortable in the 55° weather.
Back home I put on shorts and go for a run. The city is a bonanza of late afternoon dog walkers, pedestrians, and fellow runners enjoying communal sleevelessness. I make a healthy dinner, but follow it with a pint of homemade ice cream from my friend Jenny. My brother insisted she call it Whippin' Shitties, the Minnesotan term for doing doughnuts with your car. I thought she should have called it Jenny's Ice Cream. Too subtle?
Friday 2/9/24
With the construction finally finished, I reassemble my studio, relieved at being able to work at my desk again. I omit a few items, leaving them in storage so the tiny room feels a little more spacious. Outside the sun persists and the temperatures climb into the upper-50s. I know these crazy weather swings spell bad news in the long run, but I can't help thinking of this week as a small miracle. Had it been cold and gloomy, all the disruptions probably would have sunk me.
After work I return the too-large doormat to IKEA then take my car to the janky auto wash near my house. Half the self-wash bays are out of order, cordoned off with orange cones. I'm not the only one inspired to freshen up my ride on this warm, windy day. Everyone is queued up for the three remaining bays. The foam brush in mine is a bust. A limp dribble, and I feel the pressure of my quarters expiring. My hat nearly blows away as I vacuum up months of dog hair and Windex away Islay’s wet nose smudges. The new TMSP window permit stickers arrive in the mail and I replace the 2023 decal on my windshield with this year's design, shooting a photo for my webstore. Inspired by Anchor Brewing's (R.I.P.) annual Christmas Ale labels, our permits feature a different tree every year. This year I asked Jenny to create something resembling a western juniper. When I visited Colorado and Utah last November, I fell hard for these resilient trees.
In the evening I don't know what to do with myself and strike out on foot. The parking lot next to Frog Island is lively; a few of the tailgaters that set up there on summer nights have even showed up, taking advantage of the weather. I had hoped the red El Mariachi Loco taco truck would be in front of the brewery, but no dice. I follow the pink sunset up Cross St. and settle for Thai food followed by a couple beers at a neighboring bar. I just need some punctuation at the end of this weird week which was maybe not remarkable, but at least defied expectations.