Weeknotes: September 2-6, 2024

Monday, September 2

Over the weekend I used my bow saw and loppers to break down the big storm-loosened tree limb that fell in front of my shed. A casualty of a previous ice storm, it had been hanging by a tough woody tendon for two years before finally breaking loose last week. Very satisfying. Its logs are stacked neatly in my woodpile and its branches now crackle merrily in the firepit while I sip strong beer out of an enamel cup and listen to Duke Pearce and Bud Powell. Piano trios are the coziest of musical combos. In the winter I listen to Bill Evans Trio practically every night. It's only Labor Day, but I'm embracing the cool weather and its symbolic shift into fall.

I've pulled out my sewing kit and am mending my neoprene smartphone armband which came apart at the seams during my run today. I've bought pricey ones and generic ones and they all fail, some sooner than others. I'll occasionally mend one when I get tired of having to replace them, though it rarely buys more than a month or two of added service. 

Tuesday, September 3

I'm at the bank depositing a check from a gig. There are three people in line in front of me, so not too bad. A woman walks in and exclaims to another woman behind me "Oh, so busy! I guess everyone has the same idea."

Long pause, then "I used to work at a big bank in my 20s. You know, on campus, though, so it was always busy with students. I moved here in, oh gosh, the late-'60s, when I was just 17…"

It goes on like this for another minute of two. The amiable chatter of similarly aged strangers. I'd say it's a midwestern thing, but I know there are friendly people everywhere. We're all busy, out running our errands. Why not try to enjoy the little pauses? The bank teller and I exchange some niceties about the weather and smile at each other. Then I walk next door to the supermarket and use the automated checkout. I guess groceries are all business. 

Wednesday, September 4

I try out a new audiobook on my run. Over the years I've blown through all my preferred British detective series', some of them twice. My favorites are Peter Robinson's DCI Alan Banks novels, of which there are 28. Robinson died unexpectedly in October 2022, leaving his primary character unresolved. I was somewhat disappointed by his posthumously released final novel, Standing in the Shadows. I was grateful for one more book, but it felt a bit like a placeholder within the series. Banks' number two and former love interest Annie Cabot barely makes an appearance. What will become of her? 

I've been sporadically working on a song about DCI Banks for years, but, like the series, it too remains unresolved. I had always planned on sending the song to Robinson when I finally recorded it. He was clearly a music lover, a trait he emphasized in the fictional Banks, the aesthete policeman who read poetry, listened to opera, jazz, and rock, and attended the weekly folk night at his local pub. Banks even had a son, Brian, who went on to lead a successful indie band called the Blue Lamps. All these details and the books' pastoral Yorkshire settings won me over. I specifically listened to his audiobooks, my favorites of which were read by the great Simon Prebble. I’ll still finish the song someday, now as a tribute to Robinson.

I'm only a couple chapters in, but the Susan Hill mystery I've started today seems a bit on the cozy side. And I'm not thrilled about the narrator's melodramatic tone. I’ll give it a chance, though.

Thursday, September 5

"Are you the lamp whisperers?"

It's Repairsday at All Hands Active, a little maker space on East Liberty across from the post office. My favorite bedside lamp has been flickering erratically for a few months. I've tried replacing the little tapered candelabra bulb, but it's just not making a strong connection and I've been too busy to deal with it. The listing in the Observer read "all are invited to drop in with broken electronics, furniture, toys, or any other item they'd like to repair or repurpose." Flickering lamps were also mentioned.

I am the only customer and have their full attention. While my lamp is pulled apart and neatly repaired, I get a short tour of the facility, noting its well appointed woodshop and sandblasting station. I throw a tenner in the donation jar on my way out. 

I hustle around town in the fading light with my lamp in a tote bag and finish up my trash can photography project. While I’m killing time over a beer at Casey's, a man sits down a couple stools away. He orders a water, followed by two more waters which he quickly dispatches. I'm busy editing photos on my phone and don't pay him much attention until he yells something toward the TV that sounds like "there will be blood!" I look up and ask if he's talking to me. A vague shrug.

A few minutes later he leans over and asks what kind of notebook I'm using.  

"It's this great little company from Chicago called Field Notes."
"Not Shinola?"
"No."
"Fuck you."

I seem to have acquired an agitator. I edit a few more photos, pay my tab, and get up to leave. As I do so he  looks down at my feet and announces to all present "Is he wearing New Balance? Guess he's not American."

I walk out in my (Australian) Blundstone boots and stand on the sidewalk for a few minutes. My agitator soon exits and in passing tells me "you're hitting every branch on the way down." His hostility is unnerving, but I shake it off and walk across the street to Wheeler Park where a large-scale video installation is just beginning. 

Australian artist Craig Walsh projects massive videos of people's faces onto treelines around the world. His Ann Arbor installation, Monuments, is part of the same bicentennial project I'm participating in and is co-sponsored by the library and the Ann Arbor Summer Festival. It's absolutely stunning. The gigantic faces of community heroes Bonnie Billups, Jr., Joyce Hunter, and Martin Contreres look out from the dense green foliage like a botanic Mt. Rushmore, occasionally blinking, smiling, and sniffing. I've never seen anything like it.

Friday, September 6

My errands in Ann Arbor have accidentally coincided with a visit from Joe Biden. I'm caught up in presidential traffic and it's worse even than a football Saturday. If I'd known, I'd never have left the house. Two hours later I'm recovering in my backyard with an emergency negroni.

It's the opening reception for Nick's exhibition at Riverside Arts Center. Layered Conversations is the culmination of his residency with fellow Ypsilanti artist, Avery Williamson. I've seen Nick's sculptures before, often in stages as he's building them next door, but in a properly curated show, they are so effective. Assembled from reclaimed materials, mostly left behind by the Willow Run school system, they are striking and multi-layered, asking questions about outdated teaching resources and systemic issues in education. 

It's a great turnout for their show and later we all celebrate around a backyard fire. I've missed these fires. They were largely absent this summer and I can't really say why.