The best vacation I ever had...

Motown made the news a lot last year.

Not the kind of press you want, though. Most of it was bad.

Hell, bad isn't the word. The American auto industry is all but invisible. Ford, General Motors, Chrysler -- they all went to Congress, hat in hand, looking for relief. Congress told them to drop dead.

Detroit's crook of a mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick, was thrown in jail. The baseball team, my beloved Tigers, flopped, in spite of its All-Star lineup, and finished dead last in its division. The football team, the Lions, didn't win a single game.

But, you know something? The best vacation I ever had happened in Detroit, two summers ago, when time seemed to stop. Pull up a chair. Let me tell you about it.

I have been venturing up to Michigan since the late 1990s. Baseball, the last dance at Tiger Stadium, first drew me to Motown. We came to say good-bye, to hang out with my friends David Romas and Jennifer Bondy, to pay homage to that grand cathedral at The Corner.

Flash forward to August 2007. I hadn't taken any time off all year. Well, other than sick leave to pass kidney stones. That doesn't count.

Looking to escape the 100-degree heat on Rocky Top, I e-mailed David.

"Hey," I said. "My favorite singer is coming to Ann Arbor. Let's take in a Tigers game and go see her sing."

"OK," David said.

I flew up early on a Sunday morning. David picked me up at the airport. The temperature was 73 degrees. In Knoxville the day before, the thermometer read 102.

We ate lunch at a bar across the street from Comerica Park. The Tigers were playing Oakland that afternoon. We saw a win, my first at Detroit's new park, my first in six tries.

Monday night we headed to the University of Michigan campus. We ate dinner at a cool joint. We sat on the sidewalk. I watched the girls go by and enjoyed the sunset. What a night.

Then Robinella wowed the crowd at The Ark. I worked up the courage to say hello, something a star-struck fan had never been able to do down in the Old City. She gave me a hug and I floated back to the car. Picture perfect. The world made perfect sense.

I woke up that next morning, took a glass of orange juice and a bagel out on David and Jen's back patio, and ate breakfast in the morning sun. Sixty-eight degrees. I could feel the wind on my face. Picture perfect.

I wrote some of my best pieces to date during that trip. My boss liked them so much she devoted an entire page to them in our newspaper.

That Wednesday I flew home to Halls, relaxed and rejuvenated, ready to face the reality of autumn.

It was picture perfect, the best vacation I ever had, in a city that always gets a bad rap.

Hang in there, Detroit. Like this great nation of ours, you'll make a comeback.

Any town that gives a guy his best trip in years all but deserves a break.

Last night, when the world made perfect sense...

ANN ARBOR, Mich, Aug. 13 --- Tell me the secret.

Hurry up, please. Let me in on it. How you make time stop? I need to know.

Then again, no. Can't do that. But, oh, how I wanted it to tonight.

Discovered while making plans for this vacation that Robinella would be playing here in Ann Arbor, 30 minutes from where friends David and Jen live. I'd walk a country mile to hear Robin sing anyway; this was an easy decision.

It's just her and Hans, the guitar player, tonight. But that's all Robin needs. She opens her mouth, lets us hear a little slice of heaven, smiles that smile, and my goodness gracious.

Time stops. Cares float away. For a couple of hours the world is beautiful and the whole darn thing makes perfect sense.

She sings some favorites tonight, including "Man Over," and the tenderly beautiful "Morning Dove." A new song breaks your heart. Then Robin channels Billie Holiday and you're caught smack dab in the blues.

There's something for everybody. Alison Krauss and Roger Miller, good ol' Southern Gospel and a few original tunes. Little slices of joy and heartache.

Finally it's finished. You sit there a minute, knowing you've witnessed something wonderful. It plucks at your heartstrings, touches you in that sweet little place that only music can.

I can't make the moment last. It's back out into the late summer night, back to Ferndale, eventually back to work and reality.

But the memories linger. You hum a tune, remember that sweet smile, and thank God that you've been here tonight to hear this special soul share her talent with the world.

Life seems brighter somehow. The night isn't so lonely. The old dreams, the good dreams, yeah, they might just come true. Anything seems possible after spending some time with Robinella.

So maybe I don't need time to stand still after all.

Up in Michigan

FERNDALE, Mich. -- I took my book on Paul Bryant's "Junction Boys" and sat in the 70-degree cool Michigan morning just after 9, remembering what it's like to go outside and not feel like you've just stepped into a toaster oven.

It gets hot here in Michigan. But the nights are cool and the humidity is nowhere near that of Knox Vegas.

My plane arrived at the Detroit metro airport about 10 a.m. yesterday, after a quick jaunt to Charlotte. We drove directly downtown, ate and made it to Comerica Park in time to see the Tigers take care of bid'ness 11-6 over the A's.

From there, we tooled over to Commerce to enjoy dinner at a pub. It was a nice enough evening, so we sat out on the patio of the place. It overlooks a golf course. The grounds are well-kempt and perfect. I split a barbecue chicken pizza with David Romas. His wife Jennifer snacked on nachos.

Tonight we're headed into enemy territory, Ann Arbor, home to those blasted Wolverines, to hear Robinella at The Ark, an old intimate theater in the Great Lake State's most famous college town. David says everybody from Bob Dylan to Natalie Merchant has played there at one point or another.

I'm supposed to be on vacation. But I can't stay away from the keyboard.

So it goes when your job is your life, or your life is your job, or however you say that...