a quiet weekend

For lots of reasons, I wasn't really looking forward to this weekend, but it turned out to be quite nice indeed.

Saturday was spent mostly at home. J and I are both engrossed in our books at the moment, so I think a good 3/4s of the day was spent in silence. Jeremy's band was playing their first gig in the evening, so I went along. I spent the sound-check talking to the wife of the singer; she was reading the bone people, so we talked about that. It transpired that she was wanting some new books to read, so I told her I would send some along to band practise with J. She likes 20th century experimental novels, so I sent On The Road and The Catcher In The Rye, as well as The God of Small Things and a mini-collection of short stories by Dave Eggers; all bundled up with some ladybug ribbon I found in my ribbon and lace box. I hope she liked it.

Sunday: market-shopping in the morning, for beautiful autumnal produce. I gazed in wonder at the wicker basket when we got home; it was full of passionfruit, limes, lemons, golden kumara, orange capsicum, and apples. Lots of lovely colours, which all suit the new chill in the air. Toddled off to the Hospice after that, and after lunch, we went to Seatoun to get some takeaway coffees, then drove to Breaker Bay. We sat in the car and ate a home-made lime curd tart each, and drank the coffees, and read our books in contented silence. The wind and waves were quite dramatic, and well-suited to the exciting part of the book I was reading.

Today I am making myself do work. I have a production schedule to draft, a design brief to write for a book I am editing, and a reader's report due in less than a week. I put all my due dates onto a wall-planner last night, and the abundance of black scribbles is daunting. But I must remind myself it is all good practise. I would like to do this work for all my days, if some kindly publishing house could possibly deign have a vacancy for an inexperienced chump like me...