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Sunday's not necessarily my Sabbath, but this one's turning out as dowdy and quiet, even delightful, as a middle-aged day of rest may be.
For one thing, it has followed a wild Saturday night at home, which may be taken to mean gardening in the evening over a bottle of wine with Anne.
Such gardening as may be done here: laying out newspaper on the bistro table and uprooting the pansies from their hanging baskets to make way for more summer-worthy petunias.
I got as far as uprooting the pansies before the charms of wine and woman proved distracting.
The transplanting (pansies to a large clay pot for the deck; petunias into two made-ready baskets) got finished over coffee this morning, and then . . . how lovely for the two of us just to sit in the director's chairs out there and read.
With so much time spent on the Internet, I have much lost the habit of reading. Perhaps it takes some dismal to neutral restrictions in the environment, renewed after-party-hours clarity, and contentment to fall into the pages without the constant want of distraction or social engagement.
The reading in the second half of Malraux's book, Man's Fate, has gone well even though I tire too easily and still give into small distractions.
Around here, both Anne, who wants to write children's books, and I (on my creative writing side, short stories) want to get that lifestyle that most encourages literary productivity. Starting with finances and time as well as latent small businesses (editorial services, graphic arts, photography), we have the basic parts together.
Getting the habits--that's another thing.
Instead of reading at length, perhaps we should be writing.
Instread of talking about writing, we should be chatting over and editing whatever we have recently written.
At the end of my day, however cerebral or sensual, we're engaged in manufacturing: I want new minted photographs, poems, stories, essays, even songs making their way from this location into the culture at large, and sooner than later.
I am running out of "later".
Correspondence and Permissions: James S. Oppenheim
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