I used to begin each year by making a calendar in the beginning of a notebook. It was the work notebook for the year. The task held the peculiar pleasure of organizing future time.

This is a dried jellyfish found on a piece of driftwood. I was on a kayak trip with my daughter. The day was stone-grey. We hauled the boats up onto the sand beach and looked around. It is odd to find something on the beach that will fit easily into a notebook. And, yet, here it was. You could write a letter on its translucent skin and send it back into the sea.

Sometimes the books are concerned only with work and they lack character. Like a man too busy to notice the passing of time.

Here is a list of books.