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I've been somewhat crazy busy with work since returning from those few days by the sea, but I love what I do (most of the time), and more than that, I love the people I get to do my work with.

This week brought me back into touch with old friends at a client that has long felt, to me, like family. It found me laughing so hard in one interviewee's office that I almost fell off the chair; philosophizing over the phone with another about what makes for an engaged employee; and getting a second-hand look at what research (deep research) really looks like in the eyes of a high-level strategist. I talked information technology with a new CIO (boy, is she smart) and got tripped up by a certain guy that I'll call MY, who tends to read my stories much too closely and look much too hard (and sometimes not so hard) for the hilarious (to him) double entendre.

Thanks a whole lot, MY.

Yesterday, while chatting with my client's General Counsel by phone, we talked business, but we also talked books. She had, she mentioned, seen a man reading a book on a Kindle-type machine, and it had occurred to her how much she'd miss the feel and look of a paper book, if ever such a thing were to vanish.

This led her into a story about a British outfit called Persephone Books, which has dedicated itself to (and now I quote from the Persephone web site) reprinting "neglected classics by C20th (mostly women) writers. Each one in our collection of 83 books is intelligent, thought-provoking, and beautifully written, and most are ideal presents and a good choice for reading groups." There are novels, diaries, and cook books in the collection, and "all are carefully designed with a clear typeface, a dove-grey jacket, a 'fabric' endpaper and bookmark, and a preface by writers such as Penelope Fitzgerald, Nina Bawden, and Polly Toynbee." All, in other words, are beautiful books, sold mostly by catalog but also in two gorgeous-looking shops. Beautiful books, bucking a trend, and thriving.

I kept thinking all day about this gift of a conversation—about how a business client had opened a door, to me, about a book-making phenomenon I'd not have known of otherwise. How a lawyer had taught an author something new about her own profession. I kept thinking how lucky I have been, in this life, to weave in and out, across so many borders.