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At last I have a day to relax, to do whatever I feel like doing—or, more accurately, to do nothing and do it deliberately. It’s been over a month since I’ve had that sort of freedom.  At the beginning of May I started a contract job, editing science manuscripts. It’s a busy time of year for the major science organisations in New Zealand, because the end of June is the end of the financial and reporting year; there’s a flood of contract reports, journal papers and other written “outputs” to be edited as researchers rush to meet 30 June deadlines. I know what it’s like for them—I was in that position for many years. Too many? I’m not prepared to say that, but I know that, unlike those days, the last month has been hugely satisfying and enjoyable. Frustrating, too—sometimes, nearly driven to despair by the impenetrability of particular manuscripts or the reluctance of some authors to call a piece of apparatus designed for extracting approximate volumes of biophysical substrate a spade, I found myself wandering the corridor, taking deep breaths and visualising a gentle breeze rippling over snowgrass near a happy little mountain stream... However, many papers were written well; most were interesting; some were unquestionably exciting. I’d been given an insight into what was going on in the organisation—not the administrivia that torments most of the staff, but the truly important things the administrivia is supposed to support; the work that allows science to claim that it really does improve our condition, and our prospects; work that will help conserve a world worth living in. Work, for example, that means your great-grandchildren might be able to explore a wetland or a lowland forest remnant close to home. That's where the satisfaction came in, for me—the realisation that by putting a little polish on those papers; by making them just a little more readable, I could help get the message across.
Of course, with the steady flow of work, and some significant other editing contracts, I ended up working nights and weekends as well. I still managed to meet friends at City Rock for a couple of hours' climbing, a pint at the Celtic, a few films and a few other social events, but  I haven't set foot in the Ruahine for quite a while, and rather than maintaining a reasonable level of fitness, I only got enough exercise to slow the rate at which I was losing it. Even the sporadic walks down the road and up No. 3 Line were fairly gentle, mostly because I became distracted by the land; by the chitter of finches scattering from roadside grasses, the sound of water rushing over stones, the curl of a dry, dead grass leaf, the last light through leafless trees, or a pugnacious piwakawaka (yes, that's him/her. Click on the photo to get a larger view). Perhaps my brain needed the rest from all that editing, and instead enjoyed paying attention to things that can't be articulated.
Now, the day's relaxation is almost over. I have to get myself organised for the next fortnight's work—something entirely different from poring over someone else's writing; a world away from a computer screen.
For the next two weeks, I'm working with dolphins.
Photos and words © 2005 Pete McGregor
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| | Posted 6/8/2005 5:15 PM - 101 Views - 2 eProps - 1 Comment
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