Rinse, Rewind, Repeat...

 

... or Something Completely Different?

LAST night, as the bells tolled for 2021, I wondered if 2022 will be it's own stand-alone, brand new year, or just Part 3 of 2020, like 2021 has been. At that midnight moment, I was hard pressed to think of anything good from the past 20 months, and couldn't wait to open all the doors and windows to let the old year(s) out.

Reflecting on the near past is a waste of time. Timelines are fuzzy and I keep forgetting what I was going to do, or had been doing or if I had been doing anything at all. So, if something stands out, it has a double significance: reassurance that I am not in fact having multiple "Senior Moments;" and comfort knowing that there are some gold nuggets to be found in an otherwise dismal time. A standout memory is going to Yosemite. Standing in the Mirror Lake and staring up at Half Dome, I considered how beautiful the moment was; and how small and insignificant one can feel when faced with such majesty. Then I thought about how even the smallest of things - hummingbirds, ladybugs, the tiniest bud, is, in itself, a great work of artistry. And so am I. You too! And that's Hope. It's the moment I started to feel better.

But wait, there's more. I made significant and important changes to how I work, rest and play this year, including a new teaching assignment in 2nd grade. I had absolutely nothing left in the tank to go back to Kindergarten, and I am grateful that my principal both saw and understood this. She offered me a fresh start; a 2nd grade classroom, which she assured me I would love. Although I have spent much of the autumn feeling like a first year teacher getting to grips with a new curriculum, I love being in 2nd grade. Weird, but I really do.

One day, as I sat with my 2nd graders reading poetry and discussing it like we were in a book club, I let out a big, deep breath. "Are you okay?" asked one of the Darlings "Yes," I replied, "I am just enjoying this moment. I love talking about books and poetry - and doing it with you makes it even more fun!" The kids grinned from ear to ear, and one Smarty Pants said, "Yep, I bet it was hard to talk about reading in Kindergarten when there was only one sentence on the page!" We all laughed at this truth.

Teaching children to read is transformative. Hearing their first stumbled attempts to read a tricky word, and watching them work it out, is just pure magic. But listening to a child read a funny poem and giggling and then telling me what they liked best about the poem is a whole new level of magic. Watching them puzzle out that the second character in the book is actually an imaginary friend, "Oh that's why no one can see him," exclaimed another Brilliant Brainchild. With that, everyone just sits back and thinks about this revelation and what it tells us about the real character: "He's lonely and misses his Dad." Yep! I mean, it's like nectar and honey and chocolate and Christmas Cake (it's still missing) all rolled up into one precious moment that is beyond magic. It's like playing with fire, passing along sparks to light a passion for reading, and pleasures found therein.

This new era has also been a time to read to escape the madness of reality. A few years ago (pre-pandemic), I set the goal of reading 50 books in one year. A moment before that long-ago New Year's midnight I closed the 50th book, and vowed never to do such a terrible thing to myself again. Setting reading goals is pressure and sucks all the fun out of it. All I did was read like I was meeting a deadline. As it became more and more of a struggle to keep up with the pace of a book per week, I had to be very strategic about what I read: no big books with a tonne of pages; no hard books with dense structure and long words to wade through; and a limited number of kids books were permitted. When it was all over, I didn't pick up another book for months.

Back to the present and coping with this challenging year, I have returned to a state of reading I enjoyed as a child. The possibility of escape. Diving into the pages so deeply and completely that everything else ceases to exist. I don't feel the cold set in when the sun goes behind the clouds. I don't notice the delivery trucks or the dog bark at each arrival. I don't notice the cold feet tucked behind my back for warmth (Lily) or the smell of morning coffee (Zoē) or the click-click-click of the computer keys (John). I'm solid gone into another reality.

When I look around my classroom and I see the little girl who's name means, "God is Mighty," sitting at her desk with a big fat juicy book opened in front of her, I can see she is "lost" and I don't disturb her. Let her journey on because surely that is more important than anything I could teach her. And then she comes to me and quietly asks if she can recommend the book to the class -YES! - because it was really exciting and she can't stop thinking about it. I remember that feeling. "You are my kindred spirit," I tell her, and she smiles, and quietly says, "I know."

And just like my little friend, I have gotten lost in a host of books this year: classics I have been meaning to read; thought-provoking non-fiction I hardly used to touch before the Pandemic, murder mysteries and travel logs and poetry and books about -isms like race, gender, class, immigration. It's been a grand year for books, and I'm looking forward to more reading just for fun.

Make it a Good Year for Reading, if for no other reason, it's a good way to escape, a good way to find other ways to live a life in a world that looks stranger by the hour, and a good way to connect with others, particularly those kindred spirits out there who also enjoy the feel of a good book in their hands and in their hearts.