World Book Day

Reading. It's such a fundamental part of life. It's an addiction I want to share with the kid and basically everyone else. But how? World Book Day has brought some of these questions to the top of my mind and was something we celebrated at work.

Everyone knows that reading is important. Knows it in that superficial, rote-learned way. Like a well-rehearsed mantra. But do we act this out in our daily lives? Do we let our children/students/colleagues see us reading and living that message? When we honestly look in the mirror do we see a reader? Or do we simply join the chorus on these occasions when we know it's the right answer?

These questions become particularly pertinent when one works in education; it is after all, teachers who are mandated to not only teach children to read, but to teach them to love reading. I often wonder how many teachers/teaching students are readers themselves. I hear the deafening chorus of "reading is important" but does anyone actually read? And more importantly, can you really teach a love of reading if it is not something that you feel yourself?

The space after a book

I know it's been rather quiet over here. It's been strange. A bit restless. A bit overtired. A bit scattered. A bit of wandering around the house aimlessly. A bit of Glenn Miller filling the air. A bit of smoothie making. A bit of picking up this, picking up that. A bit of reading here and there. A lot of not settling on anything.

It's been over a week now since I finished reading The Goldfinch and a strange residue remains; I can't quite shake the characters; scenes pop into my mind a bit like my own memories; the density of the writing still hasn't dissolved. It's a strange, restless space. I have a whole pile of new books lined up already, but I can't seem to settle on anything. My fingers trace them out, explore their awaiting covers, partly curious, but my mind is still tethered to The Goldfinch. I can't seem to drag myself away.

"But what does the painting say about Fabritius himself? Nothing about religious or romantic or familial devotion; nothing about civic awe or career ambition or respect for wealth and power. There's only a tiny heartbeat and solitude, bright sunny wall and a sense of no escape. Time that doesn't move, time that couldn't be called time. And trapped in the heart of light: the little prisoner, unflinching." (Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch)

{habits & happenings}

The heat is letting up... mornings are edged with a freshness that wasn't there before and the sun is getting comfortably warm instead of scorching new leaves. A burst of new, green bananas discovered in the garden. A bit of breathing space for holiday time spent outside... dirt gathering under my fingernails... the fresh, earthy scent of newly watered pots... some projects completed... new things grown.