Cosmic Prose

Natasha Regehr

Category: Uncategorized (page 1 of 4)

2022 Gratitude List

It’s a few days late, but here is my annual Gratitude List — 365 days’ worth of small things noticed and appreciated. I now have 12 of these lists inhabiting my hard drive, and each one gives a snapshot of a year that is unlike those that came before. This year’s seems to be dominated by work, as I started yet another new job, and then another. There is always much to learn, much to celebrate, and much to leave behind as a fresh, new year unfolds. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

  • the lost, found
  • the smell of leaves under the tires of my bike, the weight of the handlebars, the whir of the wheels
  • pedalling, noticing, breathing
  • all of the things that are better than they were
  • I, who am competent…
  • I, who rocked that lesson
  • and she who left it before it fell apart
  • when the magic letters come together to make words
  • report cards done five days early
  • a down duvet
  • zoom friends
  • deliverance
  • the paperwork
  • a long prep period to rewrite my report card comments
  • when they learn things
  • the rain put a quick end to a very painful outdoor math lesson
  • I caught S prancing to the office for a banana
  • I kept last year’s sketchbooks
  • I caught the last half of my French class
  • tag is fun
  • L had a good day
  • The yellow water on the floor was largely ignored
  • extra quizzes
  • schoolyard coding
  • hamburger soup
  • a hair shuttle
  • an autumn walk to the Value Mart
  • getting some planning done
  • approval
  • they’re always good for no good reason
  • the explosion happened on someone else’s watch
  • I slept a long sleep
  • I’ve been other places, done other things, lived other lives
  • there is more to come
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Go Gently

Work.  All my life, I have allowed it to define me.

As a student (even as a very young student), my work was to try to be the smartest kid in class.  Let’s face it.  I was a clumsy, homely child with thick glasses and a lazy eye.  But school, I could do.  And I did it well.  It became my “thing” —  so much so, that I decided never to leave. 

And so now, decades later, I get in my car every morning and drive 45 minutes to another school, where I pour all my energy into the young lives and minds before me.  I just want them to learn, so badly.  To light up with new words, new ideas, new ways of thinking. 

But today, I went too far.  Snow had been falling all night.  It was due to continue for hours.  School buses were cancelled.  Other teachers headed onto the streets and turned back because of the weather.  And I kept going.

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2021 Gratitude List

A glance between the lines of this year’s Gratitude List will indicate that the last 12 months have not been easy. Here are the small and large kindnesses eased those difficult days, and the people who carried me through.

Thank-you.

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A Holiday Sing-Along

Twice this year, classes in my school have had to quarantine for the holidays due to positive COVID test results in the building. I wrote this little ditty over the Christmas break, and added a special Easter update today. Feel free to sing along.

 I wore my goggles and my mask: 
   Somebody sneezed on me!
 I sanitized my withered hands: 
   Somebody sneezed on me!
 I don't have plexiglass
 In my cramped, crowded class:
 I stepped sideways, but alas!
   Somebody sneezed on me. 

     Now we're getting COVID for Christmas,
      Students and teachers are mad.
     We're getting COVID for Christmas,
      'Cause Dougie's been nothing but bad.
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Réveillon

 Ce virus minuscule
     se propage
   sur les ailes de notre liberté
 Enferme-le en nous enfermant
    Sans ailes
       nous tous
            tomberont
  
 Cette piqure magique:
      notre seule arme
   contre l'envahissement de notre habitat natal
 Sorciers, sorcières, donnez-la-nous,
    Nous, les becs ouverts
        dans le nid de notre folie
  
 Et puis, ayant été piqués,
     nos corps tremblants se lèveront
   Nos plumes repousseront
          Nous nous percherons
                 vacillant
              au bord de l'inconnu 
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2020 Gratitude List: A Covid Thanksgiving

Did you know that Daniel Defoe, author of the iconic Robinson Crusoe, also wrote a chilling Journal of the Plague Year? This year’s Gratitude List is a sort of Plague Journal as well, with a five-month preface and a seven-month inventory of hidden kindnesses in changing times.

And so, from 2019’s indoor festivals to 2020’s back yard Thanksgiving, here are 578 tiny treasures from an otherwise tumultuous year:

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Coronaware: A Story of Malaise

In the beginning we had Fear.  Fear and Novelty.  And that amounted to a bracing dose of quasi-Solidarity.

The fear was first conceived as mild disinterest in a foreign malady that would never find its way Here.  It gestated in the womb of skepticism (“This will not affect us.  We are different.”) and false reassurance (“We learned from SARS.  We are prepared.”).  And then, suddenly, driving home from a normal day of work, we heard government announcements of a province-wide shut-down.  States of emergency.  Clean out your desk.  Tomorrow will be your last day.

“We heard government announcements of a province-wide shut-down.”

That was when the Fear was birthed, attended by financial panic and the stomach-gutting realization that People Would Die.  Real people.  Our people.  Right here.  Everywhere.  Store shelves emptied as the masses stockpiled toiletries in preparation for Armageddon.  Doors closed.  Everything stopped.  It was Unreality, unfolding in unreal time.  Things changed hour by hour.  We hovered, breathless, over our devices, awaiting the latest statistics.  Following the spread from one network to another, and eventually to Here.  These are “unprecedented times,” said our bewildered advisers.  We slept last night, and woke this morning in a blind Unknown.

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Out of the Closet: School Violence Revealed

Not long ago I spent my lunch hour sobbing in a closet at school.

I can’t get into the specifics of my morning, but I can give you a composite view. 

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Seasoned Greetings: The Power of One

“Happy New Year.”

We say it every year, to pretty much everyone we see, because that’s the thing to say in January.  Do we mean it?

Well, of course, to some extent.  Who doesn’t have a generic sense of goodwill towards the world at large after several weeks of holiday indulgences? Who doesn’t support the idea of a year of happiness to replace the year of whatever-it-was that just concluded?

But really, much like with “How are you?” and other empty social conventions, we aren’t particularly interested in the type of year most people have just had, nor in the particularities of the year ahead of them.  We just want a seasonal alternative to “Hi!”

We may gaze fondly at our dearly beloveds at 11:59 on December 31 and offer them our affectionate good wishes.  We may encourage those closest to us to pursue their dreams with optimism.  But in general, we settle for a blanket “Happy New Year,” spread with equal (dis)interest over great populations of distant acquaintances, and consider our festive duty done.

In my family, this annual dissimulation of goodwill has traditionally taken the form of a “Family Letter” reminding others of our largely unchanging existence; and being a literary type, I am often the one tasked with trying to make our lives sound interesting.  My earnest attempts at creativity have included detailed profiles of each family member, illustrated by elaborate collages and laced with carefully-crafted witticisms.  The resulting epistle was typically sent to Everybody, with instructions to pass it on to Everybody Else.  It was posted on social media, and maybe on my blog.  Just to make sure that Every Possible Person had access to my self-absorbed ramblings. 

But this year I did something different.

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Love in the Form of Snowsuits

Substitute teaching in a variety of locations has a way of opening one’s eyes to realities we may overlook when we spend much of our professional life in the same building. Sometimes a trip across town is a greater leap than a voyage abroad. This reflection takes a hard look at issues of equality in Canadian schools.

I recently walked into a Grade 3 French immersion classroom in a rural community.  The students greeted me with rosy cheeks and cheery smiles as they walked in the doors and peeled off their abundant snowsuits.  They immediately went about the serious business of being obedient schoolchildren.  They hung on my every word (partly because I spent a good part of the morning impersonating Red Riding Hood in French, and partly because it was their natural habit of mind). 

The most challenging students in the room were two boys who were obsessed with measuring things and doing puzzles.  I had to confiscate their tape measure at one point because they were estimating and checking when they were supposed to be writing stories.  I commented that one of the mathematicians may want to consider being an engineer one day (at this point he was using the springing function of the tape measure to carefully propel objects across his desk).  “No,” he said.  “I want to be a farmer.  My dad wants to take over my grandpa’s farm, and then I’m going to be a farmer, too.  I really want to be a farmer.”

The picture of wholesomeness.

The next day I walked into a Grade 3 classroom in an English school in an urban neighbourhood on the literal “wrong side of the tracks.”  A little girl in a pink coat was curled up in fetal position on the carpet, and remained there, unmoving, until I left.  “Give me back my g**d**m slime!” exclaimed another girl, flopped on a bean bag, grinning feverishly.  Little boys ran around in their stocking feet, sugaring themselves with Christmas treats at 9am. 

“Is there anything I should know?” I asked the teacher. 

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