Lesson One: Reflection in the third person

She was the first person to enter the classroom (as usual), choosing the usual table, the usual seat with the usual suspects. However among all this "usual" there were definite signs of the new. Papers scattered across tables, new ‘zines to read, information on the whiteboards and even the lecturers new hairstyle.

She sat patiently watching the film instructions of how to make a book, all the while edging her hands closer and closer to the materials to being. In her usual fashion she went into the activity with gusto only to have a step back and ask one of the usual suspects for confirmation. This was the perfect way to engage her, hands on learning involving craft and strict instructions- this was what she enjoyed about her learning.

Once her little piece of literature was designed she nestled into her chair ready to read "blast from the past" with a pen and highlighter handy for annotations. Soon however, she became engaged in the article but for the wrong reasons. She began to think about her own grandfather’s passing- wondering if he knew how much she loved him as the author described letters demonstrating outward affection. Had she done this enough for her grandfather? By the time she had entered her academic brain again, it was time to move on.

"What a mess" was a phrase she had heard all too often. From teachers at school regarding her hand writing, her mother, regarding the state of her bedroom or her boyfriend, regarding an attempt to cook therefore this writing prompt lead to a flood of ideas. Her mind was speeding through ideas, font styles and illustrations. She scrawled on draft papers and nibbled on the end of her pen until time was up.

Turning her brain back to the academic mode she sat, slightly alarmed at the prospect of writing. What was she going to write, a reflection that much was true however writing in third person? The anxiety began to bubble until her fingertips hit the keyboard. The words flowed like water as she began to put her words into action “to learn to write is to practice writing.”

Once home she began the arduous task of logging onto and navigating her way around pebble pad. Once in she began the ritualistic clicking on links that Wendy had provided. The national year of reading, why had she not heard of this? She likes reading, she’s planning on being a teacher, how did she miss this and on the flip side- she wondered how many schools had missed this?  

Navigating her way around the State Library webpage she remembered fondly her many visits- particularly taking the kinder children to the look exhibit. She made a promise to herself to go there more often as she always noted its beauty but merely walked past it often. She also had to force herself to look into their events more often. Somehow we seem to forget about libraries for excursion locations, favouring museums and cinemas, but why?