Miss Read

In my reading in "Village School" by Miss Read, I discovered a thumbnail sketch of her writing philosophy. The tiny concept follows a telling of the funeral for the school manager on a fine spring day, and of her, the schoolteacher's decision to read to the children from The Wind In The Willows, during the time of the funeral. Miss Read writes:
"Out there, in the churchyard, the black silent figures would be standing immobile around the dark hole. Above them, no less black, the rooks would be wheeling and crying, unheeded by the mourners. They would stand there, heads downbent, with who knows what emotions stirring them...pity, regret, the realization of the swiftness of life's passage, the inevitability of death. While here, in the classroom, sitting in a golden trance, our thoughts were of a sun-dappled stream, of willows and whiskers, of water-bubbles and boats...and, I venture to think, that of all those impressions which were being made on that spring afternoon, ours, for all their being transmitted, as it were second-hand, would be more lasting in their fresh glory.
"Thoughts by a graveside are too dark and deep to be sustained for any length of time. Sooner or later the hurt mind turns to the sun for healing, and this is as it should be, for otherwise, what future could any of us hope for, but madness?"

The book, Village School, was copyrighted in 1956, a mere 9 years after the horrors of World War II. During Christmas break, Amanda, Michael, Bernie and I were talking about the influenza pandemic of 1918 which took so many lives. My own grandparents were sickened by it, but survived. Michael mentioned that it was amazing to him that this was such a devastating incident and yet one which was little talked about. We wondered if it was because the epidemic followed so closely on the heels of World War I and families were still reeling from the losses of that war. To put upon them the thoughts of these senseless additional losses from the ranks of their young and strong, was too much to bear. So it just wasn't discussed. They put it behind them and tried to move on, lumping the flu victims with the war victims.

I relate to Dora Saint's (aka Miss Read) writing mission. I am not demeaning the need to seriously consider ramifications for our actions, corporate or personal, and I am not endorsing shallow thinking. However, when I sit down to read, I do not want to be shoulder another set of unsolvable problems. I am surrounded by unsolvable problems already. I do not want to shoulder the sorrow of the world's inequities by hearing anymore about them. I have a sensitive nature that does not need to be brow beaten by humanity's inate viciousness. I would rather offset the dire by the recognition that we take ourselves altogether too seriously sometimes and it there is definately a time to laugh and enjoy the moment.

That is what I am wanting to do in these years of my life: enjoy the moments and treasure what the moment shows me, knowing that it will pass all too quickly.