I’ve long finished the year with a list of what made it a better year than it could have been. I’ve always hedged it so carefully, not wanting to label a year “good” or “bad,” when it was so often both, and everything in between. All I have ever been willing to say is, in the words of George Eliot, that there are a handful of people, circumstances and objects, because of which “things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been” (Middlemarch). I’ll never know what this year would have been like otherwise, and by some measures this year had enough disappointments of its own, but still, at the end of it, I find myself thankful for the year it was, and everything that made it so.
“Things to Make and Do”: Many years ago, a friend gave me a journal by the excellent Washington paper artist Nikki McClure, called Things to Make and Do. Though I’ve long since filled the journal, I still start each year by making a list of the same name. They’re not resolutions, particularly, but rather a list of mostly fun and sometimes challenging things I hope to work on in the year. It’s always a wide range of adventures—this year’s list included both poaching an egg (which I failed to do… yet!) and applying to graduate school (which I did)—but I always love squinting into the January stillness and imagining what might bring growth and delight in the coming years, then looking back afterwards. (I realizing that I’ve included a list on my list. Many apologies. It won’t happen again.)
Writing: Though I cannot claim this was the most prolific writing year of my life, it was certainly one of the more varied ones. In April, I self-published a poetry collection called Small Prints, mostly as a personal commemoration of the six years of intense child-raising that were drawing to a close as my youngest began Kindergarten. A month later, I began a Masters in Literacy, pulling myself back into the world of academic writing and wrestling with the foreign language of the American Psychological Association (APA) style manual. From the lawless land of my own poems or the rigid world of APA formatting, writing continues to bring joy, challenge and satisfaction in all its forms.
Villages: We left Germany a long time ago now, and while there are some things we haven’t stopped missing (cheap, delicious pretzels, wine… basically everything), this was a year of realizing the intricate and close-knit communities that surround us here, even in a mid-sized American city. Ironically for something that I appreciate most in its embodied form, I see these communities in a series of text threads, circles of friends, neighbors and family members that overlap in a glorious mess. Whether for last-minute dinner invitations or being the person who rescues a package from a porch, I feel honored to be both a trusted and trusting member of this community, and looking forward to deepening these relationships in the coming year.
Ink: Many years ago, I set a deadline for myself to get a certain tattoo. The deadline was my 40th birthday, so now I’m the proud possessor of a gloriously leafless tree, reminder of the constancy of identity through many seasons of change.
Schools: This was the year that saw our family officially bid preschool farewell. Though I don’t miss paying tuition, I’ve been wildly thankful for our family’s experience in these strange years that my children were preschoolers, which included a transcontinental move and a global pandemic. After much email-writing and one critical phone call with our massive urban school district, our youngest was able to transfer into her sister’s elementary school shortly after this school year began, putting both girls in a school that we all love. With the beginning of graduate school for me and a church history class for my husband, this puts all four Dahlstroms in school this year!
Books: At the behest of Goodreads, I’ve been making reading goals for a while, gently prodding myself from one to two books a month as I sought a renaissance of recreational reading in my post-baby world. Between reading to kids, reading for school, and reading for fun, this year I managed to read nearly 60 books! Some favorites:
- Read-Aloud: The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, by Kate DiCamillo
- Middle Grade (ages 8-12): The Vanderbeekers of 141st Street, by Katrina Yan Glaser
- Young Adult: Twelfth Knight, by Olvie Blake
- Grad School Reading (really!): Howl’s Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones
- Classic: North and South, by Elizabeth Gaskell
- Read with Friends: I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith
- Non-Fiction: Never Enough: When Achievement Culture Becomes Toxic-and What We Can Do About It, by Jennifer Breheny Wallace
Aging: While I have no illusions that entering a new decade makes me some kind of aging expert, more than ever I’ve found myself surrounded by dear friends who affirm the confidence and beauty available with experience. A former neighbor gave me a lampshade for my birthday, with a tag attached exclaiming “FORTY IS THE BEST.” So far, I have every reason to believe her.
Headphones: The unsung hero of graduate school has been my on-their-last-legs of Apple AirPods, who have delivered educational psychology lectures, philosophy textbook readings, and a genuine pile of children’s literature while I cooked, folded laundry, and generally got on with life while beginning another one on top of it. I hereby express my thanks to the makers of wireless headphones, which have facilitated the ongoing functioning of our family life this fall. I have also discovered, literally years later than everyone else, that audiobooks are more rewarding than podcasts, at least six times out of ten, burnishing even the most boring dinner preparation with the glow of a good tale.
Pomegranates: In November, when life was a bit depressing for many reasons and one especially, I posited that while it’s a coincidence that elections and pomegranates arrive in the season, the latter provides a bit of balm for the former. “There are worse consolations,” I reflected with too much solemnity, “than beautiful fruit.” I stand by it, armed for the coming year (or at least the coming month) with a bowl full of jewel-toned deliciousness.
Gathering: I usually pick a word for the year in January somewhat capriciously, and then forget about it for most of the year. (Case in point: In 2020, my word was share. SHARE. We all had fevers for the month of January—which we shared, I suppose—and then from March onward we just never saw anyone again. Though I hesitate to label any year, I’ll go out on a limb and say that 2024 was a better year than 2020.) This year, my word was gather, which I’d forgotten about until now, when I made this list of all the things that made this year beautiful. Because honestly, it was the gatherings of people that I’ll remember from this year, that linger at its close like cherished last guests at a party. I’ll remember friends who met at a pub to discuss a 100-year-old novel over french fries and red wine. I’ll remember an end of school barbecue, a summer of kids splashing in lake water, of introducing friends from different circles and sharing sunscreen and inflatable toys. I’ll remember a stellar backyard birthday party, miraculously dry in November, with a campfire and a tent and kids eating hotdogs and making beaded bracelets. The loneliness of the pandemic feels far away now, most of the time, but close enough that I still marvel that we get to do this. That we get to live in such close proximity the people who make this life sweet, that we’ve been given enough to share. I don’t know what the next year holds, not really. But I hope and pray that it is more of this.
Happy New Year to my friends, near and far!
The Way Home 
Hi Kristi,
âNoch malsâ, an enjoyable read, evoking warmth on the inside. Thanks!
Godâs continued guidance & blessings to the Gaster 4 in 2025!
Greetings from the warmth of Kandern!
Helen
Hi Kristi,
I was in your English class in 2011 and I have very fond memories of it!
I just wanted to comment to say I have also discovered the joy of pomegranates in 2024! They’ve become a staple breakfast treat/puzzle to solve in the mornings while they’re in stock at Aldi. I started eating them due to them being featured in the Halls of the Dead from the one of my favorite books Every Heart a Doorway by Seanan McGuire!
May your 2025 contain more of this bittersweet fruit.
Noelle Leigh