Spirit of Southern Belle, Part 3: The Library

Always the avid reader, Mawzy worked for a stint at the library in our small town. I was 11 or 12 then, and my little sister and I would ride our bikes there every single day of summer since we didn't have a permanent babysitter. Most kids would hate being told to stay at the library all day. I'm positive my sister was bored out of her gourd, but I loved it.

The old Lacombe Library where I spent my summers (the branch moved to a new, bigger site in 1993)

I relished the five minute bike ride there. We took empty back roads that were paved around hundred year old oak trees. Those trees were majestic, towering high above us with moss hanging low enough to tickle my face as I cruised by. Sometimes I would just look up at them amazed that it only took one to provide a vast canopy, shading us from the scorching Louisiana sun.

Lacombe, LA Oaks... it was easy to appreciate trees here.

I loved the way the scent of old books was like fresh air. The small storage room was just large enough for me to practice my dances in on days when hardly anyone visited this magical place. I spent hours getting lost in books, helping facilitate the summer reading programs and plays, and helping to re-stock books once they were checked in. I learned the Dewey Decimal System long before its details came up in school. Nancy Drew, my childhood hero, became a daily friend - I read the entire series in the course of a little over a year. Books that were banned for various reasons made their way to Mawzy's house, and much much later, to mine.

Mawzy gave me these old discarded books for Julien when I got pregnant. They still smell like the old library!

And it was inside those walls I got to read the Sweet Valley High books, mine and Mawzy's little secret, since at home it was strictly forbidden. Mom only let me read Sweet Valley Twins, the middle school stories that took place before Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield started kissing boys. But Mawzy told me that if I read them at the library and left them there, then it was okay. She was so cool.

One day I came up with the perfect plan to bring Sweet Valley High home and not get caught. The middle school books had larger covers, so I thought it'd be easy to hide the high school one inside the middle school one and feign innocence as I learned what high school would (supposedly) be like. I decided to execute my clever plan in the backseat of Mom's minivan. I got busted on the first go. Mawzy and I were both in trouble, but it was two against one, and I think we won that particular argument because I don't remember Mom making such a big deal out of it after that.

This was the first time I remember Mawzy having my back. What I didn't know at the time was just how much of a support system she would become for me during the bigger trials of my life.

To be continued...

Spirit of a Southern Belle, Part 2: The Yard

"Swing low, sweet  chariot

Comin' for to carry me home"

I couldn't have been older than 5. Mawzy and I would sit on the front porch swing basking in the tranquility of the morning while eating peanuts straight out of the Planter's jar, singing Sweet Chariot, a tune from 1909 that gained popularity in the 60's during the Civil Rights struggle. I'd always chime in on the chorus because it's the one part I could always remember. It's the only song I ever recall her singing.

Sweet Chariot by Etta James

Perhaps she preferred listening to the birds twitter. She had more bird houses than anyone I've ever known. They were scattered throughout the front and back yards, and one entire dining room wall was hidden behind a shelf cluttered with them. She'd bring in old nests from the trees and place fake eggs in them to add charm to her impressive collection. Anytime I asked her what she wanted for Christmas, it was always a new bird house or feeder.

Or something lavender. She loved the scent. She had a real appreciation for all flowers - there were countless times she'd send me outside late in the afternoon to watch the 4 o'clocks blooming just off the back porch. But she really loved roses. She introduced me to The Secret Garden, a film about mystery, magic, friendship, love and overcoming that which limits us. I watched it (the 1987 version) again and again in my youth. I had a hat similar to Mary Lennox's, and I would roam through the yard in whatever dress I could find pretending to be her. About three years ago Mawzy sent me back to Austin with her copy of the book.

The Secret Garden (1987) Trailer

I couldn't possibly count the hours my cousins and I spent playing in that ginormous yard - hide and seek, soccer, Easter egg hunts, climbing the tree in the front yard, riding on the three wheelers, catching lizards to wear as earrings which never worked out how it was supposed to, playing "doctor" - the last of which was apparently a big no no past a certain age.

Mawzy's house today

A small portion of the land she called home

I think my generation might be the last to have vivid memories of playing outside. I was lucky because I developed a close relationship with Mother Nature on a quiet plot of land surrounded by a thick forest of tall pines. Those imaginative days early in my life are probably the reason I'm such a dreamer today. I was introduced to beauty and peace by my Mawzy, and it is of vital importance to me that my son experiences the same. I will follow in her footsteps and make certain he knows it is in places such as these that he will always find comfort, soul cleansing and joy, no matter his age.

The quiet road leading to Mawzy's house

To be continued...