Happy Birthday, Beverly Cleary!

Childhood Memory #7: The Library

Walking to the books -
How many miles did I log
going back and forth?

**********

One of Louis Darling's wonderful drawings; this one from Beezus and Ramona

I thought I was done posting haiku during this poetry challenge, but then I discovered that author Beverly Cleary is 95 today!

As a child, I lived a little less than half a mile from the library, which was then at the north edge of downtown, right next to the courthouse. The library loomed large in my childhood: it was my safe haven, it was my gateway to the world, it was one of a very few places where I felt cherished, safe, and totally free to be myself. I was a weekly visitor at any time of the year. During the summer, it was not unusual for me to make three or four trips a week to the library, sometimes two in the same day, usually on foot.

I may have been nine when I first discovered Beverly Cleary. Whether I found her on my own or whether Mrs. Judd, the archetypal librarian of my childhood, steered me Cleary's way, I cannot recall, but I do remember the first Cleary book I ever read. It was Ellen Tebbits, the story of a third grader who found her best friend in a janitorial closet where they were both hiding while they changed in and out of their dance clothes. (Read the book if you want to know why Ellen and Austine, her friend, were hiding.)

One book by Cleary and I was hooked. Otis Spofford (the wonderful bullfight chapter!), Beezus and Ramona (the applesauce!), and all the rest then available soon followed. Cleary's early works were illustrated by Louis Darling, whose detailed pen and ink drawings fascinated me almost as much as Cleary's words did. 

I missed out (the first time) on the rash of Ramona books Cleary wrote in the late 70s and early 80s. As luck would have it, after we moved back to Delaware, the girl next door one day brought over a sack of books she had "outgrown" and thought my boys might like to read. I was thrilled beyond words to find the bag was full of Beverly Cleary novels (including my beloved Ellen Tebbits), and thus I had the glorious opportunity to catch up on many of Cleary's later works that I had missed the first time around. I still have the twelve volumes we got that day and still dip into them frequently. I can never thank Bethany, then the girl next door and now a cherished friend, enough for that grocery sack of wonder.

In the 1990s, Cleary wrote two autobiographies, A Girl From Yamhill and On My Own Two Feet. These portray her childhood and adulthood up through the publication of Henry Huggins, her first book. Cleary wrote with clarity and honesty about her struggles to get an education and lead her own life despite constrained finances and the constant disapproval and opposition of her mother, themes which resonated deeply with me. They are as easy to read as her novels and I have returned to them more than once as well.

There is a wonderful line in the movie Hook (a favorite of mine), in which Captain Hook (the Captain Hook of Peter Pan fame) proclaims "What would the world be without Captain Hook?"

What would be it be indeed? That line rings true for all of the great characters of children's literature. What would the world be without Jo, Stuart, Charlotte, Laura, Harry, Dorothy, Jane, Pauline, Petrova, and Posie, Alice, Meg and Charles Wallace, Sara, Sam, Milo and Tock, Stanley, and Caddie? (Can you name the characters and the books?)

What would the world be without Beezus and Ramona?

Happy birthday, Beverly Cleary!

Useful Girl

I rarely write about books on this blog because if I did, it would just turn into a running commentary on what I am reading today, tomorrow, or two days from now.

Despite that, my thoughts today are the direct result of a recently finished novel, Useful Girl by Marcus Spence. Useful Girl is set in Montana in the 1990s, with a story inside the story set in the 1870s. The modern story follows a young woman, Erin, who has to make some major life decisions; the secondary story follows a young Cheyenne girl, Moehae, who is caught in the turmoil and violence of the Indian wars in the region.

The title comes from an evocative scene towards the end of the novel. Moehae is dying of exposure and an infected gunshot wound. Her mother cradles the feverish girl and slips silver thimbles on each finger of her daughter's right hand. She tells Moehae the thimbles are so the Great Spirit would know she could sew and was therefore a "useful girl."

It is a haunting scene. It is a haunting thought.

Am I a useful girl? I think I am. I hope I am.

Yesterday was a full day, starting the night before when I baked four apple pies. In the morning. two pies went across the back yard to our friend Kris's house, as later that day she and her family and friends were gathering to celebrate the life of her husband Tom, who died suddenly last month. The other two pies went with me to the Community Impact Council (CIC) meeting for United Way. We were meeting to determine the allocation of our United Way campaign donations, which ended up totaling more than 2.1 million dollars.

Six hours later, our work done, I rushed home from CIC, hastily changed clothes, then headed to Mansfield with Warren for a rehearsal and concert. In the break tween the two, he and I sat in his truck in the parking lot and worked on the subscription brochure for the upcoming Symphony season. Warren had a rough draft of last year's copy with the word "engage" dropped in as a possible theme. I stared unhappily at it for about 20 minutes, muttering my discontent, before I felt the tiniest tug of inspiration. We talked about it, I made some notes, and this morning I wrote a new draft with a related yet different direction.

After the concert and the hour-plus drive back home, we unloaded the gear (being married to a percussionist means there is always something to unload after a concert) and then slipped out the back and across the lawn to Kris's house. We entered through the kitchen, where Emily, the younger daughter, was seated with her grandmother. After a hard hug, she pointed us towards the hallway, saying "the concert is that way - just follow the sound of guitars."

We came upon on full room, so full we stood out in the hallway until Kate, the older daughter, found us two chairs. We could hear someone playing guitar and singing-talking his way through stories about Tom. Kris was on the couch, leaning against someone else, both tears and smiles on her face. Others in the room were calling out additions to the story. Some were laughing, some were crying, some were doing both. Earlier, Kate told us, there had been spectacular fireworks (Tom's favorite way to celebrate) in the backyard. Earlier there had been many, many friends and family and neighbors eating and talking and crying and laughing. It was a moving, heartfelt celebration of the life of Tom Prengaman and, late and tired as we were, I'm glad we shared in it, if even for a little bit.

This morning, I told Warren how moved I was by the love and friendship I saw last night at Tom's celebration and how I wanted something like that after I die. He gently said "I knew you were thinking about that," and squeezed my hand. I then shared with him the above scene from Useful Girl, saying I found myself wondering, "am I a useful girl?" and, if I was, what items would show that?

A rolling pin? A pie pan? A pen?

They say "you can't take it with you," so I probably don't need a rolling pin slipped into my hands when I die. But I hope after my death that my friends and family gather together and celebrate my pies and my writing and my love of community. I hope there is music and laughter, good food and soft moments, as Warren and the rest share stories about this useful girl.