Copse and Spinney

I’ve been blessed with a strong memory and for whatever reason, synesthesia. That is the phenomenon of seeing numbers, letters, and for some people keys of music, as inherently colored.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night I think of things I wish to write about. Ray Bradbury advises in his book “Zen in the Art of Writing” that to become a writer, you should write everyday. Make a habit of it. Remember places, sounds, smells, feelings, and use descriptive language. I don’t consider myself an amazing writer. But still I write. I love to ponder the things that are stored up for some reason and imagine writing a book. Even an autobiography. But then I wonder, “Who would ever want to read it?” Is this too, a chasing after the wind?

My Grandmother Mimi, a journalist, owned a writing service. She wrote articles for newspapers, short stories, interviews, and was working on several books when she passed away. Some were about Texas History, in which she was well educated. During her well rounded career, she had been the acquisitions librarian for the University of Texas in Austin, for a number of years, followed by being a teacher, as well as a personal secretary in the Texas Capitol for the House of Representatives.

_{This photo of Congress Ave, in Austin Texas in the 1950’s is one that I found in Mimi’s stash of photos.}

But by the time I came along, my grandparents were already retired. Their house felt familiar, yet mysterious; full of secret passageways and spooky antiques. There was a wooded area behind the yard and a tree house that was built in a huge oak tree. It was a very special tree house that my dad and Paw Paw built together when Dad was a boy. We couldn’t go in every time we visited, but occasionally, my dad took us up there. It was intact just as he had left it as a kid. The tree house was closed in on all sides and had real windows that rolled out. There was a makeshift couch from an old car, old posters from the 1950’s, a working record player and small furniture inside.

_{(Pictured above a group of neighborhood kids make their way up the ladder to the tree house. 1959)}

Our visits to Mimi and Paw Paw’s almost always included a ham sandwich set on a full size paper towel for a plate. (She didn’t want to have to do dishes!) There was one place setting for me and one for my brother, Carl. The sandwich was accompanied by a small helping of Doo Dads. (Remember those? They seem to have been replaced by Chex Mix). She gave us each three Chips Ahoy and a small jelly jar of Tang to wash it all down. The jelly jars she served them in had Archie Comics printed on them. To refresh the glasses which had had the scent of old cabinets, she always re-washed the cups that were in the cabinets before making the Tang. (A powdery orange drink mixed with water and shaken vigorously.) Carl got the jar with Archie and Jughead but Mimi always gave me the cup with Veronica!

Although I loved Mimi, I didn’t get to know her as well as I wanted to, because she passed away when I was in my early teen years. Still, there are little things that remind me of her. I see her in the eyes of my daughter, and my dad. Something about their smile and a little twinkle in their eyes, their wit and sense of humor. I remember that her home had a library full of books on shelves, floor to ceiling. Mysterious trinkets and oddities found and placed strategically on the inch or two of space in front of the books. You dared not move them as she was sure to notice even the smallest change. The writing desk faced a window with a red-berried Pyracantha bush draped the view.

My favorite occupation while at Mimi and Paw Paw’s house was to try to sneak around and get a glimpse of all of Mimi’s “pretties” as she called them.

Pretties were anything from dusty glass figurines of tiny dogs and kittens, or French style ladies with umbrellas and carriages; a miniature pram with a half and inch baby dolls inside that were made of ivory; a teeny wooden treasure chest. “Don’t touch my pretties.” she chided but in an endearing tone. Then she would say, “Come in yonder and sit on the divan.” She loved to throw in French words every now and then. She was fluent in several languages.

To redirect me, she brought out stacks of Paw Paw’s leftover engineering paper and set it on the floor for me to draw. The dusty rose colored embossed carpet felt hard and gritty like it had been there for forty years, but I didn’t care too much. Mimi had a fairy tale book that she let me use as inspiration for my drawings. (I wish I knew who published it.) Near the opening page there was an illustration of a pyramid shaped mountain that rose all the way to the moon! At the top, near the moon a little gnome was digging. I thought, “How is he going to dig all the way down to the bottom?” The pages were filled with castles, princesses, princes, and knights, and that is what I liked to draw. In a world of complete imagination, I drew ladies with crowns and puffy sleeves, princess cut dresses with bustles, and lace. One time, I could not seem to get the fingers right and they just began to go up the ladies’ arm. As my mom tells the story, she said, “She sure is pretty, Laura, but the fingers are going up onto her arm.” (The other arm must have been hidden strategically behind her back). “Oh”, I replied, wistfully. “Then, let it be lace!”