When in Doubt, Go to the Library

“Harry — I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library!”
And she sprinted away, up the stairs.
“What does she understand?” said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.
“Loads more than I do,” said Ron, shaking his head.
“But why’s she got to go to the library?”
“Because that’s what Hermione does,” said Ron, shrugging. “When in doubt, go to the library.” 

---  J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Like Hermoine, I head to the library when I find myself in doubt.  It is a place of answers.  When I was pregnant with my first child, it was from What to Expect when You’re Expecting that I checked out from my local Wimberley Village Library (WVL) that I came to understand the changes I was experiencing during that exciting, but frightening time.  As a young mother, Friday story time was the answer to my prayers – allowing me to bond with other moms and my babies in a calm, nurturing environment.  As my kids aged, the summer reading programs kept my girls engaged, and later, gave them a chance to volunteer.  When the time came that my daughters were off with their own plans, the library again answered a need in finding myself.  I had come to doubt who I was beyond a wife and mother.  The library offered me classes, social interactions, lectures, volunteer opportunities… chances to discover who I am now, what interests me, where my passions lie, and how I might positively impact my community.  

I have learned that our dear library (as most libraries have evolved) provides many meaningful solutions to those looking for work, for a work out, for a fun night at the movies, for friendships, for book clubs, for making crafts, for learning a new language, for trying new foods, for professional advice, for a reliable internet connection, and for finding yourself. 

Manatee Encounter on Florida's Gulf Coast

I sit on the shore of this Gulf Coast island populated with seashells and simple creatures of the sand.  An umbrella gives shade while I read.  My six year old had been wading in the shallows looking at living sand dollars for close to an hour when she yelped in surprise and fear.  Responding to her cries, we discover a manatee has floated up to her knees, curious of her stillness.  The manatee withdraws with our intrusion, and my Sophia and her father head down the beach in search of other manatees.  I return to my reading; totally engrossed in the last chapter of The Book Thief.  My heart is weeping; I’m stunned with loss.  I read the last lines and slowly close the book.  As I do, I look up toward the horizon and my eye meets those of the manatee.  She has returned, drawn to the mystery that connects us all to the deep well of emotion.  She knows my pain.  The shared exchange of gathered thoughts lasts for several minutes and reminds me that we are all family.  Within spirit, we are never alone.

Grandma's Kitchen Table

The screen door squeaks and bangs shut. The kitchen counter wraps about the walls with the green Formica table centered in the room.  In the oven is a pork roast.  A pot of rice is on the stove top.  Sweet tea is brewing.  Grandma’s small water glass sits in the kitchen window, always within easy reach.  Grandma is humming “In the Sweet Bye and Bye”  while shelling peas.  She sits in a green office chair on wheels so that with a push she can collect a bottle from the refrigerator, then push again to glide to the sink and deposit a spoon.  It is a sensible, but playful pleasure.  I hear the windchimes tell me I am home.  I am young here where no words are needed.  No idleness tolerated, but never a rush.  The steady rhythm of life that lives in this marshy heat lulls me into a thin sleep, too warm for deep dreams.  Here are roots that secure me to my ancestry.  I know who I am, what is expected of me.  There is a clarity in Grandma’s presence.