Crossing a line

I walked into the children’s library

(Prefer to listen to the full/longer podcast version? Pull up Episode 492 of the Creativity Matters Podcast.)

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.” T.S. Eliot

Happy Sunday! 

I sat on Saturday morning, propped against the pillows on the couch, with my keyboard and iPad propped on top, and I wrote. I edited. I pondered. I cut. I rearranged. I wrangled.

I looked out the window at the bright sky and thought about going to the library. I thought back to last March when I was posting daily poetry as I sat at the table looking out the window. Everything circles and spirals, just enough different and yet full of echoes.

I thought I might record this one, a compromise with myself for keeping it short, but the day got away from me. Maybe I’ll add it later.

Last week, when I wanted to mention the Hilda books (Hilda with her blue hair and deer-fox sidekick), I crossed a line I haven’t crossed in a long time.

I walked into the children’s library.

I reserve children’s books often. Picture book illustration has always been a staple thread in the overall creative mix on my blog, my podcast, and now here at Illustrated Life. I love children’s books. But I don’t go to the children’s library anymore.

I can’t remember when the last time I stepped across that threshold was. It might as well be hidden behind a wall of clothes in a magical wardrobe I can no longer see. There are signs, of course. The children’s library is reserved for children and their adults.

The teen library has signs, too, and between certain hours, you can’t sit in that area. (That’s where the cool pirate pillow chair is that I drew in my weekly list panel a few weeks ago.) I don’t sit there, but I routinely visit that section. The graphic novel shelf is right along an edge where I can easily browse without feeling like an interloper. (I just don’t look anyone in the eye.)

The children’s library is another story.

The children’s library is…. off limits.

I hate that. I know, I know, I know. I know it’s to create a safe space and also to prevent regular patrons from camping out at the tables there. I know it is to prevent lurking. There have been people at the library who have felt unsafe to me. (I left the library early several times last fall when I was going once a week at night because of a patron who scared me.) The children’s library definitely needs to be a protected space. I know they probably wouldn’t question an elderly female adult stepping in to find books to take home. I don’t wear a badge on my shirt that says children grown and sort of flown, after all.

But in my head, the children’s library is a no-go for wandering.

When I pulled up the Hilda books on the library website on my phone while I was there, sitting in the chairs by the fireplace near teens, who were casually (and laughably) flirting, shoe tapping, and showing off their academic knowledge, and other elderly people who sit in that area to read the international newspapers, the online catalog made it seem like the book might be on the shelves at the branch I was at. (This is a big library system, with more than 25 branches. Putting books on hold is easy and efficient. It will arrive in a few days. Generally, this is much more practical than looking on the shelves for something specific.)

It was near closing time, so I decided to take a quick look. I hated to not put my hands on Hilda if it was sitting there. I had my summary notes from last fall when I read the series, but if a right-now response was possible, that’s what I wanted.

I wandered into the empty children’s section, breath held, waiting for buzzers and flashing lights to go off, I guess. I tried not to look like I was slinking around the shelves. I tried to look nonchalant and, at the same time, invisible. I tried to look like I knew what I was looking for. I tried to look like I wasn’t breaking a rule by walking into this bright space, like I still was a card-carrying member of the club.

I used to go to the children’s library (at a different branch) all the time without any hesitation. At that point though, I really did have kids, even if they weren’t with me.

In my head, that made it different. I had a reason to be in the children’s library. If I had grandchildren, I guess I would have no qualms about browsing the children’s library now. Funny how these lines we draw and how we interpret the rules are very much internal.

(Maybe this is about how we respond to rules in general. I sat a second time through a really long traffic light on the way home because it didn’t seem wise to follow the police car in front of me through the yellow light.)

I looked, and I didn’t find Hilda (which is quite oversized) anywhere. I stumbled over a trio of books that intrigued me though, and I brought them home for a quick read.

I wanted to linger. I wanted to stand and pull out books. I wanted to be enchanted. I wanted to be pulled into the wonder of storybook art. I wanted to still be in the early years of my podcast when I talked about all kinds of children’s books and read all kinds of books with my kids. I wanted to still have regularly-bad eyesight so that I could read the titles of the books on the bottom shelves.

Crossing that line felt strange.

For so many years, the children’s library felt like an inviting space, but we age out.

The children’s playground is similarly off limits. There are signs, of course. Adults must be accompanied by children.

Sadly, we need these safeguards. They serve a purpose.

When I walk the small loop by the pharmacy, I have to walk through the playground at the end of each circle. As I always say, I enjoy the blue spongy surface. I deliberately walk off the concrete path to swerve across that bouncy blue. But I don’t linger. I don’t slow down. I see all the parents sitting on the perimeter, valid because they have children running around somewhere, legitimized in their little clusters.

I keep walking.

I would hesitate to sit in a playground and draw.

The week was a spiral of not fitting in, clothes, a mind-boggling work meeting conversation, substack roundups, and more. This week raised questions of belonging, of margins, of being on the outside, of being cold-shouldered, ghosted, of feeling invisible.

The children’s library last week was a simple thing, a strange moment of recognition. It pulls at an internal thread. It evokes memory and introspection.

Something I read this week set me off on a longer romp about labels and categories and fitting in. Maybe it will still seem worth talking about some other week. (I’m trying to get better about paring down.)

I was behind a car today with a bumper sticker that said: “I stoop for sea glass.”

Thank you for reading.

Amy

(You can click through to read in the app or a browser. I think it probably looks better that way.)

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Update on the 100 Days Diary Comic Affirmations Project

We are now through week seven of the 100 Day Project, amazingly enough. Yesterday was day 35. In the last two weeks, I’ve played with some whimsical pieces and some small sequences rather than standalone panels. I’ve experimented with some simplified scenes and metaphors beyond the talking head. I have a few favorites in this set, a few favorite heads and a few favorite affirmations. There are a few that didn’t turn out quite as expected. There is one detail in this set that I love but that no one really noticed. There is a lot of color. There are some really quirky faces. But, I am still enjoying the daily art.

Here’s a zoomed-out look at the last fourteen days. (There is a watermark running through. Just overlook it.)

Weeks 4 and 5, days 22-35, of my 2024 100 Day Project - Diary Comic Affirmations. A Cowen. ©️ All rights reserved.

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Illustrated Journal Week 12 for 2024

This is a glimpse of part of my pages for Week 12 of Illustrate Your Week 2024. I did the portrait in our drawing group last Sunday, inspired by the 3-D day on the calendar. The rest of the spread fills in at night over the course of the week, a combination of prompt response and daily notes.

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The Weekly Bits and Pieces

💭 100 Day Project / Comic Affirmations 29-35

🎯🖋️ Week 13 prompts for your illustrated journal

🎧 Old podcast: Episode 323: Storybook Portraits

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Writers to Read

I share broadly. Here are some posts from other writers and artists that I enjoyed in the last week or so:

• Are you feeling stressed today? (

  Elizabeth Beggins
  )

• Dementia Didn't Play The Winning Card – I Did (I went on after reading this to listen to Wendy’s book, Somebody I Used to Know)

• Read Me A Story (

  Nan Tepper
  )

• Substacks about comics! Part 1

• Lynda! Barry! (wonderful photos of her classroom, too)

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Delightful books picked up last week in the children’s library.

Three of these are from a series called Tales from the Hidden Valley by Carles Porta. The books all start with this lovely passage: “Hidden far away between tall mountains, there lies a secret valley. You could pass it a hundred times and still not see it, unless you knew just where to look.”

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Made It?

Thank you for reading.

• As we move into this final week of March, is there something you still need to do?

• Are you a library person? Do you sit? Do you browse? Do you rush in to pick up your reserves and leave?

• Three favorite “l” words?

• What, if any, challenges are you encountering in your illustrated journals?

If you enjoy Illustrated Life, I hope you will restack, share, or recommend. I could use the word-of-mouth.

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