“Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother’s house we go…”
Except for me, it was more like “we’re on the same side of the Mississippi River and just driving through the suburbs of Baton Rouge, to Maw Maw and Poppee's house we go…it’s only a ten minute drive. Can we stop at the snow-ball stand on the way, Momma?”
Me for my first Christmas along with Poppee Earl and The OG, Herbie the Elf
Going to my Maw Maw Leona and Poppee Earl’s house was almost like going to work at my own artist’s studio. Maw Maw and Poppee not only had a separate play room for us grandkids and a wood shop where my Poppee drank his coffee, blew off steam and built incredible works of art out of refurbished cypress wood but, Maw Maw had a separate area just for me and not just a physical space, more like what the millennials call “holding space”, for my artistic endeavors. It was where I created my first chef d’oeuvre at the age of seven, a children’s book called “There’s No Such Thing as a Watermelon Tree”. Where I drew pictures for hours on end. Where I practiced and perfected many a dance to Paula Abdul, Janet Jackson and NKOTB.
The cypress armoire made by Poppee.
While not an artist herself, Maw Maw was more like the facilitator for artists. She did a wonderful job of creating a welcoming, safe and inviting space for everyone. The breezeway to their backdoor was surrounded by plants that made the carport look more like a jungle which entered right into the kitchen table where Maw Maw was always reading up on the latest natural remedy or food to help find cures to everything that ails you. Their home was a place where the coffee pot was always on, the door was always open (well not literally because in South Louisiana you want to keep the AC on and the lizards out), and red beans were stored in Cool Whip containers in the freezer.
Maw Maw had a wide variety of friends, from Miss Virginia who was a fantastic baker and was the first person to introduce me to a piping bag to Miss Sheila who hand painted Santa Clauses on bowling pins and cypress wood knees that my momma would go and find four-wheeling in the swamps. And, now that I write this, while I never felt nearly the same level of warmth and compassion from him that I felt from Maw Maw, my Poppee was the king artist and creator. He was reclaiming wood before it became “a thing”. And, I would like to think he taught my momma and I everything we need to know about home improvement. We made a point to find a space in my small row home for the large cypress armoire Poppee had made for Maw Maw and that we inherited when they went to heaven. His workmanship and ingenuity would make Joanna and Chip Gaines and the Property Brothers (are they twins or not?) beg for mercy.
One day, when I was maybe nine or ten, Maw Maw took me into the playroom because she had gotten something “extra special” for me. I opened the bag and it was a set of four calligraphy pens: red, green, blue and brown. Maw Maw said, “Look, Brooke it comes with a little instruction book on how to do it.” So, I whipped out the pens - I picked blue first because cobalt blue was and still is to this day one of my “power colors” and besides - who wants a brown marker? I looked at the strategically shaped diagonal tip, shrugged my shoulders and thought I could just give it a go on the sketch pad and have my name down perfectly.
Instead, while I was trying to do the “B” and let the diagonal tip take the lead, I was doing my best to control it myself and it looked more like a left-handed witch with severe carpal tunnel syndrome had written my name. Maw Maw could tell my perfectionist self was starting to get the best of me. So, she said, “Why not try my name? Leona may work better for calligraphy because of the ‘L’?” I thought that was a great idea. So, again, I tried. And, still looked like some foreign entity was doing calligraphy instead of what I wanted it to look like. It did not look like it SHOULD. Why can’t I do this like a professional calligraphy artist? I thought I was beyond pretty decent at artistic expression?!?!?!
MawMaw, Brendon and I along with a Santa decoration - wood cut by Poppee and hand painted by Miss Sheila
So, I start getting angry at myself and I push down on the tips, I rotated from using blue to green to red (no brown) and I tried harder and harder and harder. And, as you can guess, the calligraphy didn’t get any better. Now, looking back on this memory as an adult, I empathize more with Maw Maw than with myself. Because, Maw Maw was probably thinking, “Oh Lord, I just wanted to get Brooke a fun new art project and now I’m giving her another reason to let her perfectionist self get the best of her.” Maw Maw was probably second guessing herself while I was second guessing my nearly decade long career as a young artist.
Then, Maw Maw offers another suggestion, “Brooke, I’m gonna throw this calligraphy manual away. Why not just write in YOUR handwriting instead? It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to look like theirs. You do your own thing.” Maw Maw left me alone, realizing that when I get into my mode of self hatred, sometimes the best thing to do is just step away from the beast. Hours later, I came out with different variations of everyone in our family’s names in red, green and blue: Brendon, Nanny Cecile, Anne, Bob, Momma, Dad, Earl, Poppee, Sara, Jimmy, David, Jerome, Aunt Dee, Mimi, Leona, Maw Maw, Maw Maw Lony and of course the dogs too: Matthew, Sniffy, Peter, Fagan, Chloe. The names didn’t look perfect. And, they sure as all get out didn’t look like calligraphy. But, they looked like they were written with love and soul, fun and freedom. And, they were. Maw Maw said, “Now, that’s what I’m talking about. Keep doing more.”
My cousin Brendon acting like a guitar cowboy and me, trying to act like The American Girl Doll Samantha, probably. Poppee made the rocking horses.
And, I kept doing more for years and years and in fact used those pens to take notes in school so Maw Maw could always be with me even after she passed away when I was sixteen. The cobalt calligraphy pen was the first to dry up, followed by the red and then finally the green. The brown one was the only one left my senior year in high school. So, I thought why not uncap it? And, that brown calligraphy pen went everywhere with me: from high school in Louisiana to college in New York to summers in North Carolina to my first apartment in Brooklyn and my second apartment in Brooklyn to my home in Jersey City where it laid its last inking a few years ago. It became my most cherished of all calligraphy pens or of any of my markers, pens or pins (that’s how you say “pen” in a Southern accent), for that matter.
And, now that all the pens are gone, I will just keep those memories with me whenever I’m faced with fear of perfection or embarking on a new creative endeavor, or the combo platter of both. I will remember that creation runs in my genes from my Poppee and that when I second guess myself for not being able to be perfect or someone’s idea of perfect, that I can always just do it MY way. I know Maw Maw would approve.
Maw Maw and Poppee at my momma and dad’s wedding. August 1980
Right before I started typing this, I searched frantically in hopes that I would find the brown calligraphy pen. Maybe I had saved it for old time’s sake. But, I do clearly remember throwing it away with love and thanking it (I did this even before Marie Kondo told us too, y’all.) Perhaps there is a heaven for old art supplies, too and my brown calligraphy pen is now up there with Maw Maw and Poppee and they are up there writing their names with me, imperfectly, of course.
Happy Birthday in Heaven, Maw Maw !
A close up of the handles on the armoire Poppee made. Maw Maw picked these out. It’s all in the details.
