#may the mistress of transition and change guide you through these trying times

[oxybatenatrium]

I wish a very good and pleasant Azura summoning day for everyone who celebrate

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Why? ~ F.W. (Part 11)

A/n: I MISSED THIS SERIES!! And writing in general? I've been having rough times and a half (you know, the usual). Also, I'm writing a full fledged fanfic that I've got one part out on... but already has become my biggest tag list I've had on a story yet. Ahhhhh the magic of Reddie... Between that and stuff I'm running on tiktok (I'm a cosplayer), work and trying to get my shit in order, I just haven't had the emotional capability of writing. But here is my peace offering- The next part of a series that has no demand but one I enjoy writing! Lol I'm so sorry. PLease enjoy...

P.S. The author's note felt too long, so I made a second note section oof big sorry. I just wanted to say that if I have come up with a name for the Orphanage Headmisress in the past, I'm sorry because I'm changing it. Yeah okay xx

Word Count: 4000+

MASTERLIST

The moment I saw her face, my heart stopped. Well, it stopped beating. To make up for the stillness, it proceeded to shoot into my throat and cut off any and all functions. No air or words came out, and with this blockage came an inner chaos. No thoughts. No movement. I stopped dead and just stared at her with true fear. From the abrupt change, you'd think I was staring down a Dementor. But, in that moment, I realized that I'd actually rather be staring down a nightmare demon about to suck my soul out and leave me in a state worse than dead than to be watching the Headmistress of the Orphanage approach me.

Cedric, next to me, placed a hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay, Liv?" His face was screwed up in gentle confusion and concern. I wanted to answer, but I couldn't. My brain was reeling and I managed to shake my head no for far too long... She was in front of us.

"Ylva." It seemed she had given some attempt at a warm greeting for the benefit of the strangers next to me, but had failed miserably. She was too cold and full of hate- all of it towards me.

"Ms. Ravana." The name sounded almost like an exclamation of horror, if it wasn't so quiet and soft. She seemed to almost smile. My fear fueled her. It had been a long time since I hadn't been desensitized to her.

Cedric's hand moved to my other shoulder, his arm resting on my shoulders and pulling me into his side. He pulled me a little behind him, like he was trying to both hide me and comfort me at the same time. "And you would be?" His tone was polite but his expression was hard.

The Headmistress turned her onyx eyes on the young Hufflepuff. Seeing him next to the very old Headmistress made him seem even younger. She was tall and girthy and for a moment it seemed like if she blew a breath it would knock Cedric over. He seemed so small... like a child.

Despite my sudden fear for the boy who had become the older brother I'd always needed, I found that I was trying to hide myself as well. I really was a coward.

"I'm Headmistress Ravana. I'm here to collect Ylva."

"For what?" This time it was Amos who spoke.

Headmistress looked bored. "She is part of my orphanage. Her school has ended. She has been off at other places, but it's time she came home. We..." Despite my cowering and Cedric's attempt to cover me, her eyes still found mine. I shivered. Cedric's hold on me tightened even more. "Missed her," Headmistress finally finished.

"I don't think-" Cedric began.

"I don't really care what you do or don't think." Her tone had sharpened. "Legally, she belongs to me, and therefore what I say goes. I have let her escape to strangers' houses, but she will be returning to me now." Her thin pretenses were gone. She had lost her patience. She held her hand out to me, palm up. Cedric went to push me further away from her but his father stopped him, placing his hand on Cedric's shoulders as the Hufflepuff had done for me moments before. Like father like son I suppose. What had I picked up from my father? Were these genetic things or learned? At the end of the day, was I more like Sirius Black, my mother... or Headmistress?

Headmistress flexed her fingers, hurrying me to come along. I swallowed before prying my stiff fingers off of Cedric jumper before awkwardly moving to her. My body was still locked so the movement was hard. "Thank you," I managed through a clogged throat. "For offering me a place to stay, before I was recalled." By the way Cedric and Amos were looking at me, I knew they could see through my weak attempts with ease. Amos looked helpless. Cedric looked down right nauseated. "I wold ask that you please let the others know I will not be visiting later in the Summer as originally planned."

Headmistress gripped the back of my neck. So different from the gentle, protective, even guiding shoulder touch. Worlds apart even from the way Cedric's arms had rested on my shoulders protectively. She was putting a control on me. A silent threat. An unspoken statement of dominance. Ownership. Like putting a collar on a dog. "Come now." I did as she said.

I was not permitted to write letters over the Summer. Whether by some genius insight or by accident, in the heat of the tense interaction, Cedric, Amos and I had all forgotten that my things were in the cart Amos had offered to push for me, so I didn't take it back to the orphanage with me. They didn't send any of it either, which I appreciated. I saw Shadow out the window one night when I couldn't sleep, perched on my window sill expectantly. I turned away and ignored the letter in his claws. I couldn't chance Headmistress finding a letter in my room- no matter how much I wanted to read it, or how much I was dying to talk to someone outside of the Orphanage.

It wasn't any different than it had been all my life before Hogwarts. If anything, it might have been a little worse. Headmistress gave me even more work, and was even more harsh when I didn't obey. By the end of the Summer, I was in very bad shape. I was wearing the same clothes I'd worn when Headmistress had pulled me away from Amos and Cedric. I'd cleaned them of course, but hadn't worn them since that night. Clothes like that weren't to be tainted by the horrors of the Hell on Earth I'd been trapped in over Summer.

I was a little zoned out heading to the station. Headmistress had walked me all the way in, her hand clasped on the back of my neck, forcing me forward me instead of letting me simply walk next to her. I'd told her where my stuff was, so we walked unburdened by my belongings. She even took me through the barrier, even though she'd never gone near it without nearly spitting venom. Her expression grew tight, but otherwise she didn't recognize the transition from the busy muggle station to Platform 9 3/4.

"Ylva." I flinched at the sound of her voice. "Will you be returning home next Summer?"

"If you so wish, Headmistress."

Her lips curled in a cruel smile. It was the only smile she ever wore. The moment was interrupted by someone yelling a nickname that had belonged to me what seemed in another life. I looked over to see Fred Weasley, Harry Potter, and Cedric Diggory trying to stay their relief and excitement upon seeing me. I pulled my sleeves further down my arms. Harry frowned, not missing the action. Fred seemed to be buzzing, his eyes trained on me. I did not meet his gaze. Cedric held him back, his hand drifting next to Fred's arm. "Who are these?" Mistress asked.

"This is Cedric Diggory, Fred Weasley, and Harry Potter. I go to school with them." All three boys grew odd expressions at the sound of my dull voice.

Headmistress rolled her eyes. "Obviously." She looked at the three of them. All three boys glowered at her, not even Fred distracted enough by me or Cedric able to stay cordial enough to play off their boiling hatred. It was very obvious what the relationship between me and Headmistress was if one paid any amount of attention, and these three boys were perhaps the ones who did so the most. "What are you lads doing here?"

"We've come to greet Liv." It seemed an unspoken rule to let Cedric speak. It was a good call. No way the other two could have controlled themselves.

Headmistress almost laughed. "What are handsome boys like you wasting your time doing with this?"

"Headmistress." The boys had flared so I had to step up. "I must go to my car, and collect my luggage. May I go? I don't have long." I didn't meet her eyes, keeping them lowered o her hands in a pose of submission. Her hand loosened and dropped from my neck. My shoulders sagged in relief without my permission. This time Harry wasn't the only one who picked up on it. Cedric's eyebrows pulled even more deeply together. I did a small bow towards Headmistress then turned to Cedric, my eyes on his chest. "My Luggage, Mr. Diggory?"

His lips tightened. "They're already on the train, in our car." His tone was dark.

Hermione turned the corner, eyes locking first on the boys and then instantly sliding to me. We made eye contact and she gasped, her knuckles whitening on the pole she was holding to keep herself stable as she turned. I panicked. Had she seen it? Had the boys? "Thank you. I will be boarding then?" I looked at Headmistress. She struggled then nodded, motioning me lazily. I slowly walked on board, the guys pushing ahead eagerly. I kept it together until they guided me to where we were to sit. Hermione wasn't the only one who joined us. Lee Jordan, all the other Weasleys, and Luna Lovegood were all there. Some inside, some hovering in the hallway. I could sense their unspoken questions. Their worries. I could't handle it. I sat, squishing against the window and finding Headmistress in the crowd to distract myself.

My chest was tight and I fought to keep my eyes tear free. Someone sat next to me. I felt tentative fingers grazing my knuckles and my eyebrows pushed together as I stiffly curled away. "Hey Love." It was Fred. Despite my attempt to keep my guard up, I felt myself relaxing. He tried again and this time I didn't move away. He interlaced our fingers slowly and the train started moving and I melted into my seat.

Instantly I was shaking.

As if sensing my need, Harry stood up. "Okay everyone out, come on. We can talk and reunite sweetly later. There's not enough seats." He managed to leave only Ron, Hermione, him, Fred, and Cedric. Luna drifted over to give me a kiss on the forehead before she left and I had to admit I was grateful. Her kindness made me feel a little better.

"Liv?" A tear fell down my cheek. It was Hermione. "I know you don't want to talk, but... can I take you to Madame Pompfrey when we get the chance?"

"Madame-?" Ron cut off. Not because of anyone else, but because Hermione's words had sunk in. I hid my face even more.

"Sure." I'd been trying to keep my hair mostly in my face. Keep it angled. It wasn't too bad anymore, and to give the guys credit, they'd been more focused on Headmistress and her hands and my voice than my face.

Fred cleared his throat next to me. "Liv, may I see it?"

I debated. He would eventually, and it would be better if he was prepared. If his imagination was lessened. And he'd be looking for it from here on. "Promise you won't be mad?"

"I would never be mad at you for something like that."

After a second, I looked over, swallowing my anxiety before raising my free hand to push my hair behind my ear.  Ron squeaked. Harry's face drained of blood. Cedric's knuckles curled so tightly his skin matched Harry's. Hermione covered her mouth. The bruise she'd meant was small, resting along the curve of my cheek bone and leaking a little over the edge of my eye. The bruises they were all reacting so strongly to now, more likely, were the ones on the back of my neck and shoulders. My hair covered them well and it was impossible she'd seen them before, but if I was going to show them I might as well get it all out now.

Harry moved across from me, reaching out and touching the one on my face. His expression was tight. Familiar though. The look I got on my face when other kids showed up with marks I'd had before. A look of regret and pain. A look that screamed he'd been exactly where I was and he hated that I was there now too.

"Have I upset you?"

He shook his head. "You didn't do anything." He cleared his throat, donning a shaky, watery smile. "Echo's missed you. Do you want to see her?"

That actually got me excited. "Please." He disappeared for a few minutes, coming back with Echo in his arms. I was eager to hold her, reaching out. Fred smiled, letting me drop his hand in favor of holding my cat. Echo was happy to see me. I thought she'd be mad for having been left behind so long, ignored by me. "Where has she been?"

"We took care of her for a while," Cedric answered. "Fred came over at one point and offered to take her off of our hands."

I smiled at him. "Thank you."

"Of course." He smiled back.

"She's a good cat," Ron piped up. "Very friendly."

Hermione leaned forward. "She and Crookshanks got on quite well." She laughed lightly. Her eyebrows and I groaned, unable to resist a smile of my own. She giggled.

"Have you been enjoying yourself without me there to distract you?" I asked Echo. She nuzzled into my lap, purring. "Don't pretend to have missed me."

Fred leaned over and kissed me briefly on the shoulder. I looked over at him. "Well, I definitely missed you."

I couldn't help it. I smiled and my heart somehow healed a little, finally surrounded by people who care about me and a life I'd been bleeding out missing. That Summer was finally over, and I was one Summer closer to never having to experience one ever again. I'd made it this long. I could keep going even longer, and now with friends like this on my side, I'd do it with ease.

My walls came crashing down and with those, my self control. I started crying, raising my hands to cover my face. "I- I'm sorry-" I was gasping, trying to calm myself and completely failing.

"No," Fred eased, pulling me against his chest. Echo jumped to the floor, jumping up next to Cedric and curling up against his leg as I twisted and buried myself in Fred. "It's okay love. You don't have to apologize. Did I upset you?"

Shaking my head desperately, I tried to explain. "Hap-happy tears."

"Okay. I'm glad you're happy. Just know, she can't get you where we're going. You're safe."

Heavenly words. I was safe. At first I thought the others had left to give us privacy, it was so quiet. But then I looked over and they were all still there and I waved and we all laughed shaky laughs of relief. Ron's eyes got watery too, but he refused to admit it.

Maybe things really would be better from here on. Headmistress and orphanage be damned.

-

"The Triwizard Tournament?" I tilted my head. "Isn't that the super dangerous one that only seventh years are allowed to take part in because it's like deadly and stuff?"

Cedric nodded eagerly, like we were talking about going out for ice cream. "I put my name in the Goblet." He saw my face and rushed to reassure me. "It's a low chance I'll get picked, and even then, I doubt anything too crazy will happen. Dumbledor locked down on safety measures."

I sighed. "Okay whatever. I'm assuming you'll want my help with trials and stuff?"

He nodded. "Occasionally. The fun part of having puzzles is solving them. But I'll come to you if I get really stumped. I'll be safe, promise."

"Fine." As we hit the hallway our paths split, I slid out from under his arm. All of my friends had been super diligent to be on my beck and call, even if I hadn't said anything. Especially then, actually. They were doing their best to cheer me up and make me feel at home and safe. This year people were laying off about their usual bullshit. I'd been friends with Harry Potter and other associates long enough that still picking at me for that was just ridiculous. Even me and Fred were old news. With the bustle of the Triwizard Tournament, people had forgotten about the chaos of last year with my dad so that wasn't a thing anymore either. So, their efforts were needed even less than usual. I appreciated it though. I could see that they cared and were trying, and it was sweet.

I waved and he waved back and I headed to the first class of this year.

Classes were pretty chill. I was enjoying them mildly, half interested ad half annoyed (thanks Snape) - nothing new. I had a friend in every class. If not a Gryffindor, there was always Luna. In the few classes the Slytherins had with the Hufflepuff's, I'd sit next to Sam. He was eager to talk to me and though Beth wanted to sit with him, they didn't seem to be having fun when they did so.

Something was off about Beth recently.

All that went out of my mind when I got to Defense Against the Dark Arts, though. This wasn't a chill class. This class wasn't one I knew what to expect going into it. Slytherins were with Gryffindors, but we had tables of three in this class so Neville, Sam and I sat together, Harry, Ron, and Hermione in front of us. Sam and I had motioned Beth over but she'd frowned, shaking her head, when she saw how close to the Gryffindors we were. Draco Malfoy shot me a nasty look but I'd long since learned to ignore those.

First of all, Sam and Neville actually hit it off immediately. It was an instant good vibe and I was actually excited for class.

Second, our teacher was... psychotic?

The Three Unforgivable Curses, right out of the gates. That's what our first lesson was on. He used an insect of sorts to demonstrate and explain the first, which was kind of funny and kind of odd and kind of depressing. Things took a whole new turn when Professor Moody brought up the Crutiartus curse. I had not know about Neville's parents until that day.

Moody put the spider on the table, right in front of Neville. He raised his wand. He uttered a spell. The spider's screaming was piercing. Neville coiled away from it, trying to keep his eyes on the thing but completely unable. I reached over, slipping my hand in his. He gripped it hard. He was shaking. I was going to speak up when Hermione did it for me.

"STOP IT! It's obviously bothering him, stop it!"

Moody stopped. The spider relaxed. Reflexively I reached out to it with my free hand and the Professor shot me a look. A look that stopped me cold. A look that I had only ever seen from one other person: Headmistress. I tried to remember how to breathe.

He looked away, offering his palm. The spider walked into it. Moody took it to Hermione's desk, setting it down in front of her. She looked terrified. "And what, Miss Granger, is the third and final Unforgivable Curse?" For once, Hermione was speechless. Her face was twisted, as if waiting for him to slap her. Moody raised his wand and I shot to my feet without even thinking the thought as he clearly casted, "Avada Kadavra."

The spider lay still.

Hermione looked sick to her stomach, or about ready to cry maybe. No one made a noise. Harry and I looked at each other and I sat quietly, eyes lowering to my desk. Not even Draco Malfoy could muster the balls to laugh at my making a fool of myself amidst the sudden death of the spider that shouldn't have meant anything to any of us. Except that it had died right before our eyes. Instantly.

"Only one person has ever survived the Death Curse. ANd he's in this room." Moody found Harry in the room and my hair stood on end. The way he looked at him...

When class ended, I was relieved. My first few classes, I'd been kind of bummed. They weren't as exciting and interesting as Defense Against the Dark Arts had been when Lupin was teaching. I'd wished-

I'd wished for a more interesting class than the other ones I'd seen so far.

Be careful what you wish for I guess.

"So," Sam attempted. He barely managed a smooth voice. "Moody, huh?"

"No joke."

Neither of us smiled. I cleared my throat. "Did you get a... weird vibe from him?"

He rose his eyebrows. "Were we in the same class? He didn't have one not weird vibe."

"Well yeah but I mean-" I struggled to find a word. "Dangerous." I looked at him and he looked back, his eyebrows knit in worry. "The way he looked at me when I went to touch the spider. The way he looked at Harry. It felt dangerous, Sam."

My look was so intense, he shuddered. "I believe that you were afraid of him, and I don't blame you," he said slowly."But Dumbledore hired him, and the old man would never put someone in Hogwarts that was dangerous."

But that wasn't true. "Quirrel." Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out. "Lockheart. Both who almost killed Harry, and would have easily done as much to any student."

Sam tilted his head back and forth, having to agree. "Yeah but those were accidents. He didn't mean to hire psychopaths."

"And yet he keeps doing it."

Sam frowned. "You have a point. The first two might have been a mistake, but he actually hired a werewolf."

I tensed. "Lupin was a fantastic teacher, and the only reason anyone was in danger is because of other circumstances that weren't Lupin's fault. He was only out there to protect-"

"Geez," Sam interrupted. "You don't have to defend him to me. "I know he's like a dad to you, I didn't mean that. I just meant it was dangerous, and Dumbledore did it with full knowledge. If he could do that, and with his track record- what I mean is, I see your point." He frowned upon seeing my gloomy expression. "Hey, I'm sorry."

Shaking my head to clear thoughts I didn't need right now, I smiled softly. "I know. It's fine. You have a point."

"You know, he is an old man. Maybe he's going senile."

That one got a real smile out of me. "There was the whole instance with the three headed dog."

"The WHAT?"

Trying not to laugh at his expression, I said, "A story I'll have to tell you some time." Harry's adventures always got around via word of mouth, but some details still remained unshared. Like Fluffy. "Maybe he's losing his touch."

Sam was suddenly very serious. "I hope not. He's supposed to be the strongest wizard ever. Unbreakable. He's the reason my parents sent me to Hogwarts. They might not approve of his all inclusiveness, but they can appreciate a man with skill and power."

Dumbledore losing his touch was a scarier thought that I wanted to admit. I didn't know the guy personally, but the idea of him being a bad guy, or just an idiot, made me feel exposed. I pulled my robes closer around me. "Moody is fine," I finalized. "Dumbledore isn't losing his touch. Moody'll be gone by the end of the year like the others anyway, so no stress off our backs."

"Agreed." Sam nodded, looping our arms and changing the subject on the rest of the way to class. He joked and teased and had me laughing in no time. I forgot about the scary looks and the anxiety about Dumbledore easily. There was nothing to worry about. I was just imaging things after my Summer at the orphanage, and my mental health didn't need me creating ghosts during my one year that seemed to be going my way. Worries and shadows and nightmares could wait for nighttime.

-

Tag List: @reddie-steddie-go

[womenoflibraryhistory]

Camilla Leach

Today’s post, entitled “Camilla Leach: A sophisticated spitfire (1835-1930)”, comes from Paula Seeger, Design Library, University of Oregon, with significant contributions from Ed Teague, Retired Director of Branch Libraries, University of Oregon. All photos are courtesy of University of Oregon Libraries.

Summary

Ultimately known for her role as the founding librarian-manager of the Design (formerly Architecture and Allied Arts) Library at the University of Oregon, Miss Camilla Leach left a legacy of caring for student success and ambition throughout her long career. Only in the last third of her life did she find a role in the library, with the majority of her time spent in the classroom or dormitory, supervising and guiding the lives of young adults, especially girls. Miss Leach constantly updated her position during a long career trajectory, never losing her love of the arts and French culture and design. She travelled to Paris in her 30s, was committed to the plight of French orphans during WWI, and translated Auguste Racinet’s L’Ornement Polychrome (Paris, 1869-73) for the benefit of the students of the University of Oregon.  This fascination with French culture and artistry bestowed an air of sophistication to Miss Leach. Combined with her “go-getter” determination that impressed the administration and faculty, Miss Leach’s keen observational skills and broad knowledge let her anticipate the needs and interests of her loyal colleagues and patrons. This unique mix allowed Miss Leach to win over those who doubted she could take an active role in organizing a new library and departmental administration office at the age of 79. Even though she “retired” twice from the libraries at the University, Miss Leach remained active in the community and social circles, giving talks on the relation of art to library work to civic groups into her 90s. Piecing together her history, as well as reflecting on her legacy, is a worthy exercise that re-emphasizes a lifelong commitment to arts education and wisdom born from the strength of longevity.

Background and Early Career

Miss Leach’s history has been difficult to completely trace. We assume certain facets of her life and try to fill the gaps within her story for which we do not yet have evidence, such as Miss Leach’s education and much of her early life. While we know she was born in Rochester, New York in 1835, and there are some accounts of her attending East Coast schools, we next find definitive mention of her in 1855. While still living at home in New York, her profession was listed as “teacher” at age 19 in the New York state census of 1855, indicating she began her teaching career early.  Using broad searches of historical newspapers, we can see that she travelled south and west, taking a position at a teaching college in 1859. Her title was Governess and assistant teacher of the “English branches” at East Alabama Female College (also called “Tuskegee Female College” at its founding in 1854, later “Huntingdon College” after the institution moved to Montgomery). By 1865, she arrived in Chicago and was granted a teaching certificate to teach at a number of public schools including Skinner school and the main Chicago High School. It is during this time Miss Leach was elected to be “Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature” at the high school and a wage dispute was noted (1870):

Miss Camilla Leach was recently elected professor of English literature in the Chicago high school, but the board of education refuses to pay her over $1000 for work for which her male predecessor received $2,200.1

It is unknown whether this dispute led to her resignation, but shortly after, in 1871, Miss Leach applied for a passport to travel to Europe to study art and visited Paris in 1871-72, becoming well-versed in French art and architecture. After Europe, she returned to a position as a high school teacher in St. Louis in 1872-73, and was announced as a teacher at the Washington school for Minneapolis Public Schools in 1878. Another newspaper account in August 1878 mentioned that she was an art instructor in a Placerville, CA, ladies’ seminary and private school (TAE Academy). Having settled in Oakland, CA, from 1879-89, Miss Leach taught drawing and French at the Snell Seminary, a “boarding and day school for girls” that operated from 1878-1912. While at the Snell Seminary, Miss Leach perhaps learned more about opportunities that could be found in Oregon. During her tenure, one of the Seminary’s founders, Dr. Margaret Snell, began an affiliation with Oregon State University (then called the Corvallis College and the State Agricultural College of Oregon) through a Corvallis resident who happened to be staying in the Oakland area caring for an ailing relative. Dr. Snell went on to found the department of “Household Economy and Hygiene in the Far West,” the first in the western U.S. and went on to a great legacy at Oregon State.3

Perhaps also influenced by Dr. Snell’s continuing education in the East, Miss Leach attended Bryn Mawr with “Hearer” status in 1889-902 and it is assumed that this is where she completed her education about “library methods”. Returning to California, Miss Leach was introduced as Mistress of Roble Hall, a ladies’ dormitory at Stanford University in 1891, the first year Stanford started enrolling students. After administrative and facility restructuring, she was let go from Stanford in 1892, heading north to Portland, OR.

Miss Leach stayed five years in Portland working as a private tutor and head of a private school, perhaps of her own creation, within a wealthy businessman’s household. These many years spent as an educator, administrator, and overall caregiver of young student lives had now prepared Miss Leach for a more significant career transition as she was recruited by the University of Oregon in 1897 to become their first dual registrar-University librarian, beginning her new role in libraries. It is unknown what motivated this career change for Miss Leach at about age 60--or age 50: In subsequent census records Miss Leach somehow gets ten years younger.

University of Oregon Career

In 1897, the University of Oregon in Eugene recruited Miss Leach to be the school’s first registrar while also serving as the University’s librarian in a combined position. The dual job was split in 1899, when Miss Leach became “only” the University librarian and, later, the school’s first art librarian. She contributed to the school’s publications, offering a review of Bryn Mawr and several original pieces of poetry for the University’s yearbook and monthly journals.  The University originally had a small library collection, based mainly upon generous donations from professors before state allocations were negotiated, and the collection was relocated several times before the first purpose-built library opened in 1906.  In 1912, Miss Leach retired from her library position, but continued to teach in the art school as a drawing instructor and teacher of art history, which she continued throughout her next role. At the time of her “retirement” as a reference librarian from the main library, the local newspaper told of her reputation:

Miss Leach is perhaps better known than any other one character upon the Oregon campus during this time. She knew personally every student from freshman to senior, and has hundreds of sincere friends among the Oregon graduates all over the state.4

Resistant to fully retiring, and beloved by faculty and students, Miss Leach continued to work in the new main library until 1914 when, at the age of 79 years, she became the founding librarian and administrative assistant at the new School of Architecture and Allied Arts. Her transfer to the new location was met with doubt by the founding Dean of the school, Ellis F. Lawrence, who was resistant to hiring a 79-year-old to the post. He expressed his doubts to the University President, and was reassured that Miss Leach could hold her own and make worthy contributions. Dean Lawrence described his first meeting with her as particularly memorable:

When I [met] her at the first staff conference I was very conscious that there was a divine fire in the proud little figure before me. It was shining through the brightest pair of the darkest eyes I have ever felt boring into my soul. After listening to my outline of procedure and objectives, Miss Camilla leaned over the table and in the snappy, crisp utterance I was later to know so well, she said, “Sir, I was teaching art before you were born.” If she had said ‘thirty years before you were born’, I feel sure she would have been within the truth. Naturally I thought – here is a Tartar to deal with, and anticipated plenty of excitement. Little did I know how deliciously that excitement was to be; how surprising and invigorating it could be! Miss Camilla was placed in charge of the Art Library. Before I knew it she had that department functioning more efficiently than I had thought possible, even in my fondest dreams. But her work did not stop there. She became our matriarch, tradition builder, exemplar of manners, personnel officer – and very much in evidence as advisor to the Dean.5

Indeed, students took to calling her the “Mother of Our Library” and Aunt Psyche (Pidgy), a

[G]uiding spirit since its inception….All of us have been visited by her kindly interest, -- the serious have been led to that exact niche where Volume X lies; the frivolous (and everyone knows that some of us often go to the library on missions quite foreign to study), -- we have been ushered into her acquaintance by the sharp tap of her pencil or by the censure of her warning nod. But however that may be, each of us, as we step out into the world, is to carry a pleasant recollection of Miss Camilla Leach.6

Another story of Miss Leach helping students, while displaying her expertise in French architecture, is noted in the Eugene Guard newspaper from Saturday, April 20, 1918: A girl on campus had a friend stationed in France, but the US military would not reveal the location. The girl’s friend sent her a photo with a cathedral in the background. The girl didn’t recognize it but another friend suggested she take it to Miss Leach, the art librarian. Sure enough, Miss Leach immediately identified the cathedral and the girl was able to locate her military friend.7

In addition to her teaching, library, and administrative duties, Miss Leach consulted with library colleagues and was in attendance at the earliest foundational meetings of the Oregon Library Association (1904). Her attendance at local arts events is well-documented in the local newspapers, as are the frequent talks she would give to local civic organizations (one titled “The Relation of Art to Library Work”), and her reputation as a fine sketch and free-hand artist was known throughout the Northwest.

Philosophy of Academic Rigor and Student Advocacy

Miss Leach had a sense of humor that she rarely indulged, but there were certain topics that were sure to raise her ire. In one instance, as regaled by Dean Lawrence in his memorial writing, a painting professor teaching Civilization and Art Epochs was discussing symbolism with his class. It was reported that he used the example of the serpent, once a symbol of wisdom, but over the years mixed together with many ingredients and encased in a skin, much like a sausage. This description, when relayed to an incensed Miss Leach, caused her to question why culture and wisdom should be treated with levity. She often wondered why artists and architects could not have higher academic standards. Dean Lawrence described her struggle with the habits of scholarship:

Knowledge was to her the basis of her philosophy and conduct, though she little knew how much her intuitions and her fine intellectual common-sense tempered that knowledge. … [T]he idiosyncrasies of the creative artists often irked her. Yet she came to participate valiantly in the methods of the School which called for the freedom necessary to bring out the creative urge in each student.8

To demonstrate how Miss Leach advocated for her students, Dean Lawrence told of a new student who worked extremely hard and produced decent results for one who had no artistic background, which thrilled Miss Leach. However, after flunking out at the end of the term, causing the student to leave without even a good-bye, Miss Leach arrived at the Dean’s office, furious at a system that would let go of a potential genius and lobbied on his behalf. She urged the Dean to reconsider the student’s case and bring it before the Faculty. Together they won the case and the student was reinstated and went on to “make good,” much to the satisfaction of Miss Leach.

Legacy

Miss Leach completed a handwritten history of the University of Oregon in 1900, likely one of the first written of the 24-year old institution, with a volume still found in the library’s Special Collections and University Archives department. During her time at UO, Miss Leach, along with other library and University staff, were interested in caring for French children affected by the war, particularly in 1919. This seems entirely appropriate and in line with Miss Leach’s fascination with French culture and arts.

Camilla Leach finally truly retired in 1924, primarily due to declining health after a fall, and losing her eyesight. She moved back east and died in Jonesville, Michigan (near Battle Creek) in 1930, while staying with a relative. Dean Lawrence wrote a tribute to Miss Leach after her death, describing her ultimately as an “exquisite cameo who was classic in her perfection.” He noted that she was in the process of translating Auguste Racinet’s L’Ornement Polychrome (Paris, 1869-73) for the benefit of the students. The Racinet volume can still be found among the collections of today’s Design Library, which in 1992 was the focus of an expansion of Lawrence Hall, the home of the College of Design. 

There are several other books still containing the bookplates indicating they were purchased with the fund set up for the “Camilla Leach Collection of Art Books,” a special collection in the University Library that remained well after Miss Leach’s death. The fund, set up in 1923, was described as a perpetual fund designed for purchasing art books from the interest earned each year. Mrs. Henry Villard, widow of one of the pioneer founders of the University, donated and suggested that a portion of the yearly endowment to the libraries from the Villard gift should be set aside to build up the Leach fund. There are several newspaper accounts of faculty members, and their families, donating books and financial support to the fund. In addition to books purchased, over the years as Miss Leach’s history became better known, library staff have unofficially named a two-story reading room the “Camilla Leach Room” in her honor. The room enables study and research and is used to present selections from the library’s collection of artist’s books, rare books, and other artifacts. 

Perhaps the most touching of Miss Leach’s legacy is how she influenced her initial detractors. Dean Lawrence fancied himself a bit of a creative writer, and one can find several complete and incomplete short stories and novella manuscripts among his personal writings in the archives of the University of Oregon Libraries. In addition to the 6-page memorial tribute that Lawrence penned that was devoted to Miss Leach (excerpted above), one can also read an incomplete 60-page murder-mystery novella. The protagonist who is able to solve the case faster than the sheriff?  A Miss Marple-like character named “Miss Camilla Chaffin” described as wearing a Paisley shawl, lace collar, and a lavender ribbon in her hair. She was the “oldest of the old-timers” and was friendly with the “dear old doddering Dean.”9 

As we piece together Miss Leach’s legacy, her strength is revealed in her loyal determination to provide the best resources and environment for students in order to nurture their creativity and scholarly output. Her ability to expose interests, and proactively anticipate the materials needed for letting those interests flourish, were among her special gifts to the students she served and the colleagues she assisted. Her legacy continues today in the resources and services that are at the forefront of today’s Design Library.

  Notes

1 “Untitled News Article,” Weekly Oregon Statesman, March 18, 1870, 3.

2 Program, Bryn Mawr College, p. 252. Accessed through Google Books.

3 “The 'Apostle’ of Fresh Air...Margaret Comstock Snell (1844-1923)” George Edmonston Jr., OSU Alumni Association, undated. http://www.osualum.com/s/359/16/interior.aspx?sid=359&gid=1001&pgid=536

4 “Veteran U.-O. Librarian Retires with Honor,” Oregon Daily Journal, October 4, 1912.

5 Ellis F. Lawrence, “Miss Camilla – A Portrait” (Eugene, Ore., 1930), in Ellis Fuller Lawrence papers, Ax 056, Box 13, Special Collections and University Archive of the University of Oregon Libraries, Eugene, 2.

6 “Miss Camilla Leach,” in Oregana, 1912 vol., 23.

7 “Censor Sleeps on Job,” Eugene Guard, April 20, 1918, 4.  

8 Ellis F. Lawrence, “Miss Camilla – A Portrait” (Eugene, Ore., 1930), in Ellis Fuller Lawrence papers, Ax 056, Box 13, Special Collections and University Archive of the University of Oregon Libraries, Eugene, 4-5.

9 Ellis F. Lawrence, “The Red Tide,” in Ellis Fuller Lawrence papers, Special Collections and University Archive of the University of Oregon Libraries, Eugene, also in Harmony in diversity : the architecture and teaching of Ellis F. Lawrence, edited by Michael Shellenbarger, Eugene, Or. : Museum of Art and the Historic Preservation Program, School of Architecture and Allied Arts, University of Oregon, 1989.

  Other sources consulted

●        1903 Webfoot (University of Oregon Yearbook)

●        Bishop’s Oakland Directory for 1880-81 "Containing a business directory, street guide, record of the city government, its institutions, etc." (varies). "Also a directory of the town of Alameda" (issues for <1880-81-> also include Berkeley). Compiled by D.M. Bishop & Co. Description based on: 1876-7. Published: San Francisco : Directory Pub, Co., <1880-> Open Library            OL25463540M. Internet Archive bishopsoaklanddi187778dmbi. LC Control Number 11012620. https://archive.org/details/bishopsoaklanddi188081dmbi  (Listed as teacher at Snell’s Seminary)

●        “Board of Education,” Chicago Tribune, October 9, 1865, 4.

●        “Board of Education,” Minneapolis Tribune, June 22, 1878, 4.

●        “East Alabama Female College,” South Western Baptist, November 17, 1859, 3.

●        “Former Undergraduates That Have Not Received Their Degrees,” in Program Bryn Mawr College, 1903-04, 1906, 283, https://books.google.com/books?id=GKRIAQAAMAAJ.

●        “General Register of the Officers and Alumni 1873-1907,” vol. 5, no. 4, University of Oregon Bulletin (Eugene, Ore.: University of Oregon, 1908), http://hdl.handle.net/1794/11152.

●        “Gift of $100 Received,” Eugene Guard, November 6, 1924, 12.

●        Henry D. Sheldon, The University of Oregon Library 1882-1942, Studies in Bibliography, No. 1 (Eugene, Ore.: University of Oregon, 1942), http://hdl.handle.net/1794/23064.

●        "New York State Census, 1855," database with images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:33S7-9BPY-97K6?cc=1937366&wc=M6G3-GZ7%3A237407901%2C237457701 : 22 May 2014), Orleans > Kendall > image 15 of 40; county clerk offices, New York. (teacher at 19)

●        “Salary Dispute,” The Illinois [Chicago] Schoolmaster A journal of educational literature and news v. 4 1871, 260 https://ia601409.us.archive.org/5/items/illinoisschoolma41871gove/illinoisschoolma41871gove.pdf

●        “SPOTLIGHT ON A LEGACY: Treasures of the Design Library” Ed Teague, 2014, https://library.uoregon.edu/design/century

●        “TAE Academy,” Placerville Mountain Democrat, August 10, 1878, n.p.

●        "United States Census, 1900," database with images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:MSDX-B6R : accessed 15 April 2018), Camilla Leach in household of Mary E Cox, South Eugene Precincts 1 and 2 Eugene city, Lane, Oregon, United States; citing enumeration district (ED) 112, sheet 8A, family 162, NARA microfilm publication T623 (Washington, D.C.: National Archives and Records Administration, 1972.); FHL microfilm 1,241,348. (age = ten years younger)

●        “Untitled News Piece,” Eugene Guard, May 1, 1928, 6. – Talk “Relation of Art to Library Work”

●     “What’s in a Name? Design, and Library” Ed Teague, Association of Collegiate Schools of Architecture. Sept. 12, 2017. http://www.acsa-arch.org/acsa-news/read/read-more/acsa-news/2017/09/12/what-s-in-a-name-design-and-library

[agelustco]

This is gonna change everything!!

Bullshit, well maybe it will but probably it will only shift some shit around, clear some space and help you make the next best move. So, yep this is gonna change everything and change is everything.You may be asking yourself, WTF is she going on about. Or for fuck sake, get to the point. So I will.

As we get older, shit changes, period. What used to work doesn’t. As much as we try to “keep it together” we start to notice where we are falling apart, a little bit. Maybe it’s strength, speed, libido, tolerance, hair texture or just not knowing who the kids are talking about these days. Our capacity for, fill in the blank, is becoming limited, and this may be by design. It may be that we are noticing the freedom of our history, not from our history.

Our lives and relationships become categories, an existential budget where we get to decide what we have the funds for. Now, I am not talking directly about money, although money can be the focus of the “budget”, it can also be energy, bullshit, orgasms, size, hot flashes. The point is that you know what those categories are.

The beauty of the internet is that there are so many fucking answers. Take this supplement, see your doctor, take an ice bath, take a sauna, a hot bath, cold will rob your chi, dry brush, hydrate, sleep, eat, fast you get the idea. The more you look for the right answers, the more you have more questions.

Make it make sense.

I say it time and time again (hopefully you can hear me clapping), you are the expert of your body, your lived experience. Does this mean that you have all of the answers, nope. Does this mean that your ideas are not sometimes clouded by opinions and stories, nope. What it does mean is that you know when something is not “right,” something is “off,” getting to that something, expanding, may require guidance and support. This is what coaching and the Msitresses of the Menopausal Mind was all about. Hell, this is what it means to be a doula, a nurse, a sponsor if you’re a friend of Bill’s.

It has been five years since I have been learning and sharing about perimenopause, menopause, and postmenopause, not only as a nurse and provider, but also as someone going through this transition. This journey is far greater than hot flashes, metal mouth, lower libido, and night sweats. This is about money, sex, intimacy, self definition, bodies, strength, reclaiming and moving forward, finding fertile years to come.

As part of The Mistresses, experts talked to us about money, human design, sex, health and movement. At the end of this past year some folks started hormones, some got dream jobs, others felt that their intimate lives improved, one created changed the way their industry cares for folks. Friendships were made, people felt safe and started to share their experience with others in their circles. The Mistresses did in fact change everything. I changed too.

I realized that the Mistresses needed to grow. Initially, the program had no real direction. There were amazing salons, wonderful conversations, and people were very self-directed as far as what they wanted to accomplish with their experience, but there were no clearly defined "goals". It was also very long. My time budget was getting leaky with the 6 month blocks.

I decided to mentally write a SOAP note while I was in the shower, where most great ideas occur. A SOAP note is a guiding document to let people who are providers, nurses and therapists know what the pain point is, what the blocks are, name the issue and come up with a plan. In community, we can all have different pain points and find the correct solution for ourselves. We just need the right tools, and I have a ton of tools in my badunkajunk trunk.

Bringing clarity to the meno-morphosis with expert lead tools. In place of six months, this is eight weeks, instead of ten meetings, we will have five. In the end, you will be able to develop a plan, find solutions, and experience expansive lustful aging. A new adventure called Agelust Labs has been created.

The Agelust Labs program integrates science and spirit into a format that reframes the menopausal mindset. With the help of five insightful expert-led workshops, you will leave with a personalized blueprint for navigating the lush meno-morphosis.

Five interactive Zoom workshops

Evidence based tools

A video library of 10 expert session

Workbook

A choose-your-own-adventure-style plan of action that you can put into action or take to your provider.

This could change everything. There's no doubt this will be a great event!

Please check out the mastermind tab at privatepartsofwellness.com and if you have any questions, please ask.

[udateable-blog]

Growing Gerwig: a guide to an unofficial trilogy

Allow us to introduce you to the Greta Gerwig Cinematic Universe.

In Frances Ha, the titular heroine apologizes to a friend when her card is declined at restaurant. “I’m so embarrassed,” she admits, “I’m not a real person yet.”

That self-deprecating yet earnest confession would easily fit in any of the last three films Greta Gerwig has written, those being Frances Ha (2012), Mistress America(2015), and Lady Bird (2017). Although this year marked her debut as a director, the 34-year-old multi-hyphenate has already cemented herself as one of independent film’s most unique and developed storytellers with an unofficial trilogy: a trio of films that saw Gerwig balance writing, acting and directing (always doing at least two) while consistently exploring the lives of young women in search of personhood and meaning.

Tellingly, Gerwig sought to be a playwright before finding her initial success through acting. Yet even while performing words that were not her own — words written by established and influential directors like Noah Baumbach, Todd Solondz, Mike Mills at that — her singular artistic intent was apparent from the start, practically bursting through the screen. Of her performance in Greenberg, for example, A.O. Scott wrote: “She seems to be embarked on a project… she is an ambassador of a cinematic style that often seems opposed to the very idea of style.” It is that effortless, almost invisible quality to her performances that suggests her “trilogy” may be completely unintentional (“I like things that look like accidents,” Frances swoons about her art). But it is that same unmistakable M.O. — a voice so new and singular it is heard both in front of the camera and behind it — that hints at the generation-defining filmmaker that is Greta Gerwig.

To use one of her most well-known influences, Lady Bird was not just her 400 Blows, it was the finale to her own Adventures of Antoine Doinel. In place of the same protagonist or actor, however, it’s her perspective of the world that evolves.

“It’s a name given to me, by me.”

Lady Bird. Mistress America. Frances Ha. The trilogy follows the path from high school to college to post-grad life, a continuity that Gerwig wrote and created in reverse chronological order, while also coinciding with her gradual transition off screen (there’s only a handful of frames without her in FH, she’s only in half of MA, and she doesn’t appear in LB). Furthermore, each film is named after a moniker given to the protagonist. The titular Lady Bird (Saoirse Ronan) was born Christine, but, much to the bewilderment of her parents and peers, has given herself a new name that embodies her urgent desire to leave the nest. Mistress America is the name of the autobiographical superheroine that aspiring entrepreneur Brooke pitches to her sister-in-law, Tracy (Lola Kirke), who then uses the title for her short story about Brooke. And finally, and perhaps most subtly, Frances Ha ends with Frances Halladay (whose last name is never mentioned or seen until now) trying and failing to fit her name label into a mailbox. Without a second thought, she folds it by a third and it fits, her last name cut off at “Ha”. It’s not the full person she’s spent the movie trying to become, but it’s two-thirds of the way there, and there’s a poetry to it.

“Tell me the story of us.”

As much as these films are insular character studies, however, their emotional cores are built on the external relationships these young women have with others, especially other women. LB is, simply put, the story of a daughter and her mother. MA follows the misadventures of two sister-in-laws. FH is largely about the ups and downs in a relationship between two best friends. All three of these relationships go through tender highs and crushing, oftentimes hurtful lows. In the end, Gerwig always brings the women back together in one way or another (the phone call in LB, Thanksgiving brunch in MA, “that moment” in FH) that deepens or changes their connection for the better. And though Gerwig develops every character as uniquely flawed people that challenge her heroines, in many cases they are an extension or reflection of themselves. “I’m Naomi with different hair,” Frances repeatedly jokes of her friend. Lady Bird’s father speaks for the audience when he notes that her and her mother “both have such strong personalities.” And MA, while also continuing co-writer/director Noah Baumbach’s trend of generational gaps, contrasts a young, bright-eyed Tracy with Brooke, who is just starting her thirties, although throughout we can tell they are in many ways the same confused person on opposite ends of the path to adulthood.

“I have trouble leaving places.”

Gerwig fills the movies with an ever-present sense of location, exploring both how they interact with and are shaped by the environments around them. LB is, from beginning to end, unmistakably about how Sacramento (and its landscape of nice homes, “poor” homes, churches, coffee shops) pushes Lady Bird to leave for college in New York City; once there, however, she reconsiders her identity even more, in one instance wandering around the city before finding solace in a Catholic cathedral that reminds her of home. MA is set almost entirely within NYC, as college freshman Tracy navigates a city in which there is everything to do yet few people to enjoy it with; when she meets Brooke, it is a lightning-fast montage of the two engaging in various different settings through the night, each vignette deepening our understanding of Brooke and how different she is from Tracy. They eventually leave for the woods of Greenwich, Connecticut to confront Brooke’s old friends in their literal glass house, which immediately comes to symbolize the illusion of adulthood and responsibility as we notice just how immature the owners are. FH takes this aspect to the limit, having Frances jettison from NYC apartment to NYC apartment, then back to her hometown in Sacramento, then back to her alma mater in Poughkeepsie, and even to Paris, France on a whim — an embarrassingly uneventful and impulsive trip that cements Gerwig’s acknowledgement that in the end, it’s the protagonists that influence their location.

“Sometimes I think I’m a genius and I wish I could just fast-forward my life to the part where everyone knows it.”

There is that running joke online about Gerwig’s characters never being able to pay the rent, a truthful observation and part of her constant examination of the tasks, occupations and other affairs that come with becoming an adult. In all three films, to varying degrees, the heroines strive to become creators or artists. While Tracy might be the only character with a clear career goal, she is bookended by the indecisive ambitions of Lady Bird and Frances, and the necessities of real life affect them all the same. In LB, which is the most painfully class-aware of the three films, Lady Bird takes jobs as a barista and grocery bagger to support herself while lying to her richer friends that she’s been forced to take the jobs to “learn responsibility”. In MA, Tracy is focused on her studies, but the perpetually unemployed Brooke’s spends much of the film working odd jobs as a waitress, soul cycle instructor, and tutoring Algebra. And in FH, of course, Frances spends the movie in a constant state of uncertainty in between working office jobs at dance studios, waiting parties and volunteering as an R.A. at her alma mater.

“Never gonna fall for…”

Gerwig’s films, in keeping with her style of performance, are packed to the brim with movement and physicality. While sex is often presented as awkward or constraining for her characters (only LB features the act itself, an underwhelming and unequal encounter for Lady Bird that explains Tracy and Frances’ disinterest in it), they are effortlessly in tune with their bodies and movement, seen dancing, jumping, spinning or thrashing their way through various situations. All of the characters laugh, cry, scream, fight and withdraw, as Gerwig is uninterested in showing us anything less than the full emotional spectrum of her protagonists. While all three films include a boy (never really “men”, as far as emotional maturity and tolerability go) entering the protagonists’ lives to varying degrees of significance, Gerwig’s handling of these relationships consistently communicates the fact they are not who they are looking for, and many times they are embodiments of lifestyles and personalities they are trying run away from. Gerwig takes the adage of learning to love oneself before someone else and injects it with a very specific and modern wisdom.

“So many things!”

There is also, of course, the cinematic and aesthetic joys of Gerwig’s trilogy. While not the director of her first two films, each one feels like an extension or variation on each other all the same. Frances Ha is a tender dramedy filtered through a beautifully rough, 16mm-like (but, like all three films, shot digitally) B&W look while scored exclusively by music from the French New Wave films Frances dreams of her life being like. Mistress America is a slick, 80s-styled but 40s-influenced screwball comedy set to a propulsive synth score. Finally, Lady Bird is a warm family drama told almost entirely in autumnal shades and set to the earnest, organic early-aughts instrumentations of Jon Brion. All three films make constant use of montage and compressed time, an aspect Gerwig demonstrably introduced to Baumbach’s work in FH, and various motifs from bathtubs to windows are reutilized throughout.

Ultimately, Gerwig has created a series of unique individual works of art, each a progression of her talents as she has come into her own as a writer/director, the only type of artist (and one of the most male-dominated) that mainstream film critics and fans are keen to acknowledge. In her interview with the Guardian for Frances Ha, she reveals a stunning desire to remove herself from the egocentrism of such artists. “It feels kind of disgusting, like baking a cake and eating it yourself,” Gerwig says of Baumbach pushing her to act in the film. “Like, I wrote it, and now I’m doing it! It felt very Orson Welles.” That fits with the fact that this is only her unofficial — accidental, maybe — trilogy, but a trilogy with emotional coherence and impact all the same. Whether or not Gerwig wants to acknowledge or wield her status as one of the “new auteurs” — a growing list including Jordan Peele, the Safdie brothers, Dee Rees— is her own prerogative, but God knows we are ready for a generation of film with less of the ego and self-interest that we associate with the “old greats” such as Orson Welles, and more of the tender, observational and possibly invisible genius of artists like Gerwig.