grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Archives for March 2012

Lisa Marie had a PONY!

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Graceland

I so wanted to be Lisa Marie Presley. Growing up near Memphis, Elvis was local royalty, adored by all. People flocked to Graceland hoping to catch a glimpse of The King. He had been known to toss diamond rings over the iron gates like Mardi Gras beads to passersby. We would have been thrilled to see anyone walking around on the front stoop – a gardener, the pest control man – anyone with access within those hallowed inner walls surrounding the estate. 

Lisa Marie’s TV room.
When Lisa Marie was born, we eagerly soaked up all the available news like crazed stalkers. Although mostly shielded from the public, the newspaper occasionally threw the adoring fans a bone and published a rare photo of Lisa Marie riding her pony in the backyard at Graceland. She had her own pony. Driving by Graceland on the way to the zoo or the Pink Palace Museum, I tried to imagine which bedroom would have been mine had I been born to Elvis and Priscilla instead of Thomas and Barbara? Lisa Marie was the luckiest girl, I didn’t know.

Backside of Graceland

There was a big, kidney-shaped swimming pool in the backyard of Graceland, which didn’t much compare to our plastic one, filled to the rim with rusty cold water from the hose. The well water sometimes turned our hair and clothes orange, matching our cool shag carpet. Although we had John Deere tractors, Lisa Marie had her own plane. What a charmed life!
Underbelly of the Lisa Marie
As a toddler, Elvis took L-Marie on that plane to see snow in Colorado. Like we didn’t have snow? As a child growing up before global warming, we enjoyed deep snowfalls each winter, dismissing school for weeks at a time, a definite benefit to country living. Did Lisa Marie even have to attend school? Regardless, being a farm girl with a life revolving around weather conditions, I knew good and well the massive weather fronts affecting Northeast Arkansas traveled smooth across the Mississippi River and straight into Memphis over Graceland. We were only a few miles apart as the crow flies. Who was Elvis trying to fool? Memphis and Graceland and Lisa Marie got the same exact snowfall we received. And it made for perfectly delicious snow cream. If I had a plane instead of a tractor, I would go to the beach!
I was convinced that someday lucky Lisa Marie would meet and marry my heartthrob Donny Osmond. She was just that lucky. Each night I gazed at my OhSoCute, life-sized poster of Donny taped to the bedroom closet door. He was wearing a white sequined jumpsuit, much like the one Elvis wore during Live from Las Vegas, only smaller. Seeing Donny O in concert was THE highlight of my pre-teen life. Driving past Graceland on the way to the show, I happily waved to Lisa Marie in case she was looking out my window. In truth, I suspected she was already backstage with Donny.

After Elvis died, I felt so sad for her. Graceland became circus-like as did my hometown. Most of the ladies in Keiser had tickets to Elvis’ upcoming concert which never happened. Did Lisa Marie even have a real home anymore? Maybe she could stay at our house? We practically had a jungle room. 
I don’t know if Lisa Marie ever met Donny Osmond, maybe on Dancing with the Stars? Of course she totally blew whatever chance she had with him when she married Michael Jackson. What on earth was she thinking?  If Elvis is in that grave by the Graceland swimming pool, I know he rolled over a few times when that happened.

Thank goodness for unanswered prayers. Turns out I’m the one with the charmed life.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

talya

Elvis, “All Shook Up”
Donny Osmond, “Puppy Love”

“Elvis was the king. No doubt about it. People like myself, Mick Jagger and all the others only followed in his footsteps.” 
-Rod Stewart 

Step away from those peanuts!

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The news reported this morning, “Safeway has agreed to stop selling pink slime in its ground beef but Walmart will give its consumers a choice.” So given an alternative, some people will choose pink slime to save a fifty cents? This was like a Saturday Night Live Weekend Update report.
I admit, the possibility of pink slime gave me pause at lunch this week as I ordered a beef taco. But I ordered it anyway. It hadn’t hurt me yet. At least I didn’t think so.
Like eating raw cookie dough. People now frown on this because of the raw eggs. As kids we ate raw cookie dough and licked sugary spoons anytime we had the opportunity. Licking the chocolate batter from the mixer beaters was the best part of baking a cake for funeral wakes. Luckily there was always a bit left in the bottom of the mixing bowl. And we drank water straight out of the hose all summer long. It was flavored with a hint of rubber and rust, but it was cold and refreshing when we were hot and sweaty from playing in the yard all day.  Apparently that’s bad now too – the hose not the yard. Of course the yard is dangerous if you aren’t slathered in a super high SPF broad-spectrum UVA/UVB sun blocking sunscreen with extra helioplex. 
Our front yard. Site of lots of
dangerous shenanigans.
And we ate peanuts. No one was allergic to peanuts. 
We picked never-organic strawberries straight off the ground at Aunt Virgie’s and ate them without rinsing them off. They were juicy and sweet and delicious, growing like ground cover beside the chicken coop. And how we loved to play in that chicken coop, no doubt surrounded by very organic chicken poop. The worst thing that happened was maybe a sunburn on our shoulders or a splinter from swinging on the poles where the chickens roosted.
Or was it? Maybe all these incredibly dangerous things have affected me. Jumping rope in chicken poop probably made me lactose intolerant? I bet peanuts are making these random hairs grow above my lip! And this warty thingy on my hand is probably from that dang water hose. 

talya

Musical Pairings:

Tim McGraw, “Back When”
Alabama, “High Cotton”

“Ugh! I’ve been kissed by a dog! I have dog germs! Get hot water! Get some disinfectant! Get some Iodine!” – Lucy Van Pelt

Do you believe in signs?

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Do you believe in signs? 
Years ago, I worked with a lady who believed when something fell from the grocery shelf as she passed by, she had no choice but to purchase that item. “It was a sign from above not to be ignored. That head of lettuce had reasoning skills and wanted to go home with her. It chose to be part of her dinner salad. Without a second thought or regret, she purchased a bruised apple or box of Fruit Loops.

Many folks imagine pennies on the parking lot are little signs from Heaven, messages from a departed loved one who still keeps watch. I like this idea, and what can it hurt? We could all use someone watching over us. But how do we know who it is?

At the horse track last week, we were convinced Daddy was sending us a very clear sign. A beautiful horse named T.Thomas was scheduled to run. With blinders on, we made our largest bet of the weekend, and backed that horse up with other smaller bets. Daddy would be so proud! He taught us everything we knew about gambling…


Anticipating that particular race all day, we toasted Daddy at post time. The starter pistol fired and “They’re offfff!” 

I never saw T.Thomas again. Did he go across the finish line? Did he fall down? Did he race at all? Crap!! He came in 5th, but may as well have been dead last. It was definitely a sign from Thomas —a sure sign we needed to stop farting away money at the horse track. That was so just like him.

That night as I rinsed my bra in the sink at the Arlington Hotel and realized my only remaining clean article of clothing was a Graceland t-shirt, I decided I needed to go home to Dallas. Being down to only an Elvis shirt is a clear sign the vacation is beyond over.

I know my tight jeans are a sign of too much food and not enough exercise. Yes, I can pretend to blame the dryer or the unbearable Texas humidity which makes my body bloat like Veruca Salt, but it’s a sign of too much queso flameado. There is nothing powerful or deep about it. 

After a 2 week absence, I finally made it back to my yoga core class. As I rolled out my yoga mat, there rolled tightly inside was a big dead fly. It was a sign and not a good one. The fly was symbolic of my recent lack of yoga practice. And after the ab work we did, I felt like a big dead fly. Walking to my car, a bright shiny penny sparkled on the sidewalk. I smiled.

talya

Musical Pairings:

The Sign, Ace of Base

“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” –Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!