grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Archives for March 2012

Twelve . Twenty-One . Twelve

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Has anyone started Christmas shopping yet? Not me – I never start until December. But, are we even going to bother with it this year, with the end of time and all? It’s fast approaching. According to the doomsday fans who follow the Mayan calendar, December 21, 2012 is our day with destiny. No need to contribute to your 401(k) or worry about overeating at Thanksgiving this year. Stop doing those stupid abdominal crunches. It’s over. Finally.

Who can read this thing?

Of course, it was supposed to be over in May, 1980, right before my high school graduation. There was a huge theory in Keiser, Arkansas at the time, that the world was going to end the first week of May. Jesus was going to return, and I was convinced I would be totally left behind, home alone, alone on the planet Earth, NEVER receiving my high school diploma. It wasn’t that I was an evil person or more sinful than the next, but I was worried that I hadn’t done enough. What if I hadn’t been good enough or prayed enough? What if Brother Brown hadn’t given me a proper baptism at Brinkley Chapel where I grew up? And often, on Sunday mornings, I had a hard time concentrating on Brother Brown’s boring sermons. I just couldn’t help it. And the pews were hard. 


When I was in high school, Keiser Baptist Church showed A Thief in the Night over and over to the youth group. A horrifying rapture movie, it was completely traumatizing – right on par with Night of the Living Dead, the scariest movie EVER. I can’t believe my mother let us see it. I wonder if she saw it? Eerie music played as unattended lawnmowers mowed grass and suddenly empty cars crashed into each other, the drivers raptured into the heavens. Freaky!! The mark of the beast and the whole nine yards – it scared the living daylights out of me and every kid in that sanctuary. I guess that was the point. It was gloomy and dark and creepy and resulted in many sleepless nights as I worried about my soul and graduation. I should have been a Catholic – I hear they worry a lot and feel guilty about everything…?

Shouldn’t the second coming be about hope and celebration and joy? But that terrifying movie promoted wide-spread panic and fear. The youth in Keiser discussed this – the signs all pointed to it – rain, drought, frogs, boll weevils, earthquakes, grasshoppers, fires. Who the hell wanted to do those last few months of school work? What did it matter? Couldn’t Mr. Ford somehow move up our graduation so we could at least be raptured (or not) as high school graduates? 

Someone miscalculated, our date with destiny came and went, and the class of 1980 proudly marched across that stage like every class beforehand. Now, 32 years later, we are closing in on another date with fate. Do we really think the early Mesoamericans somehow knew the exact date of the apocalypse? The solstice to end all solstices? The Great Solstice? Similar to The Great Pumpkin?

I’m sure I will go ahead and plan for Christmas. But, we are having the hottest winter on record. And walking this morning, I saw a frog which was a bit strange in this Texas drought.

talya

Musical Pairings:

R.E.M., “It’s the End of the World as We Know It”
The Doors, “The End”

If the world comes to an end, I want to be in Cincinnati. Everything comes there ten years later.
Mark Twain

Frog Legs? Yes, please.

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Had any good frog legs lately? Deep fried with white cream gravy?

When I was in high school, the Wilson Tavern in Wilson, Arkansas had the best all-you-can-eat frog leg buffet on Friday nights. They were slap yo’ momma good.

Frog legs are a true southern delicacy, and my boyfriend, Steve, could make an impressive dent in that buffet. Sadly, The Wilson Tavern closed, but maybe someone in Wilson still has that recipe?

The Wilson Tavern
During the hot steamy Arkansas summers, hours after sunset, Steve taught me to frog gig. We spent many a hot date trolling ditch banks in a john boat looking for frogs. Romantic, no?

Steve wore a flashlight strapped around his head like a coal miner. It takes two hands to properly gig a frog. The victims were thrown into a burlap sack in the belly of the boat where they jumped and twitched sporadically. With my feet holding down the bag-o-frogs, I watched for water moccasins in the low, overhanging tree branches. Mississippi County ditches were tangled with brush and twisty vines, the perfect hiding place for snakes, and each came with an intricately crafted beaver dam.

Frog gigging was not a sport for the faint hearted. 

Recently at my neighborhood Dallas grocery store, I asked one of the workers to point me in the direction of the frog legs. She responded with a blank stare on her young tree-hugger face, as if I hailed from a far away galaxy.

After a pause she replied, “We have organic fruit from Frog Hollow Farm.”

I returned her stare knowing she wasn’t yet born when Yoda trained Luke Skywalker in that frog pond. Then she added, “And we sell organic wine from Frog Pond Winery.”

OhNeverYouMindHippieGirl. 

Apparently this particular grocery store was a big annual supporter of Save the Frogs Day. I didn’t have the heart to explain to the young grocery clerk that the cute little bright green and yellow tree frogs disappearing from the rain forests in Belize, with zero leg meat, aren’t the same ones we gigged in the swampy ditches of Keiser, Arkansas or ate at The Wilson Tavern. I kept this information to myself, paid for a bag of organic asparagus and politely left.

Soon I’ll be back in Arkansas for a visit. Maybe while I’m there, I will eat a platter of frog legs. They taste just like chicken. Only better.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Kermit, “It Ain’t Easy Being Green”
Brad Paisley, “Mud on the Tires”

Cell Phone Mad Science

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Why do loan documents have to be printed in super gigantic mickey mouse fonts with rescindable language and simple simon sentences, such as YOU MUST REPAY THIS DEBT and THE VALUE OF YOUR HOUSE MAY DECLINE, but cell phone companies can apparently do whatever they please, hiding fees and charges and embedding undisclosed codes within mystery plans that not even a nuclear rocket scientist could interpret, much less the average homeowner who makes payments on a home he can’t afford. It is maddening.
Shouldn’t Dodd Frank be all up in this monkey business? Where are the consumer advocates? Oh yes, the government researches driving and texting, which is terrible, as well as cell phone radiation, but what about consumer billing protection and tricky cell phone lingo? I dare say no one can understand a cell phone statement.
John and I had an hour+ long conference call yesterday afternoon with Stacey from AT&T, trying to add John to my plan. Of course an additional line is advertised for a mere $9.99. But it seems my current super special plan is so secret that it’s no longer available; therefore, we were forced to change our entire plan.
Stacey was a yacker. She explained all sorts of plans until my head was spinning. I tried to get my arms around the difference between anytime, nighttime, and weekend minutes. Would I would be roaming at nighttime or anytime at all? Did we need FamilyMap for $9.99/month to locate up to 2 family members? What was this tracking devise, like a skip trace? I know some people who probably need this feature… There was pay as you go, prepay, and push to talk…? No thanks, we will just keep our current pay out the butt plan. Stacey could be an auctioneer.
Once we agreed on something – I have no idea what but our decision was recorded for security purposes – she was required to run my credit report. Why!? Doesn’t my perfect payment history warrant adding John to the account for $9.99 without a credit check? John is the only person working in our household. They should be tracking him down and begging to add him to the plan. I needed to pop in my night guard – I caught myself grinding and clenching my teeth.
While I was sequestered on this call, I made the bed, loaded and started the dishwasher and stuffed and basted a chicken for dinner. The chicken was smelling mighty delicious by the time Stacey recapped our entire plan for quality control reasons. My last root canal was less painful, and I received hydrocodone as a parting gift. This call resulted in a shiny new mystery cell plan, 4,000 free rollover minutes and a dull headache.
I pray Stacey got all the complicated cell plan changes input before the massive solar flares began threatening world wide electronic systems today. My Facebook sure has been slow this morning.
talya
Musical Pairings:
Blondie, “Call Me”
Jimmy Buffet, “If the Phone Doesn’t  Ring, It’s Me”

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!