grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Archives for 2012

Come Away With Me

By

Dairy Hollow, Eureka Springs
My space at Dairy Hollow has a generous bathroom with a huge sunken tub. I prefer showers. As Kramer (Seinfeld) aptly explained, if I don’t have a good shower, I’m not myself. I feel weak and ineffectual…Showers are quick and efficient – in and out. Get on with the day. Waiting and waiting and waiting for the tub to fill with water makes me antsy. Baths are disgusting – sitting there in my own tepid pool of filth (again, Kramer greatness). 

But somehow at Dairy Hollow a bathtub is fitting. I have no agenda. After a writing session and an invigorating hike through the chilly Ozarks, a steamy bath is relaxing.
As I soak, I stare at a photo over the tub. A framed photo from Where the Wild Things Are, a favorite children’s picture book by American writer and illustrator Maurice Sendak. Years ago my son and I read this book together each night, over and over. He memorized the words and recited it along with me. My son who is now in college…I wonder if he still remembers the words to the story?

Dairy Hollow, Eureka Springs, Ar

 

Initially I thought it to be strange artwork for the bathroom, but as my mind cleared I realized the illustration is perfect.
The story is about imagination and magical travel and wild flights of fancy. It’s about playing and being creative. It’s about escaping to another place, another land, a world with a wild rumpus!
Dairy Hollow, Eureka Springs

 

Even Max’s wolf costume is befitting for Halloween in Eureka Springs where zombies are soon to stagger down Spring Street.
Dairy Hollow, Eureka Springs, Ar
Sometimes I think I could stay here forever, in the woods at my writing desk overlooking the turning leaves. But at the end of the week home will beckon. And I will sail back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day and into the night of my very own home where supper will be waiting for me (maybe?)…

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing:

Come Away With Me, Norah Jones

“There should be a place where only the things you want to happen, happen.” 
― Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are 

Deputy Nana

By

My mother the deputy
Deputy BAT

My mother was hauled down to the bowels of the Memphis International Airport when the x-ray machine spotted her pistol in the bottom of her purse. It was simply a silly misunderstanding, but nevertheless the FAA frowned on it, even pre-September 11. The security agent may not have detected the firearm, which is a scary notion, but as the purse disappeared into the machine’s black hole Momma gasped in a guilty panic, “Oh no!”, drawing more attention to herself than normal. 

“Run that purse through again,” the agent ordered.

Prior to the incident, she had only begun to pack. An Arkansas State Trooper friend encouraged she carry a gun after the recent shootout at her house. A tri-state manhunt and interstate roadblock ended with one escaped prisoner dead at her back door, his cellmate shot and injured in the bean field out back and their terrified hostage at Momma’s kitchen table. Anyone who knows our family, knows this excitement is typical for us.

Bullet holes still nick the spanish tile floors inside the house as a constant reminder and conversation starter. Not that she ever needs a conversation starter. In the time it takes to check out at Wal-Mart, my mother has a talent for learning the innermost secrets of the person queued up behind her. 

Barney Fife

But like overzealous Barney Fife, my mother’s gun mainly just created problems. It was an innocent mistake, an unfortunate accident resulting in twelve months of probation. 

Clearly these people in Tennessee didn’t know who she was. 

She was forced to walk a fine line as she met monthly with her probation officer in Memphis and attended court with other criminals. Thomas Tate, much like Andy Taylor, was surprisingly calm throughout this ordeal. But really, what choice did he have?


Upon successfully fulfilling the terms of probation including not drinking wine at the country club, her record was completely expunged. She could vote again. And since that nightmare, to our knowledge, she has managed to keep her nose clean. We are so proud.

Mississippi County Arkansas

Last week at home while spring breaking with my sister and her kids, Momma was sworn in as honorary deputy of Mayberry Mississippi County, receiving a badge and identification card at the county jail. Oh, if Thomas Tate had lived to see this day.

How many kids in Plano, Texas returned to school saying, “We spent our spring break gambling at the horse track after a quick trip to Graceland. Oh and our Nana was sworn in as deputy at the county farm?” ZERO. But we had an educational spring break, learning that with hard work anyone can get their life back on track. 

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing:

Elvis Presley, Jailhouse Rock

“I say this calls for action now. Nip it in the bud.” Barney Fife

Red Cowboy Boots

By



This week I am attending a one-week writer’s residency program at Dairy Hollow in Eureka Springs. During this time I will re-post some of my favorite blogs from the prior year. Maybe you missed one? 

originally published 02/09/12…


I could have lived in Nashville. I almost had a date with Buddy Jewell, Osceola’s current claim to fame -the FIRST ever Nashville Star winner! Seriously. I have a love note from Buddy Jewell. He passed it to me after my biology class at Arkansas State, the fall of 1980. He had a class in that same classroom immediately following mine. As I walked out, he was sitting there waiting to go inside, actually playing his guitar. Just kinda messing around on it. Clearly, he was meant to be in Nashville.

I didn’t know him that well – he graduated a couple of years before me – from rival high school Osceola. I was a Rivercrest Colt. Anytime we wanted to irritate “our” boys, or just get their attention, we dated a boy from Osceola… It worked pretty well.
The note was folded up very tightly into a little square. Why would Buddy Jewell be handing me a note? I stuck it in my jeans to save for later. In private. In my dorm room. I couldn’t imagine what it was about. Maybe he wanted to hook up with my roommate? After reading it, I was very surprised. Wow, the first Nashville Star! No, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself….
Apparently it was for real, but we never went out. Way too complicated – I was dating Mark Wooten and transferring to Baylor... he was headed to Nashville – someday. Even so, I stuck the note in my bedroom drawer with all my letters and cards and junk – treasures I had collected throughout my life to that point. Years later, my mother called me to tell me that someone from Osceola was on Nashville Star. Nashville Star? Never heard of it… 

She said, “I think his name is Jewell…?”

Buddy Jewell? Yeah, I know him! I have a love letter from him.

Later, after Buddy won, I dug it out of that drawer and flaunted it to all of my cousins who were duly impressed. (Always hold on to things like that – you just never know.)

Buddy was handsome – no doubt about it. He looked like Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. And that guitar was hot. He carried it everywhere. Obviously he was headed for bigger things. And he was observant – he certainly recognized that I was a Nashville kinda girl. I could have been.

It was probably those Razorback Red Justin cowboy boots I wore – nearly every day – to classes. After I transferred to Baylor, I traded those in for more appropriate ‘Texas-looking’ boots, bought at The Western Fair in Lott – a quick side trip from Waco. All the Baylor freshmen saved their money to buy boots there – a necessity for the Cotton-Eye Joe which we practiced at the fraternal hall in West. The Western Fair smelled of leather and oil, and Lucchese boots were lined up for blocks and blocks. My new boots were brown – a bit more subdued. I couldn’t very well walk around the Baylor campus in Razorback red – the schools weren’t that chummy. I wish I still had those red Justins.

A couple of years ago, right before Christmas, my friend Becky and I, along with her daughter Christie, planned a girl’s trip to Nashville. This was my first trip to Nashville – very exciting for a girl brought up with Conway Twitty and George Jones. I couldn’t contain myself – all those historical sites – the Grand Ole Opry – wow! – Country Music Hall of Fame – I could cross another item off my bucket list. Becky and Christie, on the other hand, seemed to be a bit more interested in visiting all the Nashville malls. We went to at least 3 malls and purchased NOTHING. Only a week before Christmas, parking was horrendous and Christie was determined to park by the front door – very odd for someone with a dedicated workout practice who eats only paleo….

Unless it’s a bookstore or nursery, I don’t like to shop. Secondly, I live in Dallas, 5 minutes from the power of Northpark Mall, with 1.9 million square feet of gross leasable area. It’s probably one of the top 5 malls in the nation based on sales per square foot. Northpark has everything. It’s an incredible place, and I try my best to avoid it at all costs. Becky and Christie were understandably bored with Jonesboro’s retail options – the city only recently got its first escalator.

Becky’s primary goal on this trip was to spot Keith Urban, preferably without Nicole. Honestly, I thought our chances of spotting Keith lunching at Panera on baked potato soup were slim. But we looked. I’m not sure Becky even ate.

We did shop and sightsee – something for everyone… We even worked in a line dance lesson. The absolute highlight for me was seeing Porter Wagoner’s rhinestone jacket and Bocephus’ boots! Buddy Jewell’s college guitar wasn’t exhibited at the Hall of Fame yet, but maybe in time. I don’t remember if any Keith artifacts were there, but I’m sure Becky knows.

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!