grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Archives for 2012

The Tortoise and the Hare (with a modern-day twist)

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At long last I had successfully removed all the oil-based paint embedded underneath my ragged cuticles and was ready for more quality time with my trusty paintbrush. Apparently the planets were in perfect alignment as Tate and I planned to drive back to Fayetteville the same morning. With both vehicles packed to the max, this was ideal timing. I was not looking forward to a 5+ hour drive with two schnauzers. Annabelle tends to get carsick, and Lucy likes to make frequent puppy stops. But convoying with Tate, things would be much easier. 

In my mind, I pictured a nice little lunch stop at a shady rest area table – maybe around Lake Eufaula – while the dogs stretched their legs and we chatted about my writing and his upcoming internship. Maybe I should even make veggie wraps or turkey sandwiches for the road. Plus, with all the fruit stands along the way, I could buy a sack of home grown tomatoes and peaches. An old-fashioned picnic! Who doesn’t treasure a picnic? Just like old times.

When Tate was younger we convoyed every summer to boy scout camps scattered throughout Arkansas and Oklahoma, stopping on the way to eat lunch at a picturesque dot on the map. Mr. McCullar, scout master extraordinaire, always had icy coolers of cold drinks and made certain we ‘left no trace’ in the boy scout tradition. Fun times. Just yesterday…
When Staci and I were kids, Momma fried a chicken and packed it for our annual summer trip to the Memphis Zoo. That lunch was woofed down before we made it inside the huge entrance gates. We needed fried chicken before we saw monkey island, our absolute favorite exhibit. Picnics are just good ole’ summer fun. And so was monkey island.
Suddenly, a sharp JOLT  back to reality…
Tate: I need to get gas and stop by the bank so I’ll just catch up with you on the road somewhere.
Me: What!? On the road? Where? Don’t you want to follow each other?
Tate: No, I’ll just catch you. I won’t have any problem catching you.
Me: Stunned. Silent. Shocked. Speechless. 
And just like that he drove off before I could even explain the details of my peaceful roadside picnic. Fine. We would catch up on the road. I felt pressure to drive more rabbit-like and less turtle-y so Tate didn’t catch up to me in Plano.
The dogs slept soundly as I sang aloud to my favorite tunes, mostly from my college days. Nearly three hours down the road, the pups and I stopped at a gas station somewhere in Oklahoma to stretch. Although a far cry from the scenic lookout I envisioned, there was a vacant grassy lot next door perfect for dog walking. I watched for Tate sure he would see us and stop, ready to eat lunch. Not.
I also kept a sharp lookout for the Eufaula prisoner chain gang we lunched with a few months back at Ken’s Pizza. I didn’t see any of those guys either. Oddly enough this too was disappointing.
Less than 10 minutes later I saw Tate approaching in my rearview mirror. Yay! My stomach was reminding me of the promised picnic. Although I had not brought veggie wraps, there was a Sonic up ahead. We could exit and….. then in a split second he zipped around me without so much as a wave or smile. Objects really are closer than they appear. Did he even notice me? Evidently he wanted me to follow him….

I watched him up ahead, so handsome and independent driving along in his Xterra. Then just like the lightning fast Roadrunner, he disappeared on the horizon in a flash. I totally lost sight of him within five minutes flat. I hope he didn’t think Nana’s honorary deputy badge would get him out of an Oklahoma speeding ticket? I doubt it would even help him in Arkansas. What happened to my rule follower? 

Hmphf! Well, I didn’t need help with Lucy and Annabelle anyway. I had driven all over the country with Tate and Kelsey when they were mere babies, and they weren’t even crated!! No matter how hungry I became, I would NOT stop for food. I had raw almonds and dried prunes in a sack beside me that became my “picnic” and would easily sustain me for days should I plunge into an Ozark ravine. Later, when I am discovered and interviewed on Good Morning America, he will feel bad for ditching me. 

I thought he would stop at McDonalds. He still likes to eat. I would zip pass him and be in the lead. Not.
I expected to see him on the side of the road getting his first speeding ticket. I will casually wave at him. Not.
As I pulled into our drive in Fayetteville, I thought he would be there waiting to help me unload. Not.
Text from Tate: “I’m back.”
I’m not sure he even remembered I was driving on the same road. It was understandable. He was ready to be back in Fayetteville in his new apartment with his friends. 
Text from Me: “So am I.” He probably wondered where I had been. I realized at that moment the odds of his helping me paint were slim.
The moral of this story: Don’t expect the hare to be a mind-reader.

talya

Musical Pairings:

“Speed Racer Theme Song”, Danny Davis and the Nashville Brass
“Drive”, The Cars

those random odd little things

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Do you ever see something totally out of place and wonder what the heck happened? How did it get there? Why is that object in the tree? I just craft a plausible explanation in my mind so I can move forward with my day. 

What about shoes hanging from power lines? I see them everywhere and always wonder the significance. Is it some type of gang symbol? The mark of a crack house? Bully behavior? Or is shoe flinging just an odd sport like midget tossing? Some of those shoes look new and nice and EXPENSIVE!

On Mother’s Day I saw a beautiful long-stemmed red rose lying on the street in front of a driveway in my neighborhood beside an empty bottle of motor oil. Mother’s Day gone bad? 

Yesterday I saw a Little Mermaid paper plate with a half eaten piece of white cake lying in the street at Worth and Fitzhugh. Birthday party gone bad?

Of course most things I attribute to litter bugs, but the most random objects I realize are portkeys. For all you uninformed Muggles who have somehow been living totally in the dark for the past thirteen years, portkeys are everyday objects enchanted so those touching it will be transported to another place. The magical world uses common objects to avoid the attention of non-magical people (us). The portkey used by Harry, Hermoine and the Weasleys to travel to the Quidditch World Cup was an old boot. I see those all the time on Gaston Avenue.


Ever wake up after over-indulging at George’s and not remember how you got wherever you are? Maybe that Big O at Georges was really a portkey? That could be your story anyway.
The BAT and her Big O @ George’s, Waco, Tx
Portkey?
In our hood, even with all the crazy daily occurrences, people carry disposable bags and pick up after their dogs. It’s the neighborly, environmentally friendly thing to do. I scoop a lot of poop. A few weeks ago I attempted to toss a used bag into a garbage bin behind one of the apartments. Throwing with my left arm while attempting to restrain two ill-behaved schnauzers, my wild pitch ended up dangling from an overhanging tree limb. I couldn’t reach it. It was there for days, like one of those random things you see and wonder about. Finally, with a broken tree branch I managed to snag it yesterday and properly dispose of it before someone mistook it for a portkey.

Tree with dangling bag ‘o poo. Portkey?

Today I’m heading back to Fayetteville. I wish I could travel by a charmed portkey. It would be so quick and convenient, especially since Muggles aren’t yet allowed on the floo network. 


Later!

talya

Musical Pairings:

“25 Random Things”, Claude Prez

“And remember, a portkey can be a seemingly harmless object, like… a football, or… a dolphin.” Professor Snape

You Can’t Take it With You

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Friday I went estate sale shopping with my friend Marcia. Not the plain-ole-run-of-the-mill-clean-all-the-crap-out-of-the-garage-type yard sale, but true estate sales handled by licensed companies, organized and advertised because someone died or went bankrupt or maybe just came to their senses and realized they were drowning in vintage tupperware. Marcia is great at picking the sales and mapping out our route for the day. Although we rarely buy anything, there’s always that remote possibility of uncovering a brilliant diamond in the rough laying at the bottom of a musty box somewhere in Garland, Texas.
The first house we hit was a hoarder home. It was obvious. Every room was filled to the rafters with dusty stuff including multiple identical unopened boxes containing every late night Ronco Popeil product offered since 1965. Every inch of the large back yard was filled with heaping piles of clothes – most still with price tags – and cartons of everything under the sun. In 1972 our house was robbed while we were vacationing in Mexico. Somehow, our stolen things ended up in this woman’s back yard graveyard. Anything ever gone missing was in this woman’s back yard.
I started feeling much better about the state of our garage.
Walking through the homes, you can almost imagine the people who lived there, especially those with family photos left behind. One house in Highland Park had large photos of their children for sale still above the mantle, expensively framed and lit from above with spotlights. Entire photo albums were available for anyone who recently joined the witness protection program in need of instant cousins.


Another cute little house which was clean and orderly seemed particularly bittersweet. The lady’s Christmas decorations were spread out on a table, available for anyone off the street to pick through. Those items, some homemade, were likely very important to her. I wanted to scoop them all up and take them home with me. Abandoned homeless Christmas decorations are sad. Her kitchen, once the hub of the house, was silent with coffee cups no longer used. Her husband’s handsome desk looked as if he just went down to the corner to buy a newspaper – his briefcase sat on the floor nearby and diplomas hung on the wall. His box of ties were $1 each. I hope he didn’t work too hard his whole life. 
And every house had one of those anniversary clocks. There is no need to ever pay full price for those, just stop at an estate sale on the way to the 50th anniversary party.
Later that same night, I was reminded at Hunter’s graduation ceremony we are left with four things at the end of our lives – memories, awards, souvenirs, and a legacy. Memories will fade over time. Awards and souvenirs are left behind in those crazy estate sales. All that really matters is your legacy. 
Maybe someday if I’m lucky I will publish a story that will be  loved. But I know my legacy will be Kelsey and Tate who know right from wrong and have grown up to be productive citizens. They don’t expect a handout and aren’t afraid to work hard and get dirty in the process. And hopefully they will clean out all our junk before it is thrown out on the lawn for the curious pickers. 
talya

Musical Pairings:

“Can’t Take it With You”, Eric Church
“Homeward Bound”, Paul Simon

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!