grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Archives for 2012

Musical Beds

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Has anyone tried the new McDonald’s Fish McBites? They have been heavily advertised everywhere lately. Who buys these things? I couldn’t even bribe my 11-year-old niece and nephew to test them out during one of our four McDonald’s stops Saturday. Yes, we made four McDonald’s pit stops driving from Dallas to our childhood home in Osceola, Arkansas. The fresh brewed iced tea and generally clean bathrooms make it often the best, safest stop along the way. This 8 hour drive marked the beginning of our exciting spring break kick-off. No exhilarating snow skiing trips to Vail or warm, sunny Caribbean cruises with tropical coconut umbrella drinks. No lazy walks on sugary Destin beaches for us.  Our family spring break trips include Arkansas, complete with tornado warnings, horse races and trips to That Bookstore in Blytheville. Always. That’s just how we are.
As soon as we walked into our house in Arkansas, an immediate argument ensued involving who would sleep where. Tired, numb and irritable, this issue was suddenly escalated to our number one hot topic, ahead of dinner plans. There are 4 bedrooms in this sprawling house if you include the cave-like, tornado-shelter, doll tomb room. I was NOT going to sleep in there. The house rambles around almost in a horseshoe shape, with one bedroom facing each direction which makes for better storm viewing. Rooms were added every few years when Daddy had an especially good crop and Momma was particularly bored.
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The big bedroom in the back of the house is the room Staci and I shared growing up. It’s still our room. The man from Memphis who installed our orange shag carpet in the early 1970s told us he installed the exact carpet in Graceland for Elvis! Wow. And now with one flip of her long straight hair, my niece decided she would sleep in our room? NotGonnaHappen. Our stuff is still in there. Our handprints from Vacation Bible School still mark the space.

A slight meltdown followed as we ignored her. And there was pouting. She shot us the stink eye. With one quick glance to my sister, we silently formed an allegiance like old times, completely pulling rank, taking back what was rightfully ours. We could do that hair flip too, summoning the ghost of our 1970s long mousy brown ironing board straight hair. (insert eye roll here) My niece, Taylor, clearly had no idea we were once cool. Sorta. We haven’t always had this old short brittle hair.
That night, Staci and I settled into our big king sized bed giggling and gossiping until we drifted off to sleep, with visions of an earlier time dancing in our head. There is something about being home that makes you revert to being a teenager…All was calm, until we woke up frozen half to death. It was cold and windy in the back of the house, in our bedroom, even piled under quilts and blankets. We tossed and turned, too cold to escape long enough to turn up the heat. That next morning my back was stiff and my neck hurt. I didn’t feel like a teenager. Was Staci alive? She wasn’t moving. The bed was hard and the pillow was a stone. It didn’t seem the same.
As we crawled into the kitchen for coffee, Momma confessed that our comfy bed had been switched out with another ancient bed from Papa Creecy’s house. What?? Ick! Suddenly our room didn’t seem so attractive. With our sister alliance still firmly in place at breakfast we announced to Taylor, “You can have our bedroom tonight. So you can watch the tv.”

Hollow victory.

talya

Beatles, “I’m so Tired”
The Chordettes, “Mr. Sandman”

Chiggers and Bigfoot

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Lake Norfork
Spring break is here! The best thing about spring break is this officially marks the countdown to our annual family Norfork Lake trip. Only about 130 sleeps and that’s chump change. Perhaps I should consider a diet? Nah.
 
I’ve been spending summers at the lake since I was 6 months old. It’s my second home. I could build a shelter and live happily ever after on the sandy island near Jordan, surrounded by clear smooth waters – its like Gilligan’s Island minus the coconuts and bananas. And we have no Professor in our group which might come in handy, especially when the Miss Stalya breaks down. Even when the island is underwater, we motor over there tying up to a tree limb, longing for a gritty island hot dog, but settling for a soggy turkey sandwich. 
 
As kids, sometimes our family went to the lake at Easter. Even though the lake water was icy cold, we wrapped up in beach towels like mummies with our swimsuits underneath jeans and sweatshirts, just in case a tropical front wafted through. We sped around on the lake all day, chilled to the bone but loving every minute. There was no other place we would have rather been. Instead of having a raccoon eyed glow like those cool spring break snow skiers, we had a Norfork Lake wind burn.
 
One year, our cousin Freddie Joe climbed a steep rocky bluff near Henderson and dove into the frosty Easter waters. I didn’t really think he would do it – it was blustery and cold and the sky was overcast. But he was so crazy and fun and full of life – he never even hesitated. Of course after climbing to the top of those bluffs, there’s really only one way down. Geronimo! He climbed back into the boat shivering, his dark mop of wet curls spraying cold water all over us, as we raced back to the warmth of the cabin. Not long after that infamous plunge from the cliff, he died in a tragic car wreck on the interstate near our home. His life was cut much too short, but it was filled to capacity. I always think of him when I see that cliff.
 
Our cabin in the woods

Our little cabin was situated way back in the woods off Tracey Road. You had to know where you were going to find it. In the early morning hours, my sister and I spent hours hiking through those woods surrounding the cabin, picking Black-eyed Susans along with chiggers, while all the adults lingered over breakfast. How they feasted on scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy before donning a bathing suit, we could not understand. And walking through the dense forest, we always kept an eye out for Bigfoot, surprised yet relieved we never found him. If I was Bigfoot, I would live there for sure. 

A few nights ago, I stumbled upon Finding Bigfoot on Animal Planet. I was completely mesmerized by this show. The team was in Kentucky near a Bigfoot ‘hot spot’. The suspense grew as farmers gave testimonies of recent roadside sightings, complete with re-enactments. Sadly the team never found him, but I was totally hooked. It was silly and mindless but more interesting than the other reality tv choices. I don’t care who Ben chooses, which Idol wins or where Khloe is shopping. I wonder if this Bigfoot tracking team has ever traveled to Mountain Home, Arkansas?  
 
In the 1970s when Friday the 13th came out, those dark woods and roads leading to our cabin became a bit scary late at night. Norfork Lake resembled Crystal Lake. Instead of looking for Bigfoot, we avoided Jason. Thank goodness we never found him there. He would certainly mess up our little corner of Heaven.
 
Only 130 sleeps.  Blink of an eye.
 
talya
 
 
Musical Pairings:


Rascal Flatts, “Summer Nights”
War, “Summer”
 

Sleeping on the Dock at the Lake

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John gave me a cold recently. It started with a sore throat Monday night during House, moved into a hacking cough on Tuesday by Good Morning America, and morphed into a full-fledged head cold by Modern Family complete with stuffy sinuses, pounding headache, and watery eyes. I hate being sick. Every day a new symptom showed up and every night John feigned total shock, “You should be feeling MUCH better today.” But each day I felt worse. Maybe it took me longer to get over it, because I get NO SLEEP. Combining his melodic snoring to my headache, sinus pressure, and teeth grinding, and it was the perfect storm for prolonged illness. 

We have a new heavenly California king bed, which became extremely necessary when Annabelle joined the harem. The bed is hand crafted with “the finest pure flax, wool, cotton, carefully selected pine and genuine, hypoallergenic horsehair”. No kidding. It’s like sleeping on a cloud. The Queen of England sleeps on this same type bed. Since we spend 1/3 of our lives sleeping – or so the stat claims – we decided it was a good investment. The dogs LOVE it – it’s the horsehair, no doubt. John snores really comfortably on it. I’m pretty sure when our specific bed was handcrafted, an amusing master artisan weaved a pea into one of those many layers on my side. Not that I’m a princess or anything. I just can’t seem to sleep in these premenopausal days.  

The week of my illness, I roamed all over the house seeking rest. Tate’s bedroom, the couch, Kelsey’s bedroom… Finally, one night, I broke down and whipped up a Whitneyish cocktail of Nyquil, cough medicine and Advil PM. I drifted off in the new bed and slept soundly. It was a deep, soundless, restful sleep with no interruptions. Apparently I passed out. The best sleep I remembered in a great while, and it was much needed. 

Lake Norfork, Arkansas
Then just before daybreak, I had one of those wonderful dreams – the kind from which you never want to awaken. You semi-realize you are dreaming, but you continue on with the dream, floating, luxuriating in it, wanting it to be real. I was lying on the dock at the lake looking up at the early morning sky. I could feel the hard boards underneath my back. There was a slight rocking motion as the water slowly moved. The dock creaked. I love that sound – unmistakeable, tranquil lake music. My arms were chilled in the morning air, and there was a slight mist on the surface of the glassy water – a bit of fog. With shades of lavender overhead, I kept my eyes closed and listed to the rhythmic creaking. In the trees, a mourning dove called out. An early morning boater sped by in the distance rocking the dock with more intention. As kids, my sister and I loved to swim out with our floats to catch the bigger waves. The adults, naturally, never wanted any wake around the dock. The rocking picked up, but was still calming. I came to that point in my dream, when I was more awake than asleep. I didn’t want it to end, it was so pleasant. I wanted the motion of the dock to lull me back to sleep. Just keep sleeping.


As the fog continued to clear on the lake and in my head, the rocking became even more prominent. Wait, was I on choppy seas? The ocean? What happened to the lake? It wasn’t quite so peaceful anymore – rough waters. Suddenly, I was completely coherent and no longer at the lake. 

The rhythmic rocking of the dock was actually snoring. At 5:30 am, John was glued to me in spoon like fashion, with his nose in my eardrum. Didn’t matter that I was ill, that I had a quarter inch coating of green Nyqil on my nasty tongue. Didn’t matter that I was wearing my “Fleas Navidad” t-shirt (thank you Renee). My nose was stopped up like a dirty sink and my hair looked like a bad version of the Farrah Fawcett ‘do. Didn’t matter. Apparently in that particular moment of time, when I was finally sleeping comfortably through an entire night, I was totally irresistible. And his loud snoring vibrations nearly rocked me clear off the dock/bed, of which I was allotted a teeny tiny fraction.

The lake and the dock and the mourning dove abruptly vanished, and my mind cleared. I elbowed John in an attempt to stifle the snoring. He rolled over, with a huge smile on his face, but still sound asleep. Hmmmm? While I was slumbering peacefully at the lake, I wonder just exactly what John was dreaming? Sometimes its best to not ask questions.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Otis Redding, “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay”
Zac Brown Band, “Knee Deep”


Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

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