grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Archives for 2012

PeopleAreOdd

By

There are some things I will never understand. I drove over to the Lakewood Library for some quality quiet time. I was interested to see how my neighborhood library compared to the non-libraryish library of Osceola. The parking lot was completely full, forcing me to park on the street around the corner. Wow, the library business was good in Dallas! I saw my friend Marcia, who was also looking for a parking space. She enlightened me – it was “story time” for all the neighborhood preschoolers. Ahhh maybe the library wouldn’t be so quiet after all. I wonder if dogs are allowed? 

Lakewood Library
As I walked toward the front door, I noticed the light posts that lined the walkway were covered in yarn from top to bottom – each a different color combination – to keep them warm??? It wasn’t even cold. This yarn trend had become quite common in Dallas and apparently across the state as of late. Maybe it’s popular everywhere, I have no idea, but I have not seen any tree scarves in Arkansas – ever. It’s just very odd to me. 

I selected a table near the window in a far corner. In the Hispanic area. Half the Lakewood Library – books, signage, periodicals – is designed for Spanish speaking visitors – an obvious difference from my hometown library. This was not surprising given our neighborhood mix. The library was very neat and orderly and organized. It was nice. It was libraryish. Mrs. Perry would approve. The Spanish books were aligned evenly just as she required.

In Osceola, most of the people inside were obviously using the computers to look for jobs. In the Dallas library, there was a balance of patrons – moms and/or nannys with kids, elderly men reading the WSJ, people apparently working, and several homeless people. If I become homeless, I will hang at the library. 

While there, no one asked me to spell anything. I do not believe the librarian was cooking behind the counter. It was quiet. Later, as I walked back toward my car, I looked at those light posts again and contemplated this new strange trend. All the trees in the Dallas Arts District were ‘yarn bombed’ last summer. (I know this to be the correct terminology only because I googled it.) The Winspear Opera House requested its trees be covered for the opening of the musical Hair. An arborist was consulted to insure no trees would be harmed in the project. In Austin, the trees around the State Capitol and on the University of Texas campus were covered with these crocheted scarves. Who does this? Why?

Nana crocheted. She made blankets and doilies and Christmas ornaments. I don’t think she ever crocheted scarves for her apple trees or blankets for her irises. She tried to teach me. I could do a long line of stitches, but never turn, so maybe this is the one thing I could crochet – if my trees get cold this winter…
Dallas Arts District


I can’t imagine the time someone devotes to this. Who is this graffiti knitter? Is this one person with way too much time on her hands? or a group of people? Do they have nothing more productive to do all day long? Someone wraps all these trees and just leaves their hard work behind for others to see and critique and hopefully enjoy – what if no one does? Maybe everyone thinks its bizarre. Maybe people laugh and roll their eyes. Maybe people drive by and shake their heads. Maybe no one understands why anyone would spend all that time…  They do it because they enjoy it?

Sorta like blogging.
talya
Musical Pairings:

Journey, “Don’t Stop Believin'”
John Mayer, “Waiting on the World to Change”
Austin

Love Shack baby!

By

Nana was born on Valentine’s Day. How perfect! The day of love and happiness. Growing up, the Valentine’s Day parties in elementary school with the cute little cards and yummy cupcakes were all secondary to Nana’s Valentine’s Day Birthday. We eagerly showered her with homemade cards, candy, a cake and presents – along with an off key rendition of Happy Birthday.


When Nana and Papa Creecy moved to Keiser from the home place, they bought the brick house next door to the Grahams. I thought it was the prettiest house in Keiser. It had a very cool finished-out attic which became our hideout. Staci and I played with our barbies there and listened to music during bunkin’ parties. There was no furniture in the attic, other than an oversized bright yellow wooden rocker. The house must have been built around that rocker – it was there when they bought it. And it was part of the deal when my mother sold it, after they died. The attic stairs were super steep and small – a secret little stairwell – that chair wasn’t going anywhere. The Mystery of the Attic Chair… I’m sure had Nancy Drew known, she would have solved the puzzle. I bet it’s still there.

In junior high, the attic became the site of many, many games of 7 Minutes in Heaven…Keiser,Arkansas-Style. Our version was really more a combination of Spin the Bottle and Thirty Seconds in the Closet. We all sat in a big circle surrounding a coke bottle in the center. We turned the overhead light off – probably because we were too embarrassed to see ourselves. Understandably, this drove Nana crazy. She would flip the switch at the bottom of the stairs and yell up to the attic space, “Taaaaaaaalya!!!” We would all giggle, “Oh sorry!” like we had no idea how that light turned itself off, wait a couple of minutes, and flip the switch again from upstairs. She couldn’t (or wouldn’t) climb those steep stairs, and we knew it.  We took turns spinning the bottle, and the person the bottle landed on was the lucky recipient of a few seconds in the attic closet, in the shadows.


We spent lots of weekend nights up there – our little group of friends – Becky, Anita, Trina, Craig, Graham, Judy, Charles M, Timmy and others I’m sure. It was far from heavenly, but it was the closest we had been. It was fun and different and exciting at a time when we were innocent and full of teenage curiosity.  No one spoke of what went on after a turn in that closet, but I doubt there are any big secrets. Timmy was always cute and nervous in that dark closet. He was funny, but shy. A turn with Craig was like 7 minutes of Botox. He nearly ate our lips off. Ruth was likely starving him – he was always in trouble with his mom… He definitely would have been punished had she known about Nana’s attic. We each kissed everyone eventually – we didn’t care which boy it landed on. They were all like our brothers… That game of thirty seconds in the closet was our important entre into dating and eventually true love. 


I’m sure young teens today have outgrown Spin the Bottle. They are too busy texting and living in an online world.

Norfork Lake

Nana was much like Lucy Ricardo – funny, always laughing and typically into some type of mischief. I think Annabelle the Schnauzer must take after her…She was strong and faithful – at church every time the doors were open. She was loved by all – including all the kids up in the attic. Even though she was sick for much of her life – brain surgery in her 20s, leukemia in her 60s and a terrible headache nearly every day in between, Nana always had a beautiful smile on her face.  And something funny to say. She never tried to be funny. She just was. Everyone who came into contact with her was better for it, and I miss her every day. Of course my mother has turned into her, so she isn’t really ever very far away. 


I love this quote from Oscar Wilde…”All women become like their mothers.  That is their tragedy.  No man does.  That is his.”



Happy Valentine’s Day & Happy Birthday Nana!


xoxo


talya




Musical Pairings:


The B52s, “Love Shack”

Rick Springfield, “Jessie’s Girl”
Jamey Johnson, “In Color”


Best Tip of the Day

By

We groomed Kelsey and Tate to be Razorbacks from birth. Growing up, we took them to football and basketball games, hoping that someday they would choose to go to college there. It didn’t work on Kelsey – we weren’t really surprised. She was too much of a Texas girl, actually preferring 115 degree days, flip flops and burnt orange. It was a good fit for her, and once John got over the initial shock, I think he agreed. John is a Razorback alumnus who still has childhood memories of tough Hog-Horn games from the ’60s. Kelsey brought John a huge longhorn flag, during her first trip home as a freshman. He was speechless. “What do I do with that?” He asked me. We flew it off the front porch on Texas-OU weekends. She seemed ok with that. We continued to hold out hope for Tate. Red was his color.

Tate toured several colleges his senior year before making his decision – Oklahoma, Oklahoma State, University of Colorado, Colorado State. He had already ruled out all Texas schools – he wanted to escape the heat. He wanted a smaller city. He wanted to see trees and nature. We never pushed or threatened or begged. There were no tears. We just silently prayed. For years. We wasted no prayers on health – we were dedicated to the college decision. We thought his entire weekly laundry load of red Razorback wear was a good sign. We crossed our fingers. 

He loved the State of Arkansas. Since birth he had vacationed at Norfork Lake in Mountain Home, as well as Hot Springs. It was his second home. Even though most of his friends were headed to Texas Tech, we held out hope. Finally, after weighing all his choices, he announced he had decided to go to the University of Arkansas. We were cool. We didn’t act as thrilled as we felt. When the acceptance letter came, we didn’t call the hogs or skip and go naked or anything. We were cool. John and I didn’t chest bump or high five or express our sheer joy – at least not in front of Tate. We did not want to do anything to jinx ourselves. Not until we moved in his few boxes and drove off – then I may have done a cartwheel outside Maple Hill East. It was one of the happiest moments of our lives. Tate was a Razorback.

He jumped right in, met lots of new friends, memorized the Fight Song, learned to drive to Target and found a place to get his hair cut. Pinch me… John was walking a bit taller.

The nest was clean and quiet which was bit strange, but really pretty nice. Why did my friends mope about? Isn’t this the goal? Don’t you want your kids to leave? I’ll never understand. I knew plenty of people who couldn’t pry their kids out of the house. Or, they showed back up with grandkids in tow. All that hard parenting work had led to this peaceful moment in time. Nice. 

Within one month, Tate called home and said, “Mom, I have some news…”, he sounded strange. “Oh, no, no, no.” What could it be? He’s wrecked his SUV or he hates school… I felt a bit nauseous. There was a pause.

“I’m a vegetarian.”

WHAT??? SERIOUSLY??? At Arkansas? “Did you secretively transfer to UT? AreYouInAustin???!!! 

How does that happen? I had completely trusted this school and the people of this state with my only son, and within thirty days he had lost all core food values??

Kids don’t go off to Arkansas and become vegetarians! They just don’t! They go off to college and gain the Freshman 15 eating pizza all night. Tate was a full-time-red-meat-eating-carnivore. What about Herman’s Ribhouse? He loved that place! That gigantic plate o’ribs with the Texas toast??? And his regular diet of Chipotle burritos as big as my head stuffed with brisket and chicken? This was bad.

Kelsey had been a vegetarian for years now – since she was in junior high. She gave up meat for Lent one year and never looked back. But she attended the University of Texas – in Austin. It was a prerequisite. Everyone in Austin was a vegetarian. The food was organic and local and blessed by tree huggers. They try to keep Austin weird. It’s the city motto. But in Arkansas???? WhereHadWeGoneWrong??? John and I sulked around all night, as if we had found out he was making meth on a hot plate in his dorm room.

Tate had his reasons for this drastic lifestyle redesign, one of which was his Anthropology teacher had ‘challenged’ the class to do this. And apparently that’s all it took for him to jump on board with both feet. Totally committed. Do not pass Go, do not collect $100. His teacher suggested it, and he was in. I needed this professor’s phone number. She must be hot. I would just start feeding suggestions to Tate via his Anthropology teacher.  We had worked for 18 years to make him a Razorback. Carefully, nonchalantly, tiptoeing around the Hogs, knowing full well if we even pointed north up Central Expressway toward the Red River, there would be no way it would happen. Also, apparently, he felt Tyson Chicken was not treating its animals humanely. What were they teaching him at that school?! My child who LIVED on bags of buffalo wing flavored frozen Tyson Chicken strips in high school? And, he went on and on about how the cows in South America ate better than the people there. I didn’t care about those people or cows! We don’t get our beef from South America! Let them worry about their own people. I was concerned about myself and my son and how this particular decision was going to change my holiday meal planning! Who WAS this person and what had happened to Tate? I did not recognize his voice on the telephone. He was worried about international beef grazing? When he came home for his Thanksgiving portabella mushroom, he actually made his bed.

Sadly, our turkey that Thanksgiving was the smallest one yet. But I treated it with the utmost respect in case the kids were watching me brine it. Kelsey and Tate both ate only side dishes, which I was forced to make with water and air instead of cream of chicken soup and bacon fat. All delicious holiday sides include cream of chicken soup. Everyone knows that. Still a vegetarian on Christmas Eve, he passed on John’s fabulous beef tenderloin, smoked on the Green Egg. His best tenderloin yet. We enjoyed lots of leftovers while Tate ate vegetarian beans all month. He looked gaunt.
In a month, Tate will be off a week for his first college Spring Break. While everyone else goes snow skiing or enjoys a caribbean cruise, our spring break tradition is Oaklawn Park in Hot Springs. We always go to the horse races. One year – when Tate was in elementary school – we discussed changing up our routine and possibly going somewhere else. Tate was distraught. “No, I want to go to Hot Springs. It’s the only place I can earn any money.” We raised this child right. Staci and I went to the track as children with our parents. Daddy was skilled at picking the horses, and he tried to share his knowledge with us. He gave us a small ‘allowance’ for the track, teaching us to gamble at an early age. And then we passed this skill down to our kids.  Even as young child, Tate studied the racing program and tip sheets the entire night before the race, ranked the jockeys for each race, selected all his horses and budgeted his money. He never spent this sort of time on his homework. Now I just wait and see who Tate likes before placing my bets.

Tate’s money was always for picking horses and placing bets. My money, or John’s money, or Nana’s money, was for ice cream, (mistreated) chicken strips and everyone’s favorite – the Oaklawn reuben sandwich. At $6.50, the reuben sandwich at the track is the best bet of the day. By a long shot. At the end of the trip, Tate always left with more money than he started. He was little Thomas Tate. Still is. Daddy would be proud. 

For the first time, Tate will actually be old enough to place his own bets this year. In our family, this is a proud rite of passage – like voting for the first time, graduating from high school, or making that first paycheck. Placing a bet! It’s a big thing. 

Tate called last week to discuss a dentist appointment and his housing for next year. He sounded happy and mature and totally together. At the very end of our conversation, as we began to hang up the phone, almost as an afterthought, he said, “Oh yeah, mom. By the way, I’m eating meat again.” Oh yay oh yay oh yay!! I knew he couldn’t resist those Reuben Sandwiches! Of course, I didn’t act excited. I was cool. I didn’t want to jinx it.


Tate’s Mom

Musical Pairings:

Dan Fogelberg, “Run for the Roses”
William Edwin Douglas, “Arkansas Fight Song”




Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!