grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Remembering You

By

I remember you in vibrant
twelve year old eyes, hidden 
behind a curtain of silk, never
quite long or straight
enough. Giggling, singing,
mad at the world. Call me
maybe? Leave.Me.Alone.
I remember you
in soulful eyes, dark and fervent, 
connecting the dots
with a humorous twist. Studious
yet playful, I believe I can fly.
I remember you in determined
eyes, brilliant and focused, mature
beyond your days. 
I could have done better. I will
do better. Oh the places I’ll go.
Watch and see.
I remember you
in conflicted eyes,
knowing, harried,
busy kids, busy work.
Here there everywhere.
How will I get through the day?
I remember you through
future eyes, steadfast,
amusing,
occasionally forgetful.
 My most devoted
fan. How did it get so late so soon?
Sometimes I can’t remember you at all.
talya

I’m Home!

By

I eagerly anticipated Tate’s college Christmas break. 
I envisioned family meals spread on the dining room table night after night.  Piles of beef tenderloin with roasted potatoes, pot roast and carrots, his favorite cream of mushroom soup… (Tate is my carnivore.)
Tate had visions of Burger House and late nights with friends. 
I had grown accustomed to my tidy third floor. Tate had grown accustomed to apartment living. 
3rd floor

There comes a time when Christmas decorations need to be taken down and put away. The tree, fresh and fragrant, filled with bright twinkle lights, became instantly frazzled and tired by January 1. Garland and tinsel and cherished vintage ornaments need to be returned to attic storage to rejuvenate and regain holiday magic for next year. 
There comes a time when college kids need to return to college, bittersweet though it may be.
Sunday, Tate drove back to college to begin the spring semester of his sophomore year. As I watched the Redskins lose to the Seahawks, Tate sent me a text saying, “I’m home.”
What? Home?
I wanted to respond… NO, you are back in Fayetteville. Home is here in Dallas. With me!
But I knew what he meant.
We all have more than one home. Home is the place where memories are strung together like pearls on a necklace. The place where all our yesterdays live. 
I’m home as soon as I cross State Line Avenue into Texarkana. I’m home as soon as I cross the Red River back into Texas.
I am home any time I’m with my family. I miss Tate already.

talya

Musical Pairing:

There’s No Place Like Home, Elvis Presley

p.s. I miss Kelsey too!

Tate, Kelsey, Zach, Taylor
Christmas 2012

Tonka Truck Tale

By

Tonka Truck Christmas Tale

After crafting my letter to Santa, I proof-read my little sister’s. At the top of her list, a Tonka Truck. 

“No, Staci! That’s a boy’s present!!!” I was incredulous. Although we both had tomboy tendencies favoring tree climbing to tea parties,  she couldn’t waste her main gift on a boy’s present. Papa Creecy would buy us boy presents any time we wanted, at the mere mention of a matchbox car or a baseball bat…

Grateful to have been saved from such a misguided gift, Staci erased and erased and erased until she almost ripped the notebook paper. Over the bare worn spot,  she wrote Baby Alive Doll in large block letters. There could be no confusion on Santa’s part. Much better, I thought. 
Satisfied, we taped our letters near the rock fireplace in the living room. Santa would spot them the moment he slid down our chimney. I felt a bit sorry for Staci—her letter was really messy with all that erasing. I would have started over with a clean sheet of paper… 
Christmas morning was cold and blustery and WHITE. Snow on the most wonderful day of the year! But the snow would have to wait. We crept into the living room wondering had we really been good enough? I had doubts.
Shocked, we stared dumb-struck at the Christmas miracle. Parked underneath the Scotch pine tree—a shiny Tonka Dump Truck and Front End Bucket Loader. Santa really didknow what we were thinking.  
I was surprised to receive anything that year after making fun of my sister’s letter to Santa.  
We played with those trucks for years, and to this day they sit on my mother’s back porch. Tonka Trucks are guaranteed for life, you know.
Tonka Truck Christmas Tale
talya

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

Musical Pairing:

Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Jackson 5

“Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time.” 
― Laura Ingalls Wilder

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!