grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

But It’s Only Water Weight!

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Today marks the beginning of my 4th month! So far so good. I feel happy and calm and have really begun to enjoy the changes that are developing in my life. I’m taking better care of myself, eating organic and limiting red meat. And I sleep better. My friends have told me I have a glow.  The glow of retirement.  YesPleaseAndThankYou!

I retired from my 25 year banking career at State Bank & Trust on Halloween.  As I enter into my 2nd trimester of retirement, I think I’ve only gained 5 pounds.  But I don’t really know or care. As long as my jeans fit, no worries. The only time I really think about it is when I’m forced to weigh in for my annual physical at the insistence of Jennifer, my cute, tiny, female-DoogieHowser-ish internist. (There is something rather unsettling about explaining hot flashes to Jennifer, obviously born in the 1980s. I feel immediately more vibrant after a visit to Dr. Walter, who was given a proper, doctorly name, when gas cost $0.15 per gallon.) 

My husband, on the other hand, weighs himself at least 2 times a day, and ALWAYS after a big dinner.  This is so baffling to me, but quite entertaining. He steps on the scale, which is not accurate compared to Dr. Jennifer’s scale, and announces the results in summary format, but never stating the actual poundage to me.  “Well, I shouldn’t have had that burger at dinner,” incredibly disappointed in himself, sounding like Eeyore. Or, with a pleasant smile in his voice, “Turkey wrap at lunch” proud that the scale delivered positive news. I do not even say it – I soooo want to say it. I am trying my dead level best to be supportive.  After all, I’m a kept woman now. 

Seriously, does he not know about water retention? That no matter what he eats, foregoes or pukes up that day, he simply will NOT weigh less at night than he did in the morning. It’s a mathematical dieting fact of life.  To see a change, he must make a major lifestyle change, like donating a leg. He’s a very smart man. He structures complicated deals I only pretend to understand. He, of all people, should understand that these small weight fluctuations from morning to night are simple rounding errors! I sweat four days a week for months, eating only gluten-free, dairy-free, taste-free food with no obvious change, yet he hopes and believes in his heart that he can step on the scale after substituting fries for cabbage at dinner one night and truly lose weight? But then again, he is a man. They do have the advantage of somehow dropping 2 pounds after a satisfying bathroom break. And it’s not water…

After only one week of retirement, everyone began to ask me incredulously, “WHAT are you doing with yourself?”, as if I had been confined to complete bed rest and chicken broth. “WHAT on Earth do you do all day?”, blah blah blah. Oh puleeze! {insert eye roll here} Like these people could not entertain themselves for even one measly week? I was already into my 4th month and had not watched a minute of daytime television (except for a couple of episodes of Andy Griffith). But then again, I can entertain myself at Target.  I will admit, now that the tables have turned, I too made those catty comments to my stay-at-home friends, pretending to be so incredibly fulfilled when really, I was totally sleep deprived, envious and bitter. It was just a coping skill. We do what we have to do to get down the road.

I can see this clearly now that I am more rested and less stressed. I no longer track the prime interest rate or worry about the median sales price for Dallas County homes compared to the prior quarter, or whether the price per square foot has fallen in Preston Hollow. I am losing no sleep over the 30 year jumbo mortgage rate products. I have allowed myself to let go of this information, opening up my brain for new creative ideas and boosting my memory. John’s brain is jammed with every number he ever knew – his old phone numbers, apartment numbers, and every golf hole stroke/score. This is why he cannot remember important particulars such as the delicate working of the body as it relates to water weight retention. 

No longer do I have recurring dreams about falling or floating off into the upper atmosphere, or forgetting to go to my college classes an entire semester, or being naked at work.  My dreams are now very different, peaceful and specific – eating a bowl of peaches, swimming in the ocean or watching it snow. I know, I know. In only 90 days, I’ve become one of those people who annoys the hell out of me.  

Twenty-five years is a big chunk of my life.  Half of my life with the same bank owners and co-workers. I was a baby when I started working there – fresh out of Baylor University. There is no way to walk away and not leave a part of myself behind. Now I’m the customer. Tomorrow I need to drop by to do some banking. I know there will be fresh, hot, complementary coffee – with those awesome french vanilla liquid coffee mate singles – and juicy gossip waiting for me. I hope they don’t notice my extra 5 pounds. But really, it’s just water weight.




talya

Musical Pairings:
Uncle Kracker, “Smile”

Channeling Thomas Tate

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I slowly try to push through the fog and cobwebs to a state of semi-consciousness. My scratchy, sticky eyes will not open quite yet. I hear rain in the distance. Once my still sleepy brain clears a bit, I recognize the rain is not rain at all – it’s actually the bathroom shower. Slowly the day begins to come into focus. Ready or not, John has an early morning flight to Pittsburgh. 

I try to roll over but Annabelle has pinned my leg. It is numb. Carefully extricating myself, I shift to the other side, re-establishing blood flow to that dying limb. Without warning, I am jolted wide awake with one whiff of my pungent pillowcase. Ugh! Eau de Schnauzer! During the day, if Annabelle is not up to some type of puppy shenanigan, she can be found recharging on my pillow. It is 4:30 a.m.

John flips on the television and overhead lights, and begins to open and close drawers.  He is packing. He packs the morning of his trip, no matter how early the flight. I feign sleep and dare not breathe so that Lucy and Annabelle do not decide to begin their day as well.  I shall not walk dogs at 4:30 a.m.  I am quiet and still.  I listen to the sounds of this morning.  

The news reporters apparently have misplaced their script. Or perhaps the early bird newscast is just a time for improvisation practice while reporting on North Texas fluff?  Who watches at 4:30 anyhow? Joe Biden will be in town today – yippee! A man in Plano was caught “cloning” Walmart gift cards.  Now I’m no scientist, but doesn’t cloning involve genes and DNA and tissue and embryonic cells and biological stuff?  Interesting word choice for a piece of hard plastic used to buy toilet paper. Other breaking news: Kim Kardashian was spotted at the Galleria with Khloe. I will never understand the world’s fascination with the Kardashian Klan. I cannot fathom it. Who cares if Kris is in Miami? Or if Khloe was adopted? It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to learn the whole gaggle of sisters had been cloned.  Nor would I care. And who knew there were two younger daughters, Kylie and Kendall? (I didn’t until I googled them, no doubt adding to their popularity.) No one keeps up with poor Kylie and Kendall because their last name is Jenner. There is just no alliteration there. Bor–r-r-ring. 


John plops t-shirts on the window seat cushion, somehow managing to make this sound noisy. He stacks and re-stacks these shirts as if arranging a display table at The Gap.  I am very familiar with his packing routine. Although I do not open my eyes – I can feel Annabelle staring at me – I know John is contemplating what to take with him. He checks his iPad for the weather in Pittsburgh. He is talking to himself. He opens the drawer in the nightstand right beside my head which startles me a bit. He doesn’t visit that drawer very often – it is home to his winter things, rarely needed in Dallas. The hardwood floors creaked under his heavy steps. Is he stomping on purpose or has he decided to wear his heavy Halloween Frankenstein shoes today? Not the best shoes for airport security. And, isn’t he only staying 2 days! From my spot in bed, it sounded as if he was packing for  Europe. Would he go to Europe without me!? Or, did he pick this very moment in time to organize his drawers? As he walks back into his closet again, it hits me –  he is like my dad. He’s up – we should all be up….? He was channeling Thomas Tate!

So it’s true. Girls turn into their mothers and marry someone just like their fathers. We resist it, we deny it, but then suddenly it has happened.  Just like that. There were a few similarities: work hard, provide well, grumble a bit, take care of business and family, vacation when forced, avoid doctors:)

Today would have been my dad’s 75th birthday, but he died of colon cancer when he was only 57. So Incredibly Young. Daddy was a farmer. He awoke before the chickens no matter the season/weather and blasted us all out of bed to the melodic tunes of Willie Nelson.  In a 1970s renovation, my clever, hip mother installed groovy stereo speakers in all the rooms throughout the house.  In the ceiling, above the beds.   He wrote the check for them, but the Tate girls paid the price every single morning.

Although I was blasted out of bed this morning by doggie smelling salts, the television and harsh overhead lights, I think I heard “Good Hearted Woman” in the back of my head.  As soon as he returns from Europe, I’m going to make sure John gets a colonoscopy. But first I am going to wash my sheets.

Thomas Lee Tate
Happy Birthday!
Jan 31, 1937

talya
Musical Pairings:
Willie Nelson, “Pretty Paper”
Don Williams, “Some Broken Hearts Never Mend”
Bee Gees, “Jive Talking”


Sinful Pies & Magical Jello

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Nana’s Recipe Box!
While scrambling eggs this morning, my mother started cleaning a cabinet in her kitchen. It contained expired cough syrup and gummy vitamins, along with a shelf of old cookbooks. Basically, my mother hung up her apron in 1994 after my dad died, so I doubted these cookbooks had seen the light of the kitchen in years.

As we ate breakfast and drank coffee, she handed me Nana’s recipe box to peruse. I had no idea she had this bit of heritage hidden behind the spice rack like a secret diary. It was a small wooden box exploding with bits and scraps of papers, jammed inside at all angles so that the lid would not close. I loved to cook and try out new recipes so this was a treasure trove! Plus I remembered some of Nana’s delicious pies.

I carefully unfolded the bits and pieces of fragile paper which were yellowed and coated in an oily film- probably Crisco. I loved that I was touching papers that she had touched. Each was written in pencil, in her easily recognizable cursive handwriting. She wrote the way we were all originally taught in elementary school – slanted to the right with loops and curves and each letter gracefully flowing into the next.  Most recipes had no title, and they all began with a simple listing of basic ingredients.  As I read the ingredients aloud, my mother identified most,  “Oh that was her fruitcake recipe”. And, “That was her chocolate pie”. Oddly enough, almost every single recipe included jello. Who knew jello was such a magic ingredient?
 
Studying the castoff papers on which these recipes were written was as much fun as reading the actual recipes. She was the quintessential recycler! Chocolate Pecan Delight was written on the back of the Keiser Baptist Church program from 1976. Nana was a faithful member of that church until she died.  I still remember the preacher there (I’m Facebook friends with his daughter), and I knew the organist and Sunday school director, who were also identified in the program. The sermon on that particular Sunday morning was “Sin is Sin”.  I think baking and eating pie every day was probably the only sinful thing she ever did.

Chocolate pie was written on a Bank of Wilson deposit slip, along with her grocery list for tuna, milk and sugar. An unnamed recipe was written on Keiser Supply Company note paper. We always bought our Christmas tree at Keiser Supply, and they sent us a giant smoked ham every year – the best ham ever.

I plan to try out these recipes.  It will likely take years, but as this is part of our family history passed down in Nana’s handwriting, it seems like an important use of time. Maybe somewhere in this treasure box is the perfect pie crust recipe I’m determined to master.


talya

Musical Pairings:
Hymn, “Blessed Assurance”

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!