grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Dogpatch Telepathy

By

Jenny

When my friend Jenny and I worked together at the bank, we often joked about our witch powers.We both had a talent for summoning customers with only a slight mention of the customer’s name. A word in passing, and the customer was in the drive-thru that afternoon.

Me: Have you seen Bob lately?
Jenny: Not in five years…

And there he’d be, standing at the teller counter… This was a gift when attempting to collect bad debts, but eerie to the point we trained ourselves NOT to speak or think of certain people… 

I still have this power.

Vintage Serving Tray, The Posh Pearl, Fayetteville


Friday morning  I saw a Dogpatch USA serving tray in a Fayetteville vintage shop. Memories flooded me. Growing up in the 1970s, Dogpatch was an exciting Arkansas summer destination. Based on the comic strip Li’l Abner, Dogpatch was home to Daisy Mae, Mammy and Pappy Yokum, Moonbeam McSwine and a slew of other fun-lovin’, cornpone yokels. The theme park included a trout-filled lake—catch your own dinner(!)—paddle boats and a train ride that was held up at gunpoint by a band of moonshine-making robbers.

Dogpatch was greatness.

Dogpatch celebrated hillbilly. 

Later Friday night, I quizzed my sister-in-law. Do you remember Dogpatch? Did you go there as a child?  I told her about my high school friend, Timmy Stone, who had a summer job playing Pappy Yokum…  A talented actor—he WAS Pappy Yokum that summer. After sharing this with her, she recalled her sorority sister played Daisy Mae…

What are the odds? We are both one degree removed from Dogpatch.

Daisy Mae, Mammy Yokum and Pappy Yokum (Tim Stone)
One hour later—I received a Facebook message from Tim Stone. Pappy Yokum himself! Haven’tHeardFromHimInForever… Apparently I sent him some sort of Dogpatch telepathy.
As funny as ever, his entire message was typed without using the letter “T”. Instead, the “T” was replaced with “R”. I had no idea why he did this, but I played along…

Tim:  I’m cheering for Baylor roday.
Me: Yay!
Tim: Musr be working. Rhey are doing grear!
Me: Rhanks!
Tim: Do you remember why there are no “T’s”?
Me: Ummmm, no? Why?
Tim: In high school typing class, I couldn’t get down the letter T. Everything I typed had an R instead of a T. YOU typed me a note explaining that I was going to have a difficult life if I didn’t learn how to type T’s. You typed, and I quote: “You won’t even be able to type your own name, Rimmy Srone!” LOL.

Funny what people remember.

I wonder if my sister-in-law heard from Daisy Mae?

Sadly, the remains of Dogpatch rot deep in the Ozark Mountains, abandoned by humans and almost completely reclaimed by Mother Nature. An ancient buried hillbilly civilization. Creepy. But I recall many fun summer days there.

photo courtesy of Ozark Underground

If not for that Dogpatch serving tray, I may not have heard from Rimmy Srone…

And I’m expecting a call from Jenny any minute now, simply a result of typing her name.

ralya

Musical Pairing:

Jubilation T. Cornpone, Li’l Abner

Hillbillies are people too. —Bart Simpson

photo courtesy of Ozark Underground –
Dogpatch water ride….years later.

Jen Lancaster, Barbie and Me

By

Such a Pretty Fat, Jen Lancaster, Barbie and Me


This week I am attending a one-week writer’s residency program at Dairy Hollow in Eureka Springs. During this time I will re-post some of my favorite blogs from the prior year. Maybe you missed one? 

originally published 06/21/12…

I love Jen Lancaster. Her books make me laugh out loud no matter my mood or where I happen to be – during a long day of tedious jury duty, crammed in the middle seat between two giant trolls on an airplane, at church – not that I read in church. 


Yes, of course I love the classic writers such as Flannery O’Connor, Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, Carson McCullers. But Jen Lancaster is classic hilarity, her shenanigans on par with Lucy Ricardo. 
I’m certain if Jen and I were ever introduced, we would become hard and fast friends, going to happy hour, not working out, watching America’s Next Top Model. We both wear pearls, love our dogs, and adore all things Barbie.
Jen Lancaster, Barbie and Me
Jen at a book signing in Dallas.
I went to her book signing in Dallas. She was hysterical in person, sharing stories of her girl scout days and her obsession with obtaining badges and selling cookies. I wanted to meet her, to have her sign my book, but the line to see her was wrapped around Barnes & Noble nearly out the door to Northpark Mall and down Central Expressway. Plus, Mexican food and margaritas were calling. My girlfriends and I went to dinner instead.

I have read all her books, some more than once. 

My absolute favorite passage is the story of her late night on-line purchase of the Barbie Fashion Fever Grow N’ Style hair-styling head. She accidentally ordered it after a dose of Ambien which reportedly makes some people do odd things. She had no recollection of this drugged shopping spree until she came “face-to-ass” with the UPS delivery man while attempting Downward Facing Dog in her living room wearing only “yoga pants and a particularly ugly bra covered in faded pink cabbage roses.”  Opening the large box she was horrified, initially thinking someone (a serial killer) had shipped her a severed head via next day delivery.

After she calmed down she remembered “severed heads aren’t pink. With sparkly earrings. And golden blond tresses. And shimmery rose pink lip gloss.” After another Ambien evening, she awoke the following morning to discover someone “retrieved and unpacked the Barbie head” and “styled her with a big back-combed updo, black eyeliner, off-white lipstick and a Pucci-style head wrap”.

“Her shame looked exactly like Nancy Sinatra.” (Such a Pretty Fat, Jen Lancaster)

SeriouslyFunnyStuff. I know you are laughing now.

When I was home in Arkansas a few weeks ago, I went in search of my own childhood Barbie head. My sister and I had one. And everything we ever had is still there, somewhere on that property. Since Barbie wasn’t in our bedroom closet, I knew she must be in the playhouse out back, unvisited by humans for years. 
Vintage Playhouse
Tate girls’ playhouse…
Momma and Daddy built us an amazing playhouse during pre-elementary school days. Really, it was a brilliant move on Momma’s part. We had our own tiny house which kept us out of her hair and her house all day long for years. Forty-some-odd-years-later, the door to the playhouse was tied to the railing to keep it shut. As I untethered it, a wasp guarding the door buzzed my head. The floor, nearly rotten, was crawling with spiders and all sorts of bugs. Throngs of mosquitoes both inside and out swarmed my head like bees. Surrounded by rice fields, mosquitoes are plentiful. 

Inside, the playhouse seemed teeny. I was Alice inside the rabbit hole after she devoured the “EAT ME” cake and grew to an enormous size, hitting her head on the ceiling as her arms poked out the windows on either side. Inside this wonderland, our miniature kitchen, a Christmas gift from Uncle Rex  looooooong ago, lined the walls still filled with tiny pots and pans and plastic play food. Kelsey and Tate “cooked” on the stove in the early 90s, Zach and Taylor a few years later. 
Vintage toys, Vintage Playhouse
Talya in Wonderland
note: the LOVE sign is about waist high…
Bravely (stupidly) I opened a box which initially startled me – it was completely filled with rats! Or, human hair! Someone had been scalped! I’m sure my reaction was not unlike Jen Lancaster’s when she thought her UPS box contained a severed head. I heard myself scream before recognizing the box was full of wigs. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered these were my Nana’s wigs. Why a box of wigs are being stored in the playhouse, I have no idea. Dressup? Halloween?

Vintage Barbie Head!
There on the shelf, glassy-eyed and spacey, sat Barbie’s head. A giant cobweb stretched from the shelf across her “golden blond tresses”, sadly unstyled for years. A faded beauty, her face was makeup free, lips as pale as mine. I felt sorry for her. I’m sure she was embarrassed.

I almost carried her in the house to spiff her up, but since I wasn’t drugged on Ambien or anything else, I left her behind in the time warp playhouse to live out her remaining days. She looked at home there.

talya

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

Musical Pairings:

Barbie Girl, Aqua

“Curiouser and curiouser.“ Alice in Wonderland

I Love a Rainy Night

By



This week I am attending a one-week writer’s residency program at Dairy Hollow in Eureka Springs. During this time I will re-post some of my favorite blogs from the prior year. Maybe you missed one? 


originally published 01/24/12…





A trip back home to Northeast Arkansas would be incomplete without at least one long night of thunderstorms, complete with hail, straight-line winds and the resulting power outage.  Last night was that night for my mom and me.  As huge storms brewed in the nation’s mid-section, they roared toward the Mississippi River and our house.


We were relaxing in the den watching Dateline when we were first notified of impending bad weather.  A severe thunderstorm and tornado warning flashed along the bottom of the television screen.  
These storms came up with very little warning. Living on a farm off a dark country road, we were somewhat out of touch with the world. The weather reporters became more and more animated and their maps became more and more colorful. Twirling arrows indicated possible tornadoes and tiny ping pong balls mimicked hail. They predicted an 8 in 10 chance of a tornado in our area. I was skeptical of this statistic.

We ignored the warnings. We were much more concerned with whether or not the newlywed had drowned his young cute wife, but as Dateline was interrupted yet again we realized we may never know.  I thought he was guilty. And I bet the people watching The Bachelor were plenty upset with the interruptions…  

Another alert was issued with this specific instruction that spoke volumes….  “Abandon mobile homes, hide in a ditch and wear durable shoes”.  Seriously. Exact Quote. LifeInTheCountry. I looked at my bare feet as I lay on the couch under a quilt. I glanced over at my mother.  She was wearing purple fuzzy Ugg slippers. Maybe I didn’t give this weatherman with the bad comb-over the credit he deserved?  He actually knew his audience pretty well. Perhaps we should heed his warning? As the wind began to howl and whistle through the fireplace, and the interior door in the den began to shake, I saw visions of those freaky munchkins and flying monkeys.

Ok, I’m going to get my durable shoes!

We escaped into a tiny, interior, window-less bedroom. It was cave-like. At night you cannot see your hand in front of your face. My mother converted it into a kids’ room when the grandchildren were born. It became a place to store old dolls that now had that semi-creepy appearance, old plastic jack-o-lanterns and other toys forgotten by time. In fact, it was quite possibly scarier than a tornado. 

There were at least 30 stuffed animals staring at me, and it was no wonder. I was wearing a black t-shirt from my favorite pizza restaurant, gym shorts and my durable shoes. I had quickly snagged a sweater from my bedroom, along with my bright blue bra. Seriously, if I awake in our rice field in the morning, I will not be braless. It is common knowledge that reporters seek out the most pitiful and scary people to interview after a disaster – I would not be this person tomorrow morning! I also grabbed my well gnawed night guard. I simply cannot sleep without my night guard – it protects my teeth as I clinch and grind. If the house is blown away, and we are relocated to a temporary shelter at the high school gym, I will need my sleep. Plus, this small piece of hard plastic is incredibly expensive!   In the event of a disaster, I will need that money for other things. Like Wine. My mother brought her cat, into the room. Gabby knew the routine well, as she had been born in tornado alley.  She just stared at us, probably freaked out by the stuffed animals everywhere. Or by me.


After about 30 minutes, we ventured out of our “safe room” to complete silence.  Either the storm had passed or the eye was directly overhead. Do tornadoes have eyes?  Exhausted, I slept well (with the help of my night guard). When we awoke in the morning, there were several large limbs scattered throughout the front yard from the pecan trees. Water stood in the field across the road. The sky was clear and blue. We had survived another storm. I was so relieved that we had not been relocated north of the Mason-Dixon Line during the night. I’m pretty sure that’s where the flying monkeys reside.

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!