Life - grace grits and gardening

Prayers for West, Texas

April 21, 2013 By Talya Tate Boerner

As a Baylor freshman in the early 1980’s, the town of West, Texas was THE place to spend Friday nights. Piling into a friend’s car, we drove the short trip north from Waco and flooded into the West Fraternal Hall wearing denim skirts and brand-spanking-new Luccheses.

West was where I first danced the Cotton-Eyed Joe.

Settled in the 1880’s by Czech and German immigrants, West is home to world-famous fruit kolaches—heavenly fruit pastries that lure in travelers speeding between Dallas and Austin all day, every day. And for Baylor students, the Czech Stop bakery was worth the drive across the Brazos River on Saturday mornings.

Last week in West, a massive explosion flattened a fertilizer plant killing 14 and injuring 200 of the town’s 2,600+/- people. Homes, businesses, lives were destroyed. Once again we are reminded how everything can change in the blink of an eye.

Praying for the people of West, Texas…

talya

Cotton-eyed Joe, Bill Monroe

R is for Reading

April 20, 2013 By Talya Tate Boerner

Once upon a time I unearthed a skeleton key buried in a badger hole. The rusty key unlocked a secret garden gate that led to a lifetime of fantasy and adventure, history and travel. From The Leaky Cauldron to the Great River of Narnia, each place taught lessons I carry with me.

Swinging on vines through unspoiled jungles of Africa without ever leaving my bedroom, freedom became more important than worldly objects. Entire summers were spent sleuthing in the Osceola Public Library with Nancy Drew, solving mysteries hidden under the stairs.

Across the ravaged south I trekked, following love into the cold Shenandoah Mountains. Back home, the choiring trees of the Ozark Mountains sang to me.

Kite fighting in Kabul brought courage and redemption, the likes of which I had never witnessed. Exotic smells and sounds came alive while brilliant colors spiraled and floated through the air, touched rooftops, rested on the ground.

Searching for the meaning of life and mourning all things lost, I found myself while hiking the wild Pacific Crest Trail.

Visiting the egyptian pyramids from my porch swing, I discovered when something is truly desired, the universe conspires to make it achievable.

Where have you been lately?

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

“The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.”
― Dr. Seuss, I Can Read With My Eyes Shut!

Musical Pairing:

Sail Away

I’m blogging my way through the alphabet.
A to Z April Blog Challenge. R is for Reading…

P is for Penpal

April 18, 2013 By Talya Tate Boerner

Did you ever have a penpal?

I connected with my penpal via Tiger Beat, my favorite teeny bopper magazine which I devoured each month cover-to-cover primarily to monitor the activities of my puppy love Donny Osmond.

Be.Still.My.Heart. ♡♡♡Yes, in the 1970’s, Tiger Beat had a penpal section, pages of names and addresses of kids who wanted to be matched with a friend on the other side of the planet. Yes, in the 1970s, people wrote letters by hand with real paper and ink……

Living on the opposite side of the world, my Australian penpal was exotic. At Christmas when our farm was buried under two feet of snow, she was snorkeling and swimming at a sandy Melbourne beach. How cool was that?

Turns out even with our obvious geographical differences, we had much in common. My birthday was July 10, hers July 11, one year later. Same astrological sign!

We wrote to each other for years. Faithfully. The sheer anticipation of receiving a letter postmarked Airmail with interesting stamps for my collection was thrilling. When a thick letter arrived filled with pages and pages written in her perfect, neat printing, I skipped supper to read it over and over again. I stayed up late writing my response, hoping my life sounded interesting, knowing my letter, my words would travel over the ocean to a place I could only dream to go.

My penpal was much better than a diary, because she responded. Faithfully. We shared secrets and crazy family stories. We exchanged birthday and Christmas gifts and even had matching necklaces. We discussed boys. Do you think he likes me?

Turns out there was a big world beyond Mississippi County, Arkansas.

And then with no further discussion or thought or final farewell, our correspondence ended. We grew older. We left home. One of us stopped, and the other was too busy to be concerned. Had I known my last letter was the final one, I may have said something important. But probably not.

I’ve often wondered what happened to Anne Cardow. I ran across her picture a few weeks ago in my desk drawer at home in Arkansas. I still have some of her letters written in perfect, neat printing.

Are you still out there Anne? It’s me, Talya.I’m still here.