Life - grace grits and gardening

Red Cowboy Boots

October 28, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

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 02/09/12…

I could have lived in Nashville. I almost had a date with Buddy Jewell, Osceola’s current claim to fame -the FIRST ever Nashville Star winner! Seriously. I have a love note from Buddy Jewell. He passed it to me after my biology class at Arkansas State, the fall of 1980. He had a class in that same classroom immediately following mine. As I walked out, he was sitting there waiting to go inside, actually playing his guitar. Just kinda messing around on it. Clearly, he was meant to be in Nashville.

I didn’t know him that well – he graduated a couple of years before me – from rival high school Osceola. I was a Rivercrest Colt. Anytime we wanted to irritate “our” boys, or just get their attention, we dated a boy from Osceola… It worked pretty well.

The note was folded up very tightly into a little square. Why would Buddy Jewell be handing me a note? I stuck it in my jeans to save for later. In private. In my dorm room. I couldn’t imagine what it was about. Maybe he wanted to hook up with my roommate? After reading it, I was very surprised. Wow, the first Nashville Star! No, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself….

Apparently it was for real, but we never went out. Way too complicated – I was dating Mark Wooten and transferring to Baylor... he was headed to Nashville – someday. Even so, I stuck the note in my bedroom drawer with all my letters and cards and junk – treasures I had collected throughout my life to that point. Years later, my mother called me to tell me that someone from Osceola was on Nashville Star. Nashville Star? Never heard of it…

She said, “I think his name is Jewell…?”

Buddy Jewell? Yeah, I know him! I have a love letter from him.

Later, after Buddy won, I dug it out of that drawer and flaunted it to all of my cousins who were duly impressed. (Always hold on to things like that – you just never know.)

Buddy was handsome – no doubt about it. He looked like Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. And that guitar was hot. He carried it everywhere. Obviously he was headed for bigger things. And he was observant – he certainly recognized that I was a Nashville kinda girl. I could have been.

It was probably those Razorback Red Justin cowboy boots I wore – nearly every day – to classes. After I transferred to Baylor, I traded those in for more appropriate ‘Texas-looking’ boots, bought at The Western Fair in Lott – a quick side trip from Waco. All the Baylor freshmen saved their money to buy boots there – a necessity for the Cotton-Eye Joe which we practiced at the fraternal hall in West. The Western Fair smelled of leather and oil, and Lucchese boots were lined up for blocks and blocks. My new boots were brown – a bit more subdued. I couldn’t very well walk around the Baylor campus in Razorback red – the schools weren’t that chummy. I wish I still had those red Justins.

A couple of years ago, right before Christmas, my friend Becky and I, along with her daughter Christie, planned a girl’s trip to Nashville. This was my first trip to Nashville – very exciting for a girl brought up with Conway Twitty and George Jones. I couldn’t contain myself – all those historical sites – the Grand Ole Opry – wow! – Country Music Hall of Fame – I could cross another item off my bucket list. Becky and Christie, on the other hand, seemed to be a bit more interested in visiting all the Nashville malls. We went to at least 3 malls and purchased NOTHING. Only a week before Christmas, parking was horrendous and Christie was determined to park by the front door – very odd for someone with a dedicated workout practice who eats only paleo….

Unless it’s a bookstore or nursery, I don’t like to shop. Secondly, I live in Dallas, 5 minutes from the power of Northpark Mall, with 1.9 million square feet of gross leasable area. It’s probably one of the top 5 malls in the nation based on sales per square foot. Northpark has everything. It’s an incredible place, and I try my best to avoid it at all costs. Becky and Christie were understandably bored with Jonesboro’s retail options – the city only recently got its first escalator.

Becky’s primary goal on this trip was to spot Keith Urban, preferably without Nicole. Honestly, I thought our chances of spotting Keith lunching at Panera on baked potato soup were slim. But we looked. I’m not sure Becky even ate.

We did shop and sightsee – something for everyone… We even worked in a line dance lesson. The absolute highlight for me was seeing Porter Wagoner’s rhinestone jacket and Bocephus’ boots! Buddy Jewell’s college guitar wasn’t exhibited at the Hall of Fame yet, but maybe in time. I don’t remember if any Keith artifacts were there, but I’m sure Becky knows.

talya

Musical Pairing:

Sweet Southern Comfort, Buddy Jewell

Late Confession

October 23, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Now that a few days have passed and I haven’t been punted from the Boerner family, a true confession…

I was late for my mother-in-law’s FUNERAL.

NEVER am I late for anything. In fact, I’m usually annoyingly twenty minutes early.

I have 3 lame excuses.

I felt the need to iron my shirt. I rarely iron and I am slow. While I ironed I worked on a blog that percolated in my head. This added a few minutes to my routine.
While ironing, Lucy and Annabelle slopped around like pigs in their own back yard mud run, returning with muck up to their collars. I washed eight nasty paws/legs to save the furniture. This seemed unavoidable and added a few more minutes to my routine.
I had a complete underwear meltdown. This panty debacle was the true pre-funeral time waster.

I packed haphazardly bringing an odd assortment of clothing, underwear and shoes with no thought to matching up anything. My nice gray slacks seemed a bit tighter than the last time I wore them (dry cleaners) making panty pairing crucial.

I tried on every pair of panties with my gray slacks, each time assessing my rear view in the full length mirror. Panty lines glared as the dogs stared.

Where can I buy one of those skinny mirrors found in every mall dressing room? The ones that make you fork over too much money only to find you look just like your lumpy self once back home in front of a normal non-carny mirror… I want one.

I even tried on my slacks commando. NOT a good option for many, many reasons.

Finally, I went with my best ill-fitting pair and made it to the funeral 5 minutes late. Teetering into the chapel on heels I had forgotten how to wear (since leaving my real job) and flashing panty lines like neon, I was duly mortified. I know my mother-in-law was laughing…

talya

Musical Pairing:

Landslide, Fleetwood Mac

I’m late! I’m late! For a very important date. No time to say “Hello, Goodbye”. I’m late, I’m late, I’m late! – White Rabbit, Alice in Wonderland

I haven’t had a decent pair of panties since Mammaw Tate died… – Staci Tate Sandquist

Pauline’s Iron

October 18, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

“Take anything you want,” my sister-in-law told me. Last year, my in-laws moved into assisted care living. We walked through John’s childhood home taking a few things, but it seemed strange. Although the house was being readied for sale, they still lived around the corner.

I took Pauline’s iron. Heavy and sturdy, it’s one of those they-just-don’t-make-them-like-that-anymore irons.

Always practical and thrifty, she probably used that iron her entire married life, over sixty years. I rarely iron but was happy to take it since we don’t have one in our Fayetteville cottage. This substantial iron makes the whole chore seem more important.

This morning I ironed. My shirt was too wrinkled to ignore. As I ironed, I considered the many times she must have used it through the years, maybe even ironing John’s clothes when he was a kid. Somehow using her iron made me feel a bit better. I felt calmer, a bit closer to her.

This afternoon we buried my mother-in-law. It was a perfect fall day, a chill in the air, the sky cornflower blue, the trees between Fayetteville and Fort Smith brilliant. Fall was her favorite season.

As I sat in the tiny stone chapel, I gazed into the rafters and wondered if she could see all the people who filled the sanctuary, friends and loved ones saddened by her death.

I wondered if she saw John’s sister do the reading, her voice amazingly steady and unwavering.

I wondered if she saw her husband in his wheelchair, handsome and brave yet broken and lost without her.

I wondered if she heard Ave Maria fill the air, giving everyone goosebumps.

I wonder if she knows how many lives she touched in 92 years.

I wonder if she knows the void she leaves behind.