grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Where the Sidewalk Ends

By

Once there was a tree. . .

I love trees. I would hate to live in a place with no trees. I couldn’t breathe or think or sleep at night. I imagine it would be like living in a very high altitude spot where the oxygen is thin. The huge trees in our corner of Dallas are one of the best things about Munger Place. The trees and the porches, of course. They kinda go hand in hand.
My good friend Harry Gibson has one of the best trees and porches in Munger Place. Both are rich with history and provide shade from the Texas heat. And both selflessly give something to all who take the time to slow down and enjoy, whether it’s for a glass of wine on the swing, a chat on the old wooden pew beside the front door, or a peaceful stroll underneath his 100+ year old gnarly Vitek tree, currently loaded with aromatic purple blooms.
This amazing tree is the gateway to Harry’s porch. Twinkle lights underneath the canopy light the sidewalk in the night making his house seem like a constant gathering spot, which it is. He adjusts the lights from time to time, making sure the strands are positioned and working properly, trimming branches when the city insists the limbs are too low. Never would he think of cutting it down. Not even if he needed wood “to make a boat to sail away and be happy”.
The view from Harry’s Porch
Lucy and Annabelle and I walk underneath Harry’s tree several times a day, always stopping to sniff and look at the branches that form a natural arbor. (They sniff, I look.) And straining on their leashes, the dogs always make a bee-line for Harry’s porch, where the water in his old birdbath is their favorite watering hole on a blazing hot day. In the afternoons, his porch is often overrun with friends – both the two legged and four legged variety. Sometimes we stop and sit even when Harry isn’t outside. You can always find what you need there.
Clyde

Clyde, his adorable grandson, often plays around that tree, with his Tonka trucks and sidewalk chalk, while neighbors discuss Munger happenings and news. Harry regales everyone with stories from his past whether as a young man working in the union business, or the time he awoke to find a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader in his bed, or simply the details of his prior day’s lunch. He is a great cook at 81 years old. And he’s in good health, which he attributes to good bourbon on the porch with good ‘acquaintances’ near his favorite tree.

And the tree is happy.

talya

Musical Pairings:

George Strait, “Where the Sidewalk Ends”
Randy Newman, “You’ve Got a Friend in Me”

“And the tree was happy.” The Giving Tree, Shel Silverstein

Harry and Clyde

Don’t change a thing and you will go far.

By

May is graduation time. As graduation announcements begin to roll in, I think back to my own high school graduation. Rivercrest High School, Class of 1980. Just yesterday to me. As a high school senior, the last looooonnng year drags and anticipation builds up to that all important moment when you walk across the stage to receive your much deserved diploma, trying to smile for the camera while balancing that ill-fitting mortarboard hat.
I remember thinking that hat was going to fall off my head, plus it was squishing my carefully feathered bangs totally flattening my hair which I had curled loosely on hot rollers. It was rocking the Farrah ‘do when I left the house until Mrs. Meadows adjusted it, securing it to my skull with bobby pins. Just give me my diploma so I can start my life, please.
Yesterday, with my life in full swing, I attempted to make a dent in our disorganized garage. In the bottom of a storage crate, I ran across my senior year Memories book. And that was the end of my garage cleaning project. Wiping the cover clean of dust bunnies, I immediately plopped down on the dirty floor of the garage to relive a bit of 1980. 

Apparently I was a big time scrapbooker before scrapbooking was in vogue as every single page of the book was completely filled with thoughts, pictures, and newspaper and magazine clippings. Or maybe I was just bored to death. Flipping through the pages I realized I had unearthed a time capsule. It looked as if it might have been living in the bottom of a locker at Rivercrest for the past thirty-two years. Or buried in the field beside the school parking lot where my little yellow corvette accidentally threw gravel peeling out for the last time.

As I read through the pages, I was struck by how fortunate I am to still be friends with many of my classmates and teachers. 
It was the year the Rivercrest Colts beat the rival Osceola Seminoles 9-6 on November 2, 1979, at home. I know because I wrote all about it. It’s recorded in ink for all of eternity, in my handwriting, probably with a Bic pen, and backed up with a newspaper clipping of the same. Back then, before Rivercrest dominated every sport throughout the entire state of Arkansas, Osceola always beat us, SoThisWasBIG. We had a great baseball team too, also walloping the Seminoles 14-3 to win Regionals.  It still makes me happy.
Tim Hardin
It was the year my classmate Tim Allen (from Dyess not Hollywood) and I won our three-legged race during intermurals, but he received a broken arm and I got 6 stitches in my chin for our efforts. That gym floor was slick in sock feet. We were unable to compete in the final heat.

According to my anthology, Billy Joel and Pink Floyd were my favorite musical artists, and my preferred television shows were Dallas, SNL, Three’s Company (RIP John Ritter) and Dukes of Hazzard. Movies = Grease, Halloween (the original one) and The Jerk. Reflecting on this, I think these are all good choices still.

I loved Hang Ten and Chic clothing, Candies shoes and Jontue perfume. I have pictures of these logos plastered on the “Gradfad” page…And an Arkansas Razorback banner – why did I not attend the University of Arkansas?
News From Planet Earth
On the “News From Planet Earth” page, I glued headlines of the Persian Gulf Crisis, Khomeini, Teheran, the Crisis in Iran. So basically nothing has changed. There was also the headline “Did Elvis Die From Drug Abuse?” Really? Was society debating this during in 1980? Everyone knows Elvis is still alive living in Arizona… 
2 pages dedicated to the race track???
The fact that I devoted two entire pages to the horse races speaks to my obvious gambling problem. There wasn’t a “horse race page” in the book, but I surely made room including losing tickets and season guest passes and a detailed diary of the entire weekend with the Barnetts. I’m certain my comprehensive account of the events would hold up in federal court should I be required to testify for some reason. And so my journal begins with, “We left for Hot Springs on Wednesday, April 2, 1980. This was during our Easter vacation. Clyde Barnett left at 7:00 am, Daddy left at 8:10 am, Mrs. Barnett, Bob and Bill left at 3:30 and Momma, Staci, Craig and I followed after that. We had 4 vehicles up there.” According to my specifics, “Craig and I placed all our bets together, betting $66.00 and losing $69.00 by the end of day one, winning $58.20 by the end of the 3rd race on day two but losing $12.70 by day’s end. On the 3rd day in the 9th race (the Fantasy Stakes) Craig bet $5 across the board on Bold ‘n Determined, Staci bet $5 to show on Honest & True and I bet $5.00 on Satin Ribera. All 3 horses came in, and I was ahead $20 at day’s end”. SERIOUSLY!? I kept track of all this. Did my parents not realize I had a gambling problem at an early age? I was insane and destined to be a bookie but ended up a banker – a close second I suppose.
Not surprisingly, I have a list of every single graduation gift I received. Unlike the popular gift of cash or gift card for today’s grad, most people gave actual presents in 1980. Like towels or picture frames or a Cross pen set or 2 pairs of bikini panties.…Yes. 2 pairs of bikini panties from a family in Keiser who shall remain nameless. Apparently I didn’t think it was one bit odd at the time, because I proudly listed it in my book.  I wonder if this was their standard gift to all Keiser grads? Did BeckyJudyNormaAnitaCarrieMary receive this as well?  (I swear this is true. And no, it wasn’t from the Barnetts.)

Lots of classmates wrote little messages in my book. Everyone proudly signed their name with “class of 80”. It was a very good year. Next time I go home I may bury this valuable cache of historic information in front of the school by the brick wall where the Future Business Leaders take yearbook pictures. Hundreds of years from now, new emerging civilizations will discover it and wish they had it so great. And they will wonder what the hell kind of gift bikini panties were for graduation…

Happy Graduation!


talya


Musical Pairing:



Excerpts of friend comments from my Memory book:


“Without you failing your test too, I could have never made it.” darla h.

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw you in biology, stuck-up, but now you are a great friend.” tim a.

“I didn’t get to know you like I wanted to know you, but what I know is good.” clay w.

“You are a great friend and a great person and very great looking with a great personality and a great singing voice.” joe a.

“We’ve had great times together and I’m sure there will be more to come.” craig b.

“Let’s keep in touch and don’t let your feet stick to the Murr Theatre.” becky p.

“Don’t change a thing and you will go far daughter.” tim h. 

Kelsey – Class of 2007
Threw hat in the air…

Tate – Class of 2011
Balancing that hat

After One Week

By

air mattress bed

After one week in Fayetteville, I think I could be a pretty successful hippie. Like one certain summer during college, I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress with zero furniture other than 4 Target lawn chairs and my yoga mat. Does a yoga mat count as furniture? I think yes. In 900 square feet we have no television, no computer, and no newspaper, but our fridge is stocked with Pabst Blue Ribbon and salsa. And we have chips, coffee and green tea. Even Ted Kacsynski had a typewriter and a platform bed.
After one week of painting and weeding and sanding and trimming and digging and scrubbing, nearly every single thing we brought has been worn at least three times and could likely stand upright unassisted in the corner of the bedroom. Ground-in-filthy…. 

Eager to do laundry, I ran to the nearby IGA grocery store to grab a box of Tide wearing grubby camo shorts, no makeup, a Texas Rangers t-shirt and my crocs. I was confident the shorts would truly conceal me like an invisibility cloak; however, catching a glimpse of myself in produce, the smear of paint on the side of my face and nearly up my nose was a bit startling. Nice. I was starting to favor the Unabomber, but no one even gave me a second look. I love Fayetteville.
  
Every muscle in my body screamed for relief. After soaking my achy body in a scalding hot bath in our deep old porcelain tub and scrubbing the paint from my face (and inside my nose), I was resuscitated enough to wash clothes. Cramming a dusty load into the small stackable washer, I quickly discovered it didn’t work. Naturally. No sound whatsoever. Dead. Or maybe it wasn’t hooked up?  I tested out the dryer. The assaulting noise that broke the Ozark silence was like that of a jet taking off at DFW International Airport. Or a freight train. It shimmied and shook, and if I hadn’t immediately turned it off it would have rocked out the back screen door and tumbled onto the fieldstone patio which is where I plan to drag it very soon on the way to the dump. Like Scarlett O’Hara, I went to bed on my sheets peppered with dirty Schnauzer paw prints and left the dirty laundry for hopeful morning light. I couldn’t believe none of my new neighbor hippies came to check on the terrible noise. 
dirty filthy sheets
tin roof overhang 
Although I miss my nice big Duet washer and dryer sitting in Dallas, I do not miss the sirens and traffic noise that drift in and out of Dallas sleep. With only the screen doors between my blowup bed and nature, I slept soundly and awoke to cool air and rain on the tin roof outside the doors. So Incredibly Peaceful.

Down to one clean pair of gray sweat pants, a clean sports bra, and a semi-clean freebie Baylor t-shirt, which seems totally out of place in Hogland, I loaded my dirty clothes in two pillowcases and headed out to find a Laundromat. Just like college. I quickly decided my sister-in-law’s nice washer/dryer one block over would be a much better scene…
As I washed clothes, my very entertaining brother-in-law Mark, (picture Thomas Hayden Church from Sideways but with a ponytail) was busy feeding the cardinals, chain smoking and checking on the squirrel he just trapped – which he named Steve. He traps squirrels daily in his huge yard and relocates them by evening. He explained to me the rules of relocation – the behavior of the incarcerated squirrel determines the release point. Some go to the old drive-in, some to the forest, etc. The calmer in the cage, the better the new home. He told me Steve was taking visitors, if I would like to see him… In between his daily morning activities, we discussed inflation, the stock market and privatizing the postal service. Classical music played in the background and the breeze from the open doors and windows was refreshing even with the cigarette smoke. Mark always wears a bandana around his neck. It’s his signature fashion accessory. Even with the forest green robe he wore on my laundry day. 
It turned out to be such a nice morning and a much needed break from painting. I had my pick of soft comfy chairs to sit in while typing away on my AirMac for the first time in over a week. And Mark made a fresh pot of coffee for me. It’s the simple things. Ahhhh. Family. What a difference a week makes.

Maybe the Unabomber would have been in better humor had he occasionally washed his sheets?

talya

Musical Pairings:

J. Strauss, “The Blue Danube”
Oliver, “Good Morning Starshine”

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!