grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

The Year of the Bear!

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Robert and Brittney sitting in a tree,
K
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For the love of Baylor Nation, isn’t it obvious that Brittney Griner and Robert Griffin III should have a dunking contest, marry and have some amazing little baby bears? PlainAsDay.
 Can you imagine the supernatural jocks Baylor would celebrate in 2030, with size 18+ shoes and wing spans like that of the great wandering albatross? Ken Starr needs to make this a mission critical Baylor priority before RG3 moves off to ObamaLand and marries a Victoria’s Secret supermodel. Time is of the essence.

Keiser Yellow Jackets
my 9th grade year
#21
When I attempted to play basketball, I hated seeing Parkin on our schedule. Those Parkin girls, and we used that term loosely, were behemoths with sumo arms and thighs as sturdy as oak tree trunks. In 7th grade, I prayed Coach Graham would forget I was on the team. Please God keep the starters out of foul trouble. My stomach cramped at the thought of being sent in. Going head to head with these titans gave me nightmares. My only semi-basketball-virtue was my height, although it was no great asset when I tried to hide away at the end of the bench, disappearing into my own body like a shrinky dink. And I certainly wasn’t Brittney Griner tall. I had normal sized girl feet and could wear cute shoes, had there been any cute shoes in the 1970s. 

My mother was an incredible basketball player with an amazing hook shot that people still talk about in Mississippi County. I had no such shot. She was passionate about the sport and nearly got herself ejected from many a game when my sister and I played. Her behavior only further reminded Coach Graham that I was in fact on the team. 

Back inside the safety of our school bus, we were always relieved to have survived another game without death or life threatening injury among the team members or mothers. What were they feeding those girls? Our mothers were convinced some of the Parkin girl’s basketball team players also suited up on the football team last fall. Hmmmm. It was a hot PTA topic. We begged Coach Graham to stop the bus in West Memphis or Marion on the way back to eat supper after the game. Thinking back, a quarter pounder with cheese was probably not the best way to strengthen our core and hone our ball handling skills. While we were giggling and feasting at McDonalds, those Parkin girls were probably drinking steroid laced energy drinks and running bleacher laps to stretch out their dragonslayer quads. Oh well, it’s not whether you win or lose right? Ha. What a crock.

Sic’ em Lady Bears! Beat the Irish.

Lady Bears v. Aggies

talya

Musical Pairings:

George Baines Rosborough, “That Good Old Baylor Line”
R Kelly, “I Believe I Can Fly”

“The only difference between a good shot and a bad shot is if it goes in or not.” – Charles Barkley

cute bear at the Alamo Bowl:)

Do you believe in signs?

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Do you believe in signs? 
Years ago, I worked with a lady who believed when something fell from the grocery shelf as she passed by, she had no choice but to purchase that item. “It was a sign from above not to be ignored. That head of lettuce had reasoning skills and wanted to go home with her. It chose to be part of her dinner salad. Without a second thought or regret, she purchased a bruised apple or box of Fruit Loops.

Many folks imagine pennies on the parking lot are little signs from Heaven, messages from a departed loved one who still keeps watch. I like this idea, and what can it hurt? We could all use someone watching over us. But how do we know who it is?

At the horse track last week, we were convinced Daddy was sending us a very clear sign. A beautiful horse named T.Thomas was scheduled to run. With blinders on, we made our largest bet of the weekend, and backed that horse up with other smaller bets. Daddy would be so proud! He taught us everything we knew about gambling…


Anticipating that particular race all day, we toasted Daddy at post time. The starter pistol fired and “They’re offfff!” 

I never saw T.Thomas again. Did he go across the finish line? Did he fall down? Did he race at all? Crap!! He came in 5th, but may as well have been dead last. It was definitely a sign from Thomas —a sure sign we needed to stop farting away money at the horse track. That was so just like him.

That night as I rinsed my bra in the sink at the Arlington Hotel and realized my only remaining clean article of clothing was a Graceland t-shirt, I decided I needed to go home to Dallas. Being down to only an Elvis shirt is a clear sign the vacation is beyond over.

I know my tight jeans are a sign of too much food and not enough exercise. Yes, I can pretend to blame the dryer or the unbearable Texas humidity which makes my body bloat like Veruca Salt, but it’s a sign of too much queso flameado. There is nothing powerful or deep about it. 

After a 2 week absence, I finally made it back to my yoga core class. As I rolled out my yoga mat, there rolled tightly inside was a big dead fly. It was a sign and not a good one. The fly was symbolic of my recent lack of yoga practice. And after the ab work we did, I felt like a big dead fly. Walking to my car, a bright shiny penny sparkled on the sidewalk. I smiled.

talya

Musical Pairings:

The Sign, Ace of Base

“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” –Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Musical Beds

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Has anyone tried the new McDonald’s Fish McBites? They have been heavily advertised everywhere lately. Who buys these things? I couldn’t even bribe my 11-year-old niece and nephew to test them out during one of our four McDonald’s stops Saturday. Yes, we made four McDonald’s pit stops driving from Dallas to our childhood home in Osceola, Arkansas. The fresh brewed iced tea and generally clean bathrooms make it often the best, safest stop along the way. This 8 hour drive marked the beginning of our exciting spring break kick-off. No exhilarating snow skiing trips to Vail or warm, sunny Caribbean cruises with tropical coconut umbrella drinks. No lazy walks on sugary Destin beaches for us.  Our family spring break trips include Arkansas, complete with tornado warnings, horse races and trips to That Bookstore in Blytheville. Always. That’s just how we are.
As soon as we walked into our house in Arkansas, an immediate argument ensued involving who would sleep where. Tired, numb and irritable, this issue was suddenly escalated to our number one hot topic, ahead of dinner plans. There are 4 bedrooms in this sprawling house if you include the cave-like, tornado-shelter, doll tomb room. I was NOT going to sleep in there. The house rambles around almost in a horseshoe shape, with one bedroom facing each direction which makes for better storm viewing. Rooms were added every few years when Daddy had an especially good crop and Momma was particularly bored.
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The big bedroom in the back of the house is the room Staci and I shared growing up. It’s still our room. The man from Memphis who installed our orange shag carpet in the early 1970s told us he installed the exact carpet in Graceland for Elvis! Wow. And now with one flip of her long straight hair, my niece decided she would sleep in our room? NotGonnaHappen. Our stuff is still in there. Our handprints from Vacation Bible School still mark the space.

A slight meltdown followed as we ignored her. And there was pouting. She shot us the stink eye. With one quick glance to my sister, we silently formed an allegiance like old times, completely pulling rank, taking back what was rightfully ours. We could do that hair flip too, summoning the ghost of our 1970s long mousy brown ironing board straight hair. (insert eye roll here) My niece, Taylor, clearly had no idea we were once cool. Sorta. We haven’t always had this old short brittle hair.
That night, Staci and I settled into our big king sized bed giggling and gossiping until we drifted off to sleep, with visions of an earlier time dancing in our head. There is something about being home that makes you revert to being a teenager…All was calm, until we woke up frozen half to death. It was cold and windy in the back of the house, in our bedroom, even piled under quilts and blankets. We tossed and turned, too cold to escape long enough to turn up the heat. That next morning my back was stiff and my neck hurt. I didn’t feel like a teenager. Was Staci alive? She wasn’t moving. The bed was hard and the pillow was a stone. It didn’t seem the same.
As we crawled into the kitchen for coffee, Momma confessed that our comfy bed had been switched out with another ancient bed from Papa Creecy’s house. What?? Ick! Suddenly our room didn’t seem so attractive. With our sister alliance still firmly in place at breakfast we announced to Taylor, “You can have our bedroom tonight. So you can watch the tv.”

Hollow victory.

talya

Beatles, “I’m so Tired”
The Chordettes, “Mr. Sandman”

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!