Life - grace grits and gardening

The Moms of Keiser Elementary School, Keiser, Arkansas
(left to right)
1. Lavern McLean Glaub
2. Barbara Perry
3. Ruth Barnett
4. Edwina Nash Graham
5. Peggy Eatmon
6. Barbara Creecy Tate (my mother)

Is this not the Best Photograph Ever???! Everything about this photo is incredible – the clothing and matching accessories, brilliant smiles, perfectly coiffed hair and expressive hands. They could have been hand models! And my, what perfect eyebrows these women had! I would bet money that not a single one of them ever paid ten bucks to have their brows waxed by Henri, the Vietnamese man at the corner of Live Oak and Skillman.

Lavern Glaub was obviously about to pee in her pantyhose. I wonder who took the photo? He must have been laying it on thick with these ladies. (Yes, you know it was a man.) Lavern was wearing a gorgeous dress, fit for a wedding by today’s standards. And this was for a PTA meeting! Today, schools could significantly boost fundraising if moms dressed this hot while their kids peddled all that gift wrap and chocolate chip cookie dough each fall. There was certainly no sag swag back then.

Barbara Perry looked 12 years old. Even in black and white, it’s obvious she had rosy skin. To this day, all the girls from Keiser are envious of her daughter, who married the cutest-boy-to-ever-come-out-of-Keiser.

Ruth Barnett’s home always smelled of Allspice from the delicious raisin cookies she magically pulled from the oven as you walked into the back door. She apparently baked daily, as this could not have been planned – friends just “dropped in” on each other. Now if someone knocks at the door unexpectedly, it’s a kid selling ten pound buckets of chocolate chip cookie dough. Or gift wrap. In addition to her cookie baking, she was an excellent delegator, bordering on conniving. She thought up projects to better the school and community, always managing to hook some unsuspecting volunteer (my mother) for the execution of the task. It was part of her charm. In the photo, she looks as if she knows a secret, but there were no secrets in Keiser. I really want her purse.

Edwina Graham looked as if she breezed off a Pan Am turnaround flight for a quick layover before jetting off to Paris. She had arms more perfectly toned than Jennifer Aniston, and cooked like Giada de Laurentiis. She always had a huge pot of peas or beans simmering away on the stove, as if she was preparing a huge, community-wide feast. She probably was. And now her daughter is an amazing cook. The cutest-boy-to-ever-come-out-of-Keiser is her son.

Peggy Eatmon’s daughter played basketball with me in junior high. Correction: her daughter played basketball, and I made sure she NEVER passed the ball to me. She threw the round ball like a missile, knocking even the boys to their knees during dodge ball. Dodge ball was stressful.

And lastly, my mother. She had great eyebrows. Why didn’t I get those eyebrows? Yesterday I tried to make mine a bit fuller and darker but ended up looking like a cross between Brooke Shields and Priscilla Presley on her wedding day. Maybe Henri needs to see this picture? For whatever reason, my mother was stifling her laugh. This is typical. She either shows no teeth or every tooth in her head when she smiles. She told me last week as we looked at this photo that she always hated that skirt. Nevertheless, I’m sure it’s still in her house somewhere. I bet I could find it.

I love the graffiti on the wall – “Class of 69”. That was the year the Eagle landed, Sesame Street premiered, Abbey Road was released and Wal-Mart became incorporated. And, it was the year my friends and I started 1st Grade.

This is a Life Magazine cover-worthy photo (circa 1971-72ish). It proves that beauty is timeless.

talya

Musical Pairings:
Simon & Garfunkel, “Mrs. Robinson”
Tom Jones, “She’s a Lady”

I’m home in Arkansas for a week or so. It’s always so good to be home, in the country, in my childhood home. Tonight I will be sleeping in my own bed, in the room my sister and I shared until I went off to college in 1980. It is super quiet and dark, the opposite of our Dallas home with sirens, lights, random gunfire and no stars in the sky.

Although the bright orange shag carpet is long gone, the room hasn’t changed much. I wonder if when the carpet was removed my mother noticed the burn mark under the bed? My friend Anita and I shoved an ashtray and lit cigarette under the bed one night when my mom came to the door, melting the carpet slightly. We tried really hard to smoke for about a week, but were never successful, thank goodness. And I doubt we ever inhaled- we couldn’t really figure it out.

Favorite books. Note – an Elvis book prior to his death.

This bedroom is a time capsule – like Graceland without the jungle room. But it is comfortable. My favorite paperbacks still line the bookshelf above my desk where I did my homework. My boxes of 8-track tapes are piled in a cabinet. Within the built-in drawers around the desk lies an archaeological dig, undisturbed for years, except when I occasionally sift through the hidden treasures. The deeper into the drawers you explore, the older the civilization. Letters my Nana and mother wrote to me at Baylor University, along with my college grades, are scattered on the top. Further down are high school pictures and newspaper articles. Still deeper, there is junior high cheerleader memorabilia. Near the very bottom of the dig are Valentines Day cards from elementary school parties and letters from my 4th grade classmates when I was in the hospital. I’m still really good friends with many of these classmates.

My mother sometimes talks of selling this old house. It needs work and is getting harder for her to maintain. It sits on an active earthquake fault which, over time, has caused shifting and cracking in the walls, allowing in the occasional bull snake. And there is a constant parade of field mice. (So maybe we do have a jungle room like The King…?) Even so, it will be a strange and sad day when we can no longer come back here to re-group, relax and reminisce. There is something comforting about sleeping in your own bed.