grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

My Hunger Games

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Am I the only person who hasn’t read The Hunger Games? I am so out of the loop on this book. The movie, opening this month, stars Jennifer Lawrence who was fantastic in Winter’s Bone – a great movie even though it hit a bit too close to home…  I don’t know much about the storyline or the plot, but The Hunger Games is first in a series which peaks my interest. Who doesn’t love a good series? I so miss Harry Potter and Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore. Don’t you wonder what the Weasleys have been doing with themselves? 

Based on the tiny bit I’ve heard about the book, it reminds me of Shirley Jackson’s short story “The Lottery”, which I read in Mrs. Ashley’s 7th grade English class. Mrs. Ashley was one of those life-changing teachers, introducing me to exciting new authors and clearly explaining the difference between to, too and two. Reading the short story, the class was fascinated to discover the twists and turns of the tale. The villagers offered up a human sacrifice each June to ensure a bountiful harvest. It was an annual event, a civic duty, like voting! Hmmmm, the setting was a small farm village, just like Keiser… The unfortunate ‘winner’, chosen at random by a crude lottery, was stoned to death by friends and family. Even the kids made a game of choosing the largest stones – stones they could barely lift. It was riveting in a horrifying sort of way. It made an impression on junior high students who thrived on scary movies, and the parallels were eerie. Could this ever happen in our bucolic farming community… The farmers would probably cut off an arm for a good crop. Mrs. Ashley assured us that would never happen, but I wasn’t so sure. I knew a lot of interesting farmers. I lived with one.

Even the final storyline in Dark Shadows – scariest soap opera ever (which I realize is redundant) – was based on “The Lottery”. That’s how creepy it was. Will a lottery be celebrated in The Hunger Games? And I’m guessing the protagonists are hungry? Perhaps there is no food in their world? Or they must compete for food? A bit of a reality-show-fight-to-the-death-game? Lord knows we all apparently LOVE reality television shows. Like The Biggest Loser where the starved contestants are forced to survive on air, water and nasty sugar free gum. Is Jillian in this book? She annoys me.

I’m dedicating this week to my own hunger game. After eating our way through Fayetteville last weekend with slabs of delicious ribs at Herman’s and yummy gooey pizza at Geraldi’s, I have declared a one week detox game. Rules of the game: eat only veggies, fruit, beans, rice and drink green tea and water. No wine at least until Friday night’s porch party. Last night’s dinner consisted of a basic green cheese-less salad with roasted okra and brown rice. It was a nice change, although my stomach is growling in protest as I type. 
I bought a copy of The Hunger Games at Target yesterday morning along with celery and lettuce. I’m excited to read it. If its half as good as  any of the Harry Potter books, I’ll be thrilled. I’m optimistic it will at least keep my wandering mind off my hunger pains. Let the games begin!
talya


Musical Pairings:


John Lennon, “Mind Games”
Duran Duran, “Hungry like the Wolf”

“Be a good sport, Tessie….we all took the same chance.”  (The Lottery)

“At last darkness has come…I might have loved you, I might have spared you, but now you must die.” Barnabas Collins, Dark Shadows

That Bookstore in Blytheville

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Mary Gay Shipley has my dream job. She is the proprietor of That Bookstore in Blytheville near my hometown.  I recall in the mid-1970s when she first opened the store, it was The Book Rack.  At that time, it was more of a used book exchange.  Nearly every week, my mother walked into The Book Rack with a stack of paperbacks to trade and walked out with a new stack of volumes to read, fueling my addiction at a very early age. Of course, this was after an hour of browsing and chatting with the ladies there, who could always make wonderful reading recommendations over a cup of coffee. The book exchange idea proved to be a great recycling program, if you are one of those people who can let go of a book. I cannot.

For years, everyone simply referred to The Book Rack as “that bookstore in Blytheville“. I suppose Mary Gay decided to go with the flow, as eventually she officially renamed it. I doubt I have ever been to Blytheville without stopping there. It’s actually the reason to go to Blytheville. It’s a destination, not just a quick side trip on the way home from someplace else.

A few of my signed first editions.

Shiny, Clean, Aligned, Happy 

Mary Gay has attracted many impressive southern authors to book signings and readings, thus I have amassed quite an impressive collection of signed first editions.  I treasure these books. When our house nearly flooded a few years ago, I was fully prepared to strap a bookcase on my husband’s back, if necessary. I have many, many more autographed books than shoes. It’s not even close. 

If I ever move back home to Mississippi County, I plan to occupy the storefront until Mary Gay agrees to hire me. I have thought this through and feel certain that it would be to her advantage. She needs an understudy.  She has earned an understudy – someone who appreciates all things southern like whipping up the perfectly balanced pitcher of mint juleps or executing a successful late evening snipe hunt among friends.  
Most of my shoes.
Faded, Dirty, Jumbled, Sad
I would cheerfully fetch John Grisham from the airport for his book signing events, engage him in clever conversation about soybean futures and discuss his latest protagonist during the drive to Blytheville. 

One day I hope to see my own book for sale on the shelves at That Bookstore in Blytheville complete with an endearing quote from Mary Gay Shipley on the back cover. That is on the very TOP of my bucket list. (The understudy position is a teeny bit further down.) But honestly, I’m not a stalker, just a fan. I swear.

talya

Grace Grits & Gardening

Reading Talking & Library Gossip

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I love libraries. In junior high I volunteered in the school library for Mrs. Perry, our librarian. She taught me how to sort and arrange books, and how to properly align them on the shelves. I dusted the book jackets and wiped down the reading tables at day’s end. I loved the smell of the books and the lemon pledge. I still do.

While visiting my home town, I planned to spend some time at the public library, which was one of the only places with wi-fi.  I was looking forward to this, because I had fond memories of that place. Growing up, my sister and I spent many a hot summer day there. We walked to the library while our mother had her hair styled a few blocks over at Lucille’s Beauty Shop. This was when kids could play outside all day long and not end up on the 6 o’clock news as a kidnapped, decapitated victim. This was when the primary crop in the county was cotton, instead of crystal meth.

I remembered the building well.  It was a stately, two-story, brown brick building with large white columns in front.  Inside, the space was serene, clean and organized – everything I came to love. The librarian commanded respect with her low voice. She looked and acted the part.  A card catalog whiz, she was kind, yet strict and orderly. I’m sure it was in her job description. I became best friends with Nancy Drew in that very building.

Fast forward 33 years:  Oddly the building had mysteriously shrunk. The columns seemed smaller. The inside was tired and chaotic. Most of the reading tables had been replaced with study carrels equipped with computers – a sign of the times. The two remaining reading tables were covered with cardboard boxes of books – seemingly donated – haphazardly stacked, uncataloged and unorganized, leaving no room for actual reading!  Checking out a library book seemed almost secondary there. It was a sad state of affairs. 

Books, books everywhere, but no
place to read….
To say that it was difficult to concentrate on my writing was a wild understatement. Evidently library etiquette had changed since I was there in the 1970s. It was now acceptable to use your “outside voice” inside the library, to each other, to yourself, or on a cell phone.  And the cell phone could freely ring – no need to put it on vibrate.  But it was NOT ok to take a lidded iced tea inside.  I was required to leave my tea at the check-in counter totally unattended where anyone could slip in a roofie. But I am a rule follower, so I complied.

Although thirsty, I learned quite a bit about a variety of topics. The first day, I assisted my carrel-mate with her spelling as she hand-wrote “prison letters”. The second day, I inadvertently memorized most of the GED questions as the man across the aisle read the questions over and over aloud.  The lady adjacent to me was working on her cosmetology license.  I’m pretty sure I could roll up a perm now. Do people still get perms?? I also learned the citizens were in an uproar over the high electric bills  in town. They blamed the mayor.

The library workers were an interesting group. Mr. Librarian actually assembled a salad for his lunch on the counter while demonstrating the proper way to cut and chop an avocado to the other workers.  I think I saw him wash it down with a swig of my tea. He was on a low fat/high protein diet except on Saturdays when he liked to eat Mexican food at Mi Pueblo. He coached the other workers on the difference between good fat and bad fat.  He scolded them about eating bad fat, quizzing them to see if they really knew the difference.  I wonder, did he get this information from a library book? On day three of my library adventure, there was a lengthy debate among the library workers centered around smoking. The conversation became heated when Mr. Librarian posed the following, “Why did God invent tobacco if we weren’t supposed to smoke?” I kid you not. I looked above my study carrel at these people, and almost blurted out, “But didn’t God ‘invent’ bad fat?????”  I seriously needed to return to Dallas ASAP.  

During the three afternoons I was there, one elderly man came in to check out books! Only one person.  Bless his heart. Once I was convinced he was not a missing silver alert victim who had accidentally stumbled in, I was beyond thrilled. I heard him ask for assistance locating a specific book. He waited quietly and patiently for the conclusion of the riveting avocado demonstration. I almost jumped up to eagerly help him myself.  Or cut up the damn avocado.  

Mrs. Perry would be mortified.

talya

Musical Pairings:
David Allen Coe, “Jack Daniel’s If You Please”

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!