grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

My Cosmo Man

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Yesterday the postman delivered three new books to me. Our postman has impeccable timing. Having just finished Wild by Cheryl Strayed, I wandered around the house in a dull depressed daze, stricken with the end-of-a-great-book-doldrums. And yes, I have tons more books I could be reading, but I couldn’t wait to receive these particular books. 

Two were books about writing recommended by Crescent Dragonwagon during the Fearless Writing seminar I recently attended. Magical writing secrets were hidden inside these books, I was certain.
The other book Flights of Fancy was fresh off the press, written by Fearless attendee and my new friend Crow Johnson Evans. I wanted to read and own and smell the book published by someone I spent three days with writing and laughing and talking. And crying, there was a bit of crying. Crow  was someone who gave me hope it could really happen, this book-writing-thing.

In addition to my three amazing books, we received a tardy Christmas card (but I’m not knocking it, I never mailed mine…), a(nother!) William-Sonoma catalog and a Cosmopolitan Magazine.
Cosmopolitan Magazine?
I don’t have a subscription to Cosmopolitan Magazine. I’ve never had a subscription to Cosmopolitan Magazine.
According to the label, John now has a six-month subscription to Cosmopolitan Magazine. His name was even spelled correctly. 
What an interesting little twist.
I accused him of ordering it for me. He accused me of ordering it for him. 

Was this a prank played by the guys at his office? 
A strange mistake?

I don’t know, but he took that magazine to bed with him and read it front to back:) And it seemed to hold his attention better than those Game of Throne books he’s been wading through for weeks…

talya

musical pairings:

Baby, What a Big Surprise, Chicago

Wild Christmas Day Hike

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Wild by Cheryl Strayed, my Christmas Day review
I spent Christmas Day hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. An 1,100 mile journey from the Mojave Desert through the High Sierras to Washington State. Technically, author Cheryl Strayed did the hiking, I just went along for the trek, reading her book Wild cover to cover lying on the couch. Although I felt I was with her, I was comfy underneath a quilt. And not just any quilt, my turtle quilt, made by Nana when I was eight years old.

 

As the outside temperature plummeted, I read.  A pounding thunderstorm gradually evolved to snow with quarter-sized flakes, the sort that float dreamily to the ground and pile up all afternoon. With Annabelle curled at my feet, a fire nearby and steaming coffee, I luxuriated in a perfectly peaceful Christmas Day.Yes, Dallas had a White Christmas. That in itself was a miracle.

With no hiking or backpacking experience, Wildis the fascinating memoir of one young woman’s journey to rebuild her self-destructive life one step at a time. She faced intense heat and record snowfall, black bears, rattlesnakes and injuries. Somewhere along the trail, while confronting her personal demons, she found herself.
I was mesmerized.I can’t imagine pushing myself to those limits.

As humans we are rarely alone. Not really. We are surrounded by people and media and music and traffic. But when we are alone with only ourselves, we think and grow.

As I read the book I tried to remember a time I was truly alone. In fifty years the only experience I could semi-compare to Wild occured one day during the summer I spent in Tokyo. I traveled alone to a neighboring village. Changing trains multiple times and never sure I was on the right train, I thought I might never make it back to my group. With only one semester of Japanese, I was inept reading and speaking the language.  I remember sitting on the train surrounded by strangers thinking no one in the entire world knows where I am right at this moment. I didn’t know where I was at that moment. (Before iPhones and GPS and checking-in on Facebook…)
 
It was empowering, although a bit frightening.
talyaGrace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing:

Lou Reed, Walk on the Wild Side

Tonka Truck Tale

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Tonka Truck Christmas Tale

After crafting my letter to Santa, I proof-read my little sister’s. At the top of her list, a Tonka Truck. 

“No, Staci! That’s a boy’s present!!!” I was incredulous. Although we both had tomboy tendencies favoring tree climbing to tea parties,  she couldn’t waste her main gift on a boy’s present. Papa Creecy would buy us boy presents any time we wanted, at the mere mention of a matchbox car or a baseball bat…

Grateful to have been saved from such a misguided gift, Staci erased and erased and erased until she almost ripped the notebook paper. Over the bare worn spot,  she wrote Baby Alive Doll in large block letters. There could be no confusion on Santa’s part. Much better, I thought. 
Satisfied, we taped our letters near the rock fireplace in the living room. Santa would spot them the moment he slid down our chimney. I felt a bit sorry for Staci—her letter was really messy with all that erasing. I would have started over with a clean sheet of paper… 
Christmas morning was cold and blustery and WHITE. Snow on the most wonderful day of the year! But the snow would have to wait. We crept into the living room wondering had we really been good enough? I had doubts.
Shocked, we stared dumb-struck at the Christmas miracle. Parked underneath the Scotch pine tree—a shiny Tonka Dump Truck and Front End Bucket Loader. Santa really didknow what we were thinking.  
I was surprised to receive anything that year after making fun of my sister’s letter to Santa.  
We played with those trucks for years, and to this day they sit on my mother’s back porch. Tonka Trucks are guaranteed for life, you know.
Tonka Truck Christmas Tale
talya

Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing:

Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Jackson 5

“Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time.” 
― Laura Ingalls Wilder

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!