grace grits and gardening - ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Jen Lancaster, Barbie and Me

November 2, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

This week I am attending a one-week writer’s residency program at Dairy Hollow in Eureka Springs. During this time I will re-post some of my favorite blogs from the prior year. Maybe you missed one?

originally published 06/21/12…

I love Jen Lancaster. Her books make me laugh out loud no matter my mood or where I happen to be – during a long day of tedious jury duty, crammed in the middle seat between two giant trolls on an airplane, at church – not that I read in church.

Yes, of course I love the classic writers such as Flannery O’Connor, Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, Carson McCullers. But Jen Lancaster is classic hilarity, her shenanigans on par with Lucy Ricardo.

I’m certain if Jen and I were ever introduced, we would become hard and fast friends, going to happy hour, not working out, watching America’s Next Top Model. We both wear pearls, love our dogs, and adore all things Barbie.

Jen at a book signing in Dallas.

I went to her book signing in Dallas. She was hysterical in person, sharing stories of her girl scout days and her obsession with obtaining badges and selling cookies. I wanted to meet her, to have her sign my book, but the line to see her was wrapped around Barnes & Noble nearly out the door to Northpark Mall and down Central Expressway. Plus, Mexican food and margaritas were calling. My girlfriends and I went to dinner instead.

I have read all her books, some more than once.

My absolute favorite passage is the story of her late night on-line purchase of the Barbie Fashion Fever Grow N’ Style hair-styling head. She accidentally ordered it after a dose of Ambien which reportedly makes some people do odd things. She had no recollection of this drugged shopping spree until she came “face-to-ass” with the UPS delivery man while attempting Downward Facing Dog in her living room wearing only “yoga pants and a particularly ugly bra covered in faded pink cabbage roses.” Opening the large box she was horrified, initially thinking someone (a serial killer) had shipped her a severed head via next day delivery.

After she calmed down she remembered “severed heads aren’t pink. With sparkly earrings. And golden blond tresses. And shimmery rose pink lip gloss.” After another Ambien evening, she awoke the following morning to discover someone “retrieved and unpacked the Barbie head” and “styled her with a big back-combed updo, black eyeliner, off-white lipstick and a Pucci-style head wrap”.

“Her shame looked exactly like Nancy Sinatra.” (Such a Pretty Fat, Jen Lancaster)

SeriouslyFunnyStuff. I know you are laughing now.

When I was home in Arkansas a few weeks ago, I went in search of my own childhood Barbie head. My sister and I had one. And everything we ever had is still there, somewhere on that property. Since Barbie wasn’t in our bedroom closet, I knew she must be in the playhouse out back, unvisited by humans for years.

Tate girls’ playhouse…

Momma and Daddy built us an amazing playhouse during pre-elementary school days. Really, it was a brilliant move on Momma’s part. We had our own tiny house which kept us out of her hair and her house all day long for years. Forty-some-odd-years-later, the door to the playhouse was tied to the railing to keep it shut. As I untethered it, a wasp guarding the door buzzed my head. The floor, nearly rotten, was crawling with spiders and all sorts of bugs. Throngs of mosquitoes both inside and out swarmed my head like bees. Surrounded by rice fields, mosquitoes are plentiful.

Inside, the playhouse seemed teeny. I was Alice inside the rabbit hole after she devoured the “EAT ME” cake and grew to an enormous size, hitting her head on the ceiling as her arms poked out the windows on either side. Inside this wonderland, our miniature kitchen, a Christmas gift from Uncle Rex looooooong ago, lined the walls still filled with tiny pots and pans and plastic play food. Kelsey and Tate “cooked” on the stove in the early 90s, Zach and Taylor a few years later.

Talya in Wonderland
note: the LOVE sign is about waist high…

Bravely (stupidly) I opened a box which initially startled me – it was completely filled with rats! Or, human hair! Someone had been scalped! I’m sure my reaction was not unlike Jen Lancaster’s when she thought her UPS box contained a severed head. I heard myself scream before recognizing the box was full of wigs. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered these were my Nana’s wigs. Why a box of wigs are being stored in the playhouse, I have no idea. Dressup? Halloween?

Vintage Barbie Head!

There on the shelf, glassy-eyed and spacey, sat Barbie’s head. A giant cobweb stretched from the shelf across her “golden blond tresses”, sadly unstyled for years. A faded beauty, her face was makeup free, lips as pale as mine. I felt sorry for her. I’m sure she was embarrassed.

I almost carried her in the house to spiff her up, but since I wasn’t drugged on Ambien or anything else, I left her behind in the time warp playhouse to live out her remaining days. She looked at home there.

talya

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

Musical Pairings:

Barbie Girl, Aqua

“Curiouser and curiouser.“ Alice in Wonderland

Mad Black Woman

November 2, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Our neighborhood Target Pharmacy is fantastic. The pharmacist is an efficient, knowledgeable, no-nonsense kind of guy, and I appreciate that. He gets me in and out and goes the extra mile when a call to the insurance company is warranted. Plus he’s bald. I like bald.

His staff of young ladies are friendly and call me by name. I like that too.

Last summer I oddly bonded with these pharmacy people due to a bizarre encounter. Like a fiery car crash on Central Expressway, everyone watched although it was nasty. Now that summer is here again, I worry that a repeat performance might occur…

On that excessive-heat-index-orange-ozone-alert-day, I sat in one of two chairs at the end of the pharmacy counter waiting on a prescription. Twenty minutes, they told me. With a new Angry Birds Seasons already downloaded on my iPhone, I was all set.

In the other chair, a handsome 20-something Hispanic guy. He too played a game on his iPhone. We nodded to each other sharing the iPhone gaming connection. The two chairs were attached like those at the airport, our shoulders practically touching. To the average Target shopper we may have appeared to be texting each other like siblings sitting on the den couch together.

Me: He thinks I’m pretty cool to be playing Angry Birds…
Him: Look at that old woman playing Angry Birds!… (but I digress)

Behind the pharmacy counter, the serious, busy pharmacist and three young employees, worked diligently with heads down counting pills and answering questions on the phone.

As I am pitting angry birds against fat pink pigs, I hear a ruckus building a few aisles over. Heading my direction. Our direction. Fellow Gamer noticed and looked up as well.

A GINORMOUS black woman sporting spandex and a bright pink halter came rolling a shopping cart along the end cap aisle parallel to the pharmacy counter yelling, “SCUSE ME! YOU’RE BLOCKING MY WAY!” Fellow Gamer and I both wondered who is blocking your way? She was still 4 aisles over in nail polish remover… But she pushed the cart like it was a self-propelled lawnmower, apparently on a mission. In no time she was on the flat Tory Burch heels of an unsuspecting wisp of a pale white woman, probably mid-30s. “I SAID, SCUSE ME!! YOU’RE BLOCKING MY WAY!!” Her tornadic voice boomed through the pharmacy into housewares and grocery, thawing frozen foods.

Pale Wisp jumped like a baby rabbit into the nearest aisle stammering, nearly crying, “Oh I am soooooo sorry, please excuse me, soooo sorry.” She scampered through the headache relief section and out the front door. I never saw her again.

I had a strong urge to defend Pale Wisp, but feared Mad Black Woman was wielding a knife in that barely constrained bosom. Sadly, I am only Weak White Wimpy Woman. I scanned the pharmacy area, eagerly looking for John Quinones. Did I have time to reapply lip gloss? I was certain there was a hidden camera by the blood pressure machine. Although I had failed to intervene, there was likely still time…

Instantaneously, all pharmacy aisles evacuated to accommodate Mad Black Woman’s super-sized shoulder chip and matching attitude. She BARKED to the pharmacy employees, “WHERE ARE THE FEMININE HYGIENE WIPES??!” Her voice echoed… echoed… echoed… echoed…

Silence. All around. Pin dropping silence. ‘I S-A-I-D WHERE ARE THE FEMININE HYGIENE WIPES…wipes…wipes…wipes?” repeated Mad Black Woman.

One brave young employee answered rather calmly, “On aisle 7.”

“WELL YOU WILL NEED TO COME OVER HERE AND SHOW ME! I CAN’T FIND ANYTHING IN THIS STORE!” (picture head sway / “talk-to-the-hand” motion) I think she actually stomped her hoof.

Brave employee actually escorted Mad Black Woman and her push mower to the feminine hygiene wipes. Bald Pharmacist looked around in shock with that did-I-just-hear-what-I-think-I-heard look on his face. Speechless. Annoyed. Disgusted.

So now this woman was not only rude as hell, but everyone in Target and across the street at What-a-Burger knew she needed to wipe down her hoo haa. And she had no problem killing Pale Wisp to do so. Evidently time was of the essence.

Where was that camera?

The pink pigs and angry birds had been abandoned in my hand.
My mouth gaped.
In slow motion I looked over at Fellow Gamer.
He looked over at me.
He smiled,
shook his head
and said,
“Dallas’ finest.”

talya

Musical Pairings

Purify Me, India Arie

“I hate rude behavior in a man. I won’t tolerate it.” Woodrow McCall (Lonesome Dove)

Demented Dairy Hollow?

November 1, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

For four nights in a row I have slept like the dead. My Dairy Hollow cabin is chilly, yet I nest comfortably underneath quilts and blankets snuggling with my feather pillow from home. Good sleeping weather.

Above my rooftop, a canopy of trees, a forest dense and dark. The branches are woven and twisted together, growing as one. The stars twinkle beyond the treetops, but from my spot they are concealed. I am concealed.

The hunter’s moon glows, a giant orb in the autumn sky. By day, the mountainside boasts brilliant fall foliage. By night, the forest mutates into a haven for predators and a hiding place for prey.Especially on Halloween.

On Halloween night I went to bed early, exhausted from the day’s activities. Drifting off easily, I slept until something stirred me, waking me with a cold chill. A noise outside my door. A scratching sound. Maybe a limb against my window?

A glance to the bedside clock showed 11:57 p.m. Almost midnight.

Thinking it my imagination, I dismissed the noise, but sleep would not return. My nerve endings were on full alert. With blankets pulled to my nose, I watched without blinking, listened to hear what wasn’t there.

Another unfamiliar sound. It was not my imagination, I was certain.

My heart raced as my mind conjured images of ghouls prowling outside my cabin.

In the distance I heard the shriek of a bird, maybe an owl. Haunting. Eerie. And I sensed something, someone, footsteps? The rustle of leaves?

Outside my kitchen window, a slight change in the darkness, a shifting shadow. Was my mind playing tricks?

Weary and empty, I felt devoid of hope and happiness. Devoid of myself. Morning would never come.

I summoned the courage to tiptoe to the front door, my heart pounding in my throat. Through a corner of the blinds I saw darkness. Nothing. Coldness. A reflection of my own frightened face. Flipping on the outside light and shoving open the door, something moved away. Or floated away. Disappearing. Restoring my sanity.

And then I slept. A deep silent sleep. I dreamed of Dementors.

talya

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