grace grits and gardening - ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Don’t Mess with Texas

February 24, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Punxsutawney Phil may be all super important and reliable up North, but clearly, his power does not extend to Dallas. It’s high time we had our own prairie dog or badger. We need a critter more in touch with Texas extreme temperatures. With 80 degree temperatures this week, its Easter-like. I’ve resigned myself that we have been totally gypped out of even one bowl of yummy snow cream this winter. I may go ahead and break out the spring wreath, but I hate to jinx it.

Lucy and Annabelle have been taking me on extra long walks this week. On Wednesday it was even warm enough for a short sleeve Dallas Mavericks t-shirt (of which I have a large collection), even at 8 a.m. We strolled along the neighborhood, with the dogs straining on their leashes, optimistically trying to catch those pesty birds. As a fun bonus, every house in this neighborhood comes with a cat on each wrap around porch, whether wanted or not. They loll about on the sidewalks in front of their respective homes, stretching and cleaning themselves, just teasing and taunting two little Schnauzers. Overhead the trees are already budding out. Those elusive squirrels who live high above seem to realize they have stored way too much inventory this season as pecans coincidentally fall near us like heat seeking missiles as we walk. There is no sign of winter hidden anywhere in the neighborhood. We did, although, get a double dose last year, so it evens out I suppose. In the distance I heard the unmistakeable screech of brakes – that terrible sound signaling someone ran a stop sign and then slammed on the brakes mid-intersection with their arm no doubt extended across the passenger’s side, whether or not there is a passenger or a phantom bag of groceries in that seat. I waited for the crash but thankfully, there was not one.

John was rear-ended last week sitting at a red light on Live Oak in our neighborhood. He was on his way to an early morning dentist appointment before work. I’m sure in his mind he was already at work when the driver smashed into his bumper, jolting him back to reality. Fortunately, the driver produced insurance information and provided his name. In East Dallas, this is a favorable sign. A few days later, of course, John was informed by our insurance agent that this person does not exist, there is no such insurance and all the information provided was fraudulent. According to the Dallas Morning News, of the 17 million licensed drivers in Dallas, 25% are uninsured, making our roads extra-hazardous. And I’m certain 50% of the 25% pass through our neighborhood daily on the way to the border. It’s more than slightly annoying.

As we continued walking, I thought about doing some yard work later in the afternoon or maybe taking Lucy and Annabelle to the dog park… Just as we turned the corner, making our way back home, Annabelle spied something nestled in the thick grass between the sidewalk and the street. She stopped in her tracks like a Pointer with her nose down hot on the trail of something. Her friend Dora must have taught her this trick… The item that caught her eye was partially hidden but glistening in the overgrown grass – almost sparkling. I bent down to see it more closely. Oh very nice. It was a condom. Obviously used and totally disgusting. Fortunately, I quickly identified it before Annabelle could claim it for herself, smuggle it home and hide it behind the sofa pillow for John to discover later. Lucy once hid an entire package of frozen corn behind the pillow on the love seat….That was interesting, but finding a nasty used condom one night while lying on the couch watching Modern Family might be a bit too interesting. We aren’t that modern.

Nastiness! On such a glorious Ash Wednesday.

Who is having car sex in our neighborhood and being a litterbug at the same time? Now, I have nothing against a little something-something wherever/whenever, and kudos for wearing a raincoat, but I hate litterbugs. Maybe that non-existent person who smashed into John’s car was distracted because he had just had vehicular sex on the way to work, tossing the evidence out the window in our neighborhood. That could just be distracting enough to run a red light. On the bright side, at least someone in the hood was practicing safe sex which could potentially keep one future uninsured motorist off the Dallas streets in 16 years. But please, in the spirit of the boy scouts, leave no trace.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Eagles, “Victim of Love”
Bruce Springsteen, “Pink Cadillac”

Fore!

February 23, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

So does anyone know what this strange object is? NO – it’s not a Geiger counter or a radiation detector. Nor does it detect uranium. It isn’t some type of land mine device. Give up? It’s a putter. As in golf. When did this happen? When did putters start looking all star wars-ish? And white? That just seems strange to me. Not that I know anything about it.

Obviously I haven’t been to a golf store in a while, but I tagged along with John last week in the middle of a downpour, nearly ruining my cute J. Crew shoes. As John was checking out, I was checking out the odd putters.

When did putters become square, resembling a piece of Mrs. Baird’s white bread? Are golf balls square now too? Does a square putter help you square up the ball? Does a glow-in-the-dark white putter help you remember to pick it up and place it back into your golf bag when you get pissed and sling your club across the green? I’m certain if that thing wasn’t obnoxiously sticking out of your bag by the time you reached the next hole, it would be missed by everyone in your embarassed foursome. It’s humongous. About a size 6.5 ladies Keds – DD width. And how enormous drivers must be now – like a football?

This peculiar putter might come in handy if you play on the municipal golf course behind the country club in Osceola (my home town) which is home to the occasional water moccasin. It could also double as a sickle when you shank the ball into the wheat field rough. Oops, ball in the lake? This thing is your tool. Add a bit of twine and you might just reel in a catfish for dinner. I bet Chef Ernestine would probably cook it up while you drink your White Zin in the bar. But if the fish aren’t biting, I recommend the blackened shrimp – delicious! And Bartender Tee makes an awesome extra dirty martini if Beringer isn’t your thing.

Seriously what self-respecting golfer uses this putter? Do they grow at the same rate as flat screen televisions? Doesn’t this take some of the skill out of the sport?

I’m not a golfer, but I made my first hole-in-one on July 4, 1996. John and I were playing at the Rivercliff Golf Club at Bull Shoals, Arkansas. The front 9 runs along the White River which is glorious. The back 9 is hellish with rocks and cliffs and no trees – almost like a rock quarry. I made a hole-in-one on the 7th hole with my 3 iron from the red tees. It was a par 3 over a little creek. (I only know the specifics because John memorized the details and magically pulled the scorecard from the bottom of a drawer this morning – 16 years later. This man who can never find anything…)

John was really, really excited when it happened. I thought, “Well that’s pretty cool,” but mainly I was already tired and hot and ready to jump in the lake. Another couple that we didn’t even know drove up in their cart all ecstatic about it too. Apparently it was a huge deal. Then I looked and John and said, “Ok now you do it.” He wacked the crap out of his ball, slicing it straight into the trees and bogeyed the hole. Hmmm.

I didn’t want to even finish the back nine – which was rocky and mountainous. It was 100 degrees that day. John informed me that if I didn’t finish the entire round, my hole-in-one wouldn’t ‘count’. Count? How could it not count? I did it. Everyone was super excited about it. Where is it counted anyway? On your permanent record? It counted to me. That’s all that mattered. But we finished the round. All the deliriously happy men in the clubhouse gave me an ugly purplish golf hat. And then I suppose they officially recorded it somewhere so that it ‘counted’. On the way back to Mountain Home I innocently asked John, “So how many of those holes-in-one do you have?” He looked at me as if I was speaking Mandarin. Maybe he worried too much about it – tried too hard? I had taken a few lessons, played about 10 rounds, got my hole-in-one and retired from that sport. What more was there to do? Apparently I peaked quickly.

When I returned to work after vacation, Mark Channels, the bank CFO, would not speak to me for weeks – so upset about my ace in the hole. He said I hadn’t “earned” it. I hadn’t put in the time. It was a lucky shot. I didn’t deserve it. He was worse than any mean girl in 9th grade. His lip quivered he was so angry. Wow. I’m sure he’s still bitter about it.

I haven’t played in years, but when I did, my putter looked nothing like that ugly white geriatric walking cane. Of course with a single perfect stroke you don’t really have to worry too much about your putter.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Bruce Hornsby, “Big Stick”
Seals & Crofts, “Summer Breeze”

And the Oscar goes to…

February 22, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Is it my imagination, or is there an awards show on television about every 23 days? They are exceptionally long and drawn out – about 7 hours if you include all the pre-game-catty-JoanRivers-red-carpet-commentary. But, like Toddlers and Tiaras, someone must be watching to warrant such a prominent prime time broadcasting slot. To name a few, there’s the American Music Awards, Grammys, Latin Grammys, Latin Billboard Grammys, Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Awards, MTV Video Music Awards, Country Music Awards, Teen Choice Awards, Academy of Country Music, NAACP Music Awards and Hip Hop Awards. And these are just music award shows. I’m surprised I haven’t won an award, and I haven’t sung since choir at Rivercrest. I was without a doubt the weakest link, but I do believe I could still sing my Sweet Adeline part to “Let a Smile Be Your Umbrella“. And it would be no more odd than the musical expression witnessed on the recent Grammy Awards. I bet Mrs. Brasfield would agree.

I accidentally watched thirty minutes of the Grammys after several of my friends hounded me with texts and Facebook messages, convincing me that I was truly missing something amazing. Maybe I chose the wrong thirty minutes? I recognized not one single person. No names sounded remotely familiar. And within that half hour, not one award was handed out. At one point I was sure I was watching the wrong channel – I even double checked to make sure. Thirty minutes I would never get back. To further add salt to the wound, Doug Henard pointed out that I could have been watching Swamp People instead. I love a good campy horror movie.

Sunday night is Oscar night. It’s the one awards show I semi-watch only if Billy Crystal is hosting. He’s pretty funny. Typically, like the music award shows, I am unfamiliar with the nominated movies, but three years down the road, just knowing the Oscar winners can be helpful standing in front of the Redbox at CVS.

There was a time that I actually made an effort to see at least a few of the nominated films prior to the Academy Awards. Like The English Patient. It seriously should have won the most boring movie EVER award. Yet it won 9 Oscars! John and I considered leaving, but I had a charlie horse in my foot and couldn’t walk. We did make it through the entire movie, watching a burned soldier lie on a stretcher, wrapped like a mummy. Turned out ten years later we discovered that burned patient was The Dark Lord Voldemort, which did not surprise me in the least! Finally, it made sense.

Another butt numbing movie that comes to mind was The Piano. Holly Hunter never looked worse, and she was mute. It stands to reason that a mute lead actor makes for a bit of a boring film. I was mute when I left. It won 3 Oscars and tons of nominations. In 2010, the Best Picture Award went to The Hurt Locker. I refuse to even see it – it just sounds boring.

This year, the nominees for Best Picture along with my totally unscientific odds are:

The Artist Odds 1-5 I saw this preview several times waiting to watch other movies. It’s a black and white silent movie which makes it just artsy fartsy enough to win. Right out of the gate, this is the best bet of the night, but you’ll only make forty cents on two bucks.
The Descendants Odds 3-5 This movie has a director popular with Oscar, as well as handsome George Clooney. The music was Don Ho-ish which nearly made me hysterical at the Angelika, thinking back to our Hawaiian vacation where my mother joined in with all the hula dancers – not dancing – but singing. Overall, the movie was a bit slow. Oscar loves slow which makes this a favorite.
War Horse – Odds 7-5 I did not see this – I don’t do sad animal movies since Where the Red Fern Grows in 1974. I get teary just thinking about those hunting dogs. But Oscar loves Steven Spielberg, and my friend Harold Green said War Horse was fantastic. So I give this one good odds. Would be a good Trifecta pick.
Hugo – Odds 3-1 This movie looks great; however I have not seen it. I’m not sure how I missed it, although until recently, I thought it was animated. It has an Oscar favorite director.
Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close Odds 5-1 Loved the book! Haven’t seen the movie. I’d give it decent odds just knowing Tom Hanks is in it.
The Help Odds 10-1 Loved the book. Enjoyed the movie. Way too mainstream (i.e. normal/popular) to win Best Picture. Although I think the woman who played Abilene has a decent shot at Best Actor.
Midnight in Paris – Odds 20-1 This was a fun, cute movie that somehow I managed to see. Owen Wilson is always fun and cute. It was way too fun and cute for an Oscar.
Moneyball – Odds 30-1 Haven’t seen it, but I think I would like it, so I doubt it will win Best Picture.
The Tree of Life Odds 30-1 Never even heard of it; therefore, best long shot of the day.