grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Give it up for Lent!

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I’ve been thinking a lot about what to give up for Lent. In prior years, I’ve given up meat and cheese – not at the same time. Kelsey gave up meat for Lent one year in junior high and never ate it again. And NO, it doesn’t count if you give up something you hate, like liver or abdominal crunches. And you can’t give up something you don’t do anyway, such as ironing. I do not iron – not very often anyway. I don’t see the need. 
 
You may not observe Lent – not everyone does. Or you may choose to simply ignore Lent. But you can’t give up Lent for Lent. The purpose is sacrifice and self-denial. According to the Gospels, Jesus spent forty days and forty nights fasting somewhere in the desert near the Jordan River, where he was tempted by Satan – beginning right after Fat Tuesday and ending on the Holy Thursday before Easter Sunday. Regardless what you believe or don’t believe, it likely wouldn’t hurt most of us to fast for a while, especially after all that King Cake, which followed all that Valentine’s candy, which followed all that Christmas candy, which followed all that Halloween candy…
 
Some people take something on for Lent – like volunteering or meditating or picking up trash in the neighborhood. I suppose I could take on ironing?
 
After careful consideration, I’ve decided to give up sweets. Desserts of all kinds. This will be difficult. It won’t be that hard for forty days, but the forty nights will be killer. Forty nights of television with not even a spoonful of Cherry Garcia or Chunky Monkey… What will happen to my box of Blue Bell ice cream sandwiches? Will they still be good on Good Friday? Or will John have eaten them by then? There is a big bowl of Hershey Kisses on the piano that I walk by forty times a day. And, I love to bake. No baking for forty days. 
 
I have 8 boxes of girl scout cookies to eat tonight.
 
Happy Extra-Fat Tuesday!
Grace Grits and Gardening
Musical Pairing:
Louis Armstrong, When The Saints Go Marching In
 

Stayin’ Alive

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Exercise has always been a part of my life. Not obsessive exercising, but enough to keep me moving and healthy. Each morning, Staci and I did jumping jacks with our mother watching The Jack LaLanne Show. He always wore that unattractive jumpsuit as if he was going to immediately leave the studio to run home and paint his front porch. I think he was attempting to emphasize to the 1960s housewife that she could exercise in her housecoat and pink curlers. No need to buy expensive fitness gear, just wear your camo coveralls straight from the duck blind. 

My mother purchased that Glamour Stretcher he advertised. She tied it on the doorknob and did some sort of leg extensions. I don’t think it worked, but Staci and I played with it sometimes. There was nothing remotely glamorous about it. And, whatever diet my mother was on – Staci and I mimicked her. By the time I was in 6th grade, I could quickly announce the calories contained in every single food off the top of my head like the Bible verse drill game at Brinkley Chapel. Had we spent this time learning a foreign language, I’m pretty sure we would have been fluent by junior high. We thought this was a normal life skill – reading, writing, calorie counting. We even knew how to weigh out our portions on her handy dandy kitchen scale. We divided up green beans like they were Godiva Truffles or gold coins making sure it was all equal stequal. At age 10.

One year Momma bought a silver sauna exercise space suit. She walked around in it during the day hoping to sweat off the pounds as she vacuumed. Ironing Daddy’s shirts, she looked like something straight out of The Twilight Zone. Staci and I didn’t have one of those, but we did wrap our legs in Saran Wrap a few times. I am sure Thomas Tate was totally unaware of this space suit.


Later, Staci and I exercised the old-fashioned way – in P.E. class at Keiser Elementary School, while Momma discovered more trendy methods without us. We played kick ball and dodge ball and jogged to the Keiser Experiment Station. She went to a ‘salon’ in Osceola that had vibrating exercise machines. All she did was lie there, and the weight was shaken off. While she oscillated, Coach Graham made us climb ropes in the gym. The ropes went all the way to the rafters high above that basketball court. It was terrifying, but we did it. Wilbur Irving could fly up that rope like a cirque du soleil squirrel – he was amazing. Now kids have safety ropes to protect themselves when they rock climb. We had nothing – just the rope. Coach Graham made sure no one hung themselves. 

In college, I moved on to those annoying Jane Fonda Workout tapes. I did them AllTheTime! I was devoted to those stupid tapes, watching her in that striped leotard with leg warmers that almost matched. Finally, someone asked to borrow my tape. I took that opportunity to move apartments, so that I would never see that workout video again. After Jane, I did step classes. With each step, I subtracted daily calories in my head. It was the only mental math that ever made sense to me.


The reason we signed up
for Boot Camp.
Last year, I idiotically signed up for Boot Camp with a group of my co-workers – mainly because Debbie C accidentally saw Dr. Bruce changing clothes in the parking garage. hubba hubba. (Dr. Bruce was the Boot Camp instructor, who also happened to be a chiropractor in our building.) After her detailed description of this sighting, we all jumped right on board like crazy people – paying good money to be tortured every other day. There were times none of us could pee sitting down because our thighs screamed so badly – you could hear the moans from the bathroom. We did mountain climbers and pushups and cherry pickers in the 110 degree Dallas heat, in thunderstorms, and during inclement weather. I’m pretty sure Dr. Bruce was a Jack LaLanne fan – he LOVED jumping jacks! And we ran laps with weights above our heads. It was intense. Sometimes we pulled hip flexors and hamstrings and actually needed a chiropractor to continue on with our lives. (See how that worked for him? He created his patients…) But, we shaped up while making goo-goo eyes. He is not human. 


Finally, I found my perfect exercise. Yoga. You don’t even wear shoes! It took me a while to find the right studio – Lotus Yoga  – but I did, and it makes all the difference in my practice. The benefits go well beyond the physical. I’ve learned to better focus and be in the moment. I’m more aware of my body and strength. Doing a headstand or working into a strong side plank pose is empowering. I always leave wanting more and can’t wait to get back on my mat. The energy flows in this supportive environment, and I’ve met interesting new friends of all ages, both women and men. Working toward Crow Position this morning, I felt that I could do anything – like even write a book:)


Namaste,

talya


Musical Pairings:


Bee Gees, “Stayin’ Alive”
Olivia Newton-John, “Physical”
my mother’s motto

George Washington Slept Here. Sorta.

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Mt. Vernon
On this President’s Day, it’s only fitting that I mention George Washington, the Father of our Country. We visited his amazing home, Mt. Vernon, a few years ago. Mt. Vernon is one of the most fascinating places I’ve ever toured. Walking in his footsteps, the ground is hallowed along the banks of the Potomac, the home is decorated with family furniture and heirlooms, the property is  surrounded by historic gardens and orchards. His first love was farming. I bet he too would have blogged had Al Gore invented the internet by that time. 

It was even more special to us because, John and I are connected to George Washington – just like Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. George’s last known relative lived in our house. 

1) George Washington’s first cousin was Reade Macon Washington;
2) Reade Macon Washington’s son was Captain Edward C. Washington; (as a side note for you history buffs, Captain Ed fought at Gettysburg & was killed in Vicksburg in 1863)
3) Captain Edward C. Washington’s son was Reade Macon Washington (named after his grandfather with the same name);
4) Reade Macon lived in our house in the early 1920s.
5) We own the house now. 

See? 

Reade Macon Washington was born Jan 1, 1848, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He died in our house in Dallas on July 12, 1922. It was his house then. He was taking care of it for us. At the time of his death, the Dallas Morning News reported he was the last known member of George Washington’s bloodline. I discovered this while researching and preparing for home tour a few years ago. Now we had a name to go along with the bumps in the night – Mr. Washington still lives here… if you know what I mean.

We bought this home in 2002, when Tate was 8 and Kelsey was 12. We hadn’t been here long, when I was awakened in the middle of the night from a deep sleep by the smell of brownies cooking downstairs in the kitchen. It was as if the vent in our bedroom was pumping in the chocolate smell. It was wonderful, but at 1:30 a.m.?! I was a bit annoyed that Kelsey would be baking brownies at such an hour! She did love brownies, and she had perfected the recipe… But some of us had to work tomorrow! I threw back the covers, jumped out of bed and trudged downstairs. SeRioUsLy, the hair on the back of my neck stood up when I found the kitchen to be completely dark, the oven cold, the counters clean, and no midnight snack for me. But the smell of chocolate filled the kitchen. I cannot tell a lie. Kelsey was tucked away, sound asleep and falsely accused. This has happened several times since, but I have learned to just enjoy the smell and drift back off to sleep. Reade Macon must have loved brownies. Or maybe his wife was cooking for him? – she died here too, years later.

This is just one example of the goings on in our happily haunted house. 

Similar to Mt. Vernon, our neighborhood is hallowed ground too. Munger Place was developed in the early 1900s to be the “city man’s home”- only minutes from downtown by carriage. It was home to some of Dallas’ biggest movers and shakers before the community fell into complete despair. By the 1960s most homes were condemned by the city and falling apart. Fortunately, an ambitious group of dedicated families saved the neighborhood from demolition, pushing for historic designation in the 1970s. Many camped out in their homes with no heat or air or even windows for years, with rats inside and drug dealers and prostitutes next door. But amazingly and thankfully, they saved it. 

We newbies are simply the lucky caretakers of a tiny piece of history. Our home has had many owners through the years – they come and go. Some just come and never want to leave I guess. It features a fabulous wrap-around porch and the ghost of George Washington’s first cousin’s great-grandson… We should plant a cherry tree.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Sir Walter Scott, “Hail to the Chief”
K T Tunstall, “Black Horse and the Cherry Tree”

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!