grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

The Year of the Bear!

By

Robert and Brittney sitting in a tree,
K
I
S
S
I
N
G….


For the love of Baylor Nation, isn’t it obvious that Brittney Griner and Robert Griffin III should have a dunking contest, marry and have some amazing little baby bears? PlainAsDay.
 Can you imagine the supernatural jocks Baylor would celebrate in 2030, with size 18+ shoes and wing spans like that of the great wandering albatross? Ken Starr needs to make this a mission critical Baylor priority before RG3 moves off to ObamaLand and marries a Victoria’s Secret supermodel. Time is of the essence.

Keiser Yellow Jackets
my 9th grade year
#21
When I attempted to play basketball, I hated seeing Parkin on our schedule. Those Parkin girls, and we used that term loosely, were behemoths with sumo arms and thighs as sturdy as oak tree trunks. In 7th grade, I prayed Coach Graham would forget I was on the team. Please God keep the starters out of foul trouble. My stomach cramped at the thought of being sent in. Going head to head with these titans gave me nightmares. My only semi-basketball-virtue was my height, although it was no great asset when I tried to hide away at the end of the bench, disappearing into my own body like a shrinky dink. And I certainly wasn’t Brittney Griner tall. I had normal sized girl feet and could wear cute shoes, had there been any cute shoes in the 1970s. 

My mother was an incredible basketball player with an amazing hook shot that people still talk about in Mississippi County. I had no such shot. She was passionate about the sport and nearly got herself ejected from many a game when my sister and I played. Her behavior only further reminded Coach Graham that I was in fact on the team. 

Back inside the safety of our school bus, we were always relieved to have survived another game without death or life threatening injury among the team members or mothers. What were they feeding those girls? Our mothers were convinced some of the Parkin girl’s basketball team players also suited up on the football team last fall. Hmmmm. It was a hot PTA topic. We begged Coach Graham to stop the bus in West Memphis or Marion on the way back to eat supper after the game. Thinking back, a quarter pounder with cheese was probably not the best way to strengthen our core and hone our ball handling skills. While we were giggling and feasting at McDonalds, those Parkin girls were probably drinking steroid laced energy drinks and running bleacher laps to stretch out their dragonslayer quads. Oh well, it’s not whether you win or lose right? Ha. What a crock.

Sic’ em Lady Bears! Beat the Irish.

Lady Bears v. Aggies

talya

Musical Pairings:

George Baines Rosborough, “That Good Old Baylor Line”
R Kelly, “I Believe I Can Fly”

“The only difference between a good shot and a bad shot is if it goes in or not.” – Charles Barkley

cute bear at the Alamo Bowl:)

Step away from those peanuts!

By

The news reported this morning, “Safeway has agreed to stop selling pink slime in its ground beef but Walmart will give its consumers a choice.” So given an alternative, some people will choose pink slime to save a fifty cents? This was like a Saturday Night Live Weekend Update report.
I admit, the possibility of pink slime gave me pause at lunch this week as I ordered a beef taco. But I ordered it anyway. It hadn’t hurt me yet. At least I didn’t think so.
Like eating raw cookie dough. People now frown on this because of the raw eggs. As kids we ate raw cookie dough and licked sugary spoons anytime we had the opportunity. Licking the chocolate batter from the mixer beaters was the best part of baking a cake for funeral wakes. Luckily there was always a bit left in the bottom of the mixing bowl. And we drank water straight out of the hose all summer long. It was flavored with a hint of rubber and rust, but it was cold and refreshing when we were hot and sweaty from playing in the yard all day.  Apparently that’s bad now too – the hose not the yard. Of course the yard is dangerous if you aren’t slathered in a super high SPF broad-spectrum UVA/UVB sun blocking sunscreen with extra helioplex. 
Our front yard. Site of lots of
dangerous shenanigans.
And we ate peanuts. No one was allergic to peanuts. 
We picked never-organic strawberries straight off the ground at Aunt Virgie’s and ate them without rinsing them off. They were juicy and sweet and delicious, growing like ground cover beside the chicken coop. And how we loved to play in that chicken coop, no doubt surrounded by very organic chicken poop. The worst thing that happened was maybe a sunburn on our shoulders or a splinter from swinging on the poles where the chickens roosted.
Or was it? Maybe all these incredibly dangerous things have affected me. Jumping rope in chicken poop probably made me lactose intolerant? I bet peanuts are making these random hairs grow above my lip! And this warty thingy on my hand is probably from that dang water hose. 

talya

Musical Pairings:

Tim McGraw, “Back When”
Alabama, “High Cotton”

“Ugh! I’ve been kissed by a dog! I have dog germs! Get hot water! Get some disinfectant! Get some Iodine!” – Lucy Van Pelt

Stayin’ Alive

By

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

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!