grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Let’s Make a Deal

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I get not one second of peace to enjoy my coffee until Lucy and Annabelle have walked, peed and pooped. Out the door we go first thing in the morning. I am a vision wearing whatever I throw on to stay warm – today it’s gray sweat pants, my Rivercrest Colts t-shirt underneath a sloppy navy sweatshirt, purple windbreaker, Ugg boots, dirty ponytail and no makeup. Lovely. Even though the sun is barely awake, I wear my sunglasses so that no one will recognize me and to hide my puffy morning eyes.

Immediately out the door I hear Debby Rogers call my name from her car. The dogs gave me away. She is off to work, looking like she just walked the runway at fashion week – her hair is always swingy and shiny. She sports those stylish glasses everyone, who is anyone, wears. And she’s clean. I’m sure of it. We briefly chatted before she drove off likely thinking, “Wow she’s really let herself go since she quit the bank”.

The dogs and I happily continue down the sidewalk, waving to John as he drives by and turns at the corner. He’s off to a doctor appointment and then to work. Somebody has to work. It’s a gorgeous winter morning in Dallas. I am reminded of my favorite Bible verse: “This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.” Psalms 118:24 King James. I prefer King James.

I stick my hands down into my pockets to keep them warm.  They are full of stuff.  Truly, I am not a packrat. I can easily discard things without a second thought.  Strangely, I have managed to accumulate all sorts of little things in both my pockets. I feel around and identify plastic bags to pick up dog poop (proper city etiquette), a dry cleaners receipt (I must remember to pick up John’s shirts), a tiny sample of makeup from Newcomb’s (Estee Lauder Biscuit), my grocery list from yesterday (we were nearly starved), and a large package of Fruit Stripe gum, which I bought at the Wilson grocery store when my mother and I did a drive-by of Johnny Cash’s house in Dyess last week.    

I should be on Let’s Make a Deal, but properly attired of course. Remember that show? Is it still on? Monty Hall made random deals such as cash to the maniacal audience member who could quickly produce a box of macaroni from her purse.  Or a pink curler.  Or a pair of socks.  Or Fruit Stripe gum from Wilson…  Wait a minute. Something did not feel quite right…? Something was missing! Where were my keys? I turned my pockets inside out on the corner in front of Harry’s house, which immediately became a super fun game to Lucy and Annabelle. My pockets had been so weighted, I had assumed my keys were inside. But I had Fruit Stripe Gum instead! And I didn’t have my iPhone. I always had my iPhone! It was my life line. Pitiful.

Quickly, the girls and I ran to Russell and Terri’s house – 4 houses down from ours. They were unlucky enough to be home – the car was in the drive. As I knocked, Lucy and Annabelle jumped at my feet smearing up their glass front door. I saw Russell inside on his iPad. He couldn’t hide. Plus he had to help me, he’s a preacher. He’s dedicated to helping those less fortunate. He took an oath or something. I thought about quickly turning my back to the door and smearing some of that Estee Lauder Biscuit on my face, but time was of the essence. Once John left the doctor, he would go to his office which was near the airport – far, far away.  

Inside we go – Lucy and Annabelle running wildly all over the room with leashes swinging – so excited to be calling on a neighbor so early. What fun! And I looked like a haint in this getup I was wearing. I had coffee breath and had not yet brushed my teeth! I sure hoped he had not read the story of my brightening facial a couple of weeks ago. He would immediately know it did not work, and it was a total waste of money. I explained my pathetic situation, and he graciously set out to help me.  (We do have GREAT neighbors!)

I could not remember John’s cell number to save my soul. It’s programmed on my iPhone so why clutter my head with those numbers?  Russell handed Terri’s laptop to me but evidently when I am makeup-less, I am also computer illiterate.  Finally I stumbled into Facebook and onto John’s page to see if his cell phone number was listed.  Of course not.  Who does that? (me) Ironically, the first thing that flashed on the crazy new Facebook timeline ticker was “Today is Russell Floyd’s birthday! Wish him a happy birthday!”  Really? WhatWereTheOdds? So, I gushed over Russell, wishing him a happy birthday, trying to convince him that was the real reason for my early morning visit. 

The dogs were rowdy, jumping on their clean furniture in their clean, dog-less, child-less home. This was the moment I experienced my first official day-time hot flash. Terri came into the room to remind Russell that she had a flight to catch. I think she was starting to get nervous that the dogs and I would be riding to DFW Airport with them to swing by John’s office, completely stinking  up their clean car. Finally, Russell brilliantly sent John an email (I remembered his email address).  And thank goodness, John headed back home to save me from myself.  

At 8:15 I’ve already had a day.  I think this afternoon I will make a pie from Nana’s recipe box – for Russell.  Russell deserves pie! It’s his birthday. And southern girls always cook in times of need.


talya


Musical Pairings:
Alison Krauss & Gillian Welch, “I’ll Fly Away”

Is It Winter Yet?

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Dallas weather is EXTREME. There is no other way to describe it. The temperature often ranges 50 to 60 degrees within a twenty-four hour period. Summer is hellish with weeks and weeks and weeks of 100+ temperatures and terrible humidity. Everyone begins to snap at each other from the heat and bad hair days.  Acres of ranch land ignite and burn. Boats run aground from lack of rainfall. The tap water tastes like algae by Labor Day. Finally, when everyone is at the point of seeking counseling, that first cold snap hits around Halloween and yay, it’s fall, the best season of all, for about 14 days. You dare not blink.

As you begin to let your guard down to recover from the broiling summer, you realize it’s one week before Christmas and the pumpkins are still on the porch.  Overnight, all the trees have gone bare.  When did it become winter?  Does the Earth spin more quickly on its axis now?  Did Al Gore double-check this while inventing global warming? Although super short, Dallas winters do often include bursts of crazy cold from Canada which are brutal to our thin, watery blood unprepared for icy temps.  Combined with Texas winds, the chill is often below zero.

Snow!

Last year we received over a foot of snow one day in January. It happened so quickly the weathermen, who were probably in their inclement weather prayer group, completely missed the forecast. They are still red-faced about this. In contrast, so far this year, we have managed to skip the cold messy weather completely, wearing shorts in December and eating lunch outside on MLK Day. It makes for nice dog walking weather, which Lucy and Annabelle appreciate.  


I want changes of season.  I want to see snow in the winter and sun in the summer. (But a normal amount of each would be preferable.) If I suddenly wake from a coma, I want to be able to look out the window and know what time of year it is based on the color of the leaves on the trees, not because the leaves are burnt to a crisp. I could never live in a place with the same weather month after month – that would be monotonous.  I will not go on a Caribbean cruise for Christmas.  It just doesn’t seem right, plus there is the whole “some people mysteriously don’t come back from cruises” issue. And the “I’d rather have a root canal than wear a swimsuit in December” issue. Ok, so I have issues…

This is the time of year that I start to get antsy.  I’m ready for yard work.  I need to clean the flower beds and trim the bushes and sweat.  It’s cathartic.  I begin to anticipate the tall purple irises that will soon pop up on the blades in the thick groundcover surrounding the fountain.  I thumb through seed catalogs and dream of the day when I will not be limited to my city postage stamp yard and container herb gardening. Winter teaches patience.  I know that underneath the ground, the bulbs and roots are hibernating, warming and waiting until the perfect time to show themselves. 

I think I’ll drink my coffee this morning on the porch and have a little chat with my pansies. They probably have some insight into our crazy Dallas weather.  Yes, I talk to my plants.

Last Spring’s Irises.  
talya

Musical Pairings:
Dean Martin, “Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!”

Getting My Glow On

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No one in my family needed one single thing for Christmas this past holiday. We are lucky and blessed and wanted for nothing. In the spirit of downsizing our “stuff” and constantly attempting to simplify, my husband (who is a most excellent gift-giver) gave me the perfect Christmas present – a gift card for a facial at my favorite spa. Totally consumable!

I like to get facials about twice a year. No matter how much home cleansing, steaming or exfoliating, the results are no where near the same as having a professional properly pamper your pores. I decided to go in for my facial the morning of my anniversary. This would be the ideal time to de-clog, deep-clean and walk away with squeaky younger skin – just like the day I got married. Ok well maybe just like the first time I got married… when I was much, much younger.

I scheduled my appointment online and selected the Brightening Facial. It was described as a fine line-erasing, dark spot-removing, brightening skin booster to “get my gorgeous glow going”. I could certainly use this miracle treatment for my bone dry skin which had spent way too much time baking in the sun in the 1970s. This was pre-sunscreen.

As I relaxed in the dimly lit waiting room in my comfy robe, I sipped green tea and allowed my mind to clear. After only a few minutes, my aesthetician with absolutely perfect peaches-and-cream skin and natural Angelina lips floated into the room. She had long, straight, shiny blonde hair. I gave a passing thought to my dirty hair in desperate need of a wash,cut,style,color,etc…. She seemed very sweet. As we walked to the treatment room, (I walked/she glided) she commented that my hairstyle was cute. Ok, so she was stunning but obviously the elevator didn’t go all the way up. Not only was my hair dirty – I was sporting my yoga hairdo which consisted of 2 dog-ear ponytails (not attractive or appropriate on a 49-and-a-half-year-old but convenient for yoga). This veritable veela had no pores which was an excellent advertisement for her skill.  I too would leave with no pores. (The last facial I had was administered by a girl with an unfortunate case of either rosacea or acne. NotAVeryGoodSign… Although I did not leave with rosacea, I left with the same enlarged pores I arrived with – clean but enlarged.)

I love these treatment rooms. They are so tranquil. I think they must diffuse a calming agent throughout the air vents to make it so peaceful. I wonder if I could book space for a 30 minute nap sometime? Just a nap. I hopped up on the table and buried myself under piles of thick heated blankets. I practiced my deep breathing exercises from yoga class while she stirred up magic potions behind me. There was a relaxing new age type music playing softly in the background. The lights were low. I could smell lavender.  Heaven.

With a gentle hand, my aesthetician began cleansing my face and praised my selection of the brightening facial, adding it would be fabulous for me – “but it might tingle a bit”. No worries. I’ve given birth. Twice.  To big babies.  I have a high tolerance for pain.  It’s all good.

The brightening miracle cream smelled like roses. It was cold and felt nice on my skin. She spread it evenly on my face and down my neck. It did have a slight tingle which meant it was working its magic, right?

Within three minutes time, the slight tingle had turned into a full scale burn on my skin. I was quite certain the poison she was applying to my face would soon ignite. “Ummmm this is really starting to sting,” I told her with a sense of urgency as I squirmed on the bed which suddenly seemed hard. She disregarded my obvious pain, patting my shoulder condescendingly, “Only 2 minutes to go sweetie”. Two minutes and I’ll have 3rd degree burns! She fanned my face which helped a tiny bit and removed the hot steam machine that had continued to blow across my body, fueling the flames. FINALLY, as I began to practice patterned breathing exercises not used since hard labor 18 years ago, she started to remove this vile venom. “Can I have some ice chips or dunk my head in a toilet?” I gasped between breaths. “Hahahaha you are sooooo cute,” she purred. I wanted to slap her but my hands were constrained in warm massage mitts. Were my feet in stirrups?

After lying on this wooden rack with cold towels on my face for several minutes, I felt I might survive, with the exception of my nose which most certainly was bleeding. Did I do something terrible to this woman in another life? “Bless your heart your face is really red. I hope you don’t have anywhere to go.”  She actually sounded concerned. OH HELL NO it’s just my anniversary, I think to myself, unable to form actual words as I am totally concentrating on calming my heartbeat. “You are going to LOVE the results!”  She was just so giddy. “Is my face going to peel?  I didn’t want a peel!  I have a party on Friday!” I panic.  “Oh no honey, you may just have a few flakes…” Ok that really did not compute in my melted brain. Fry = Peel. It just did.  

Surprisingly, after coming down from stroke mode, the remainder of the facial was quite normal. I even fell asleep near the end of the session and awoke myself with one of those startled jerks. Or maybe I had passed out from physical and psychological trauma. As I readied to leave the torture chamber, she reminded me over and over again not to be shocked at how pink my face was, but added “it has calmed down a lot already.” As I walked toward the dressing room I moved slowly as if I had in fact given birth.  My head was swimming – probably from the heat radiating from my body. I was pretty sure I was suffering from hyperthermia. Shouldn’t I be in the recovery room? She asked me if I wanted hot tea.  Hot tea! Really? She was an idiot.

In the dressing room I assessed my face. It was swollen and red. Big time. Every single woman who walked into the changing room did a double-take. One thing was certain – this facial was aptly named. I could guide Santa’s sleigh with this bright face. And just as I had hoped, I had no pores as they were all completely swollen shut. Even the lady at the front desk who had the nerve to collect my gift card payment felt sympathy – it was obvious by her gasp which she tried to stifle but couldn’t. I drove home still feeling uneasy from the heat and certain that I would have a wreck, leaving me standing on the side of Central Expressway explaining my dirty ponytails and cherry kool-aide face to a skeptical police officer. Thankfully I didn’t have far to drive.

I walked in the kitchen door, fighting off my very strong urge to jump in the pool on the way inside. John asked, “Wanna go to lunch for our anniversary?”  “John, I can’t leave the house! My face is as red as a baboon’s ass.”  He tried not to laugh, but he did.  “We’ll pretend you just returned from a ski trip in Aspen,” he suggested. I was very reluctant, but we did have to eat, right?  And it was our anniversary.  So after an icy shower to restore my body temperature and a dusting of pale mineral powder to dull the reflection from my swollen nose, we were off to lunch.  I’m sure everyone in that restaurant was jealous of my healthy glow from the slopes.  

talya

Musical Pairings:
Saving Jane, “Girl Next Door”



Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

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