ramblings from an arkansas farm girl
Once September rolls around, I am all about decorating for Halloween. I saw a similar recycled book pumpkin project on Pinterest and couldn’t wait to try it.The hardest part of the project for me was selecting which book to use. ‘Defacing’ a book is downright sinful; however, I decided an old Fodor travel book on the Caribbean was expendable. If I return to the islands, I’ll buy a more up-to-date issue.Continue Reading
It starts with Halloween. We buy bags and bags of candy for the busloads and busloads of los niños who descend on our neighborhood. The tower of tempting treats on the dining room table grows taller with each trip to Target. We avoid the dining room during the month of October.
Eventually, during some late night television show, John and/or I will rip open a bag of baby Snickers and thus begins the first season of holiday grazing. From Great Pumpkin to Easter Beagle.
“All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.”
― Charles M. Schulz
Two months ago, our house nearly burned.
In the spirit of fiction writing, I exaggerate a bit, but it was a close call. I was in Arkansas and therefore not responsible nor a suspect. John returned from work to a smoke-filled downstairs. Dallas fire fighters paid us a visit with sirens blaring—it was that bad.
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| basket o’ cloth napkins |
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| bottom of cabinet. nice. |
The underside of our cabinet is extra crispy. Inside the cabinet smells of a rump roast grilling on a Weber. For hours I washed glasses, doors and shelves.
I ignored it. I packed my car, locked the back door and drove to Dairy Hollow for a writer’s retreat. I became a witch for Eureka Springs’ Halloween, the streets filled with zombies and ghosts. Real or imagined?
In Fayetteville, purple and orange pansies grow where weeds once lived. I painted the last louver door! Thanksgiving at my sister-in-law’s—I only baked a pecan pie and potato casserole, a major departure for me.
Fearlessly, I wrote in the Ozarks, making new friends, thinking fresh thoughts.
Never once did I think about my Dallas kitchen, 350 miles southwest, smelling of forest fire mixed with Pine Sol. Yet,
ItStillStinks.
I suppose I shall be forced to paint. Ideas, anyone? anyone?
talya
