Keiser - grace grits and gardening

Stayin’ Alive

February 21, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

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”

www.lotusyogadallas.com

my mother’s motto

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall

February 18, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

It’s interesting being home in the middle of a “work day”. The neighborhood is totally different between 8-5. Until recently, I was at the bank during these hours and missed this time slot at home – unless I was sick in which case I was drugged on Nyquil. I love Nyquil. Although it makes me do crazy things sometimes…

Until I left my banking job, I never realized a yellow school bus drives down our street around 3:30 every afternoon. I find this strange in the inner city where we live, but I suppose this is very necessary – kids in Dallas are bussed all over the city in over 1,700 yellow school buses. I just never much thought about it. I always equate school buses to little rural schools out in the country – like where I grew up.

Did you ride a school bus? I’m not referring to weekly basketball games with the team or the annual field trip to the zoo, but EverySingleDay in Elementary School? Because you lived out in the boonies? I was envious of those kids who lived in town. They were so lucky to walk to school. I wanted to move into town to the new Keiser housing project and walk with my friends. Not fair!

Sandy Robinson
My bus driver:)

Riding the bus was traumatic. On the first day of school, my mother and I followed along in her car behind the bus the entire route, so that I would know exactly where Mr. Robinson was taking me each afternoon, before dropping me off at home. My mother was a saint to do this. Driving all over Mississippi County gravel roads eating bus dust for at least an hour and a half, while I’m sure I was begging to be home schooled. Had I only known about home schooling… After that first day – or maybe she did it for a week – I was forced to grit my teeth and ride the bus.

My bus route changed slightly from year to year. Why, I’m not sure? Maybe a ditch flooded and a road was completely washed away changing the school district boundaries?? There were several years that I was the first person picked up – before sunrise. I watched for the bus from the back porch off the kitchen. I stood there and scribbled on the door frame in No. 2 pencil, “I am so sleepy”. My mother left my mark there for a long time before re-painting. I waited and watched each morning, nauseous the entire time, silently praying that Mr. Robinson had flipped the bus into Clide Barnett’s wheat field in the 7 minutes between school and my house. I didn’t want him to be injured or anything – I really liked Mr. Robinson – but I hated that school bus. But it always showed up, driving down Highway 140 in the dark, those unmistakeable bus lights glowing in the distance. I walked as slowly as possibly down our lonnnngggg driveway like it was a death march with my mother standing on the carport in her robe yelling, “Hurry! You’re gonna miss the bus!” I knew I couldn’t be that lucky. I just knew it was a matter of time before one of those rickety bridges we crossed would collapse with me inside. It was simple math.

These kids were late for school.

After school, the route was reversed, and I was the very last child to leave the bus, well after dark, getting home after the evening news. It sucked. Never mind that the bus turned north onto Highway 101 ten yards from my house! I could see my house. I could practically touch my house! I was not allowed to get off until we circled the entire county and looped back on Highway 140 directly in front of my driveway. I wanted to scream every afternoon “Let me off!!! My house is right there!” as we turned in the opposite direction. I could have an extra hour and a half to watch I Dream of Jeannie or Gilligan or read. I considered opening that emergency door in the back of the bus but would an alarm sound?

WHAT, pray tell, was my mother doing during this time? Why couldn’t she drive me to school? A mere 7 minute drive – 14 round trip – compared to 3 hours per day I was spending in that dusty bus!!! I knew very well that she drove to Keiser every single day for groceries and gossip… She could easily do that in the morning after dropping me off. I was totally on to her. Later, when I became a mother of two small children, I understood that this was, of course, extra free baby sitting time for my mother, courtesy of the MissCo School District. But I’m still just a tad bitter.

Some years for whatever reason, I was the last person picked up in the morning. This allowed me more time to sleep, which was a nice perk; however, by the time I boarded, the bus was crammed packed with wild kids – some had been on the bus for nearly 2 hours – and there was no place to even think about sitting. For a shy kid like me, this was distressing. I only had to brace my legs and hold on to the back of a seat for 7 minutes, trying my best not to fall into the nasty aisle. Add to this, the certain group of mean girls (who shall remain nameless), who rifled through my purse every single morning and stole my milk money. Sometimes I just handed over my milk money each morning as I boarded – like bus fare. I hated milk anyway. But I hid my lunch money in my saddle oxford so the mean girls would not know. I loved lunch. Mr. Robinson, our bus driver, had to know this was going on, but he let us deal with our own issues. Kids fought their own battles then…not that I ever fought.

With this LIFO bus route, they finally let me get off first in the afternoon at that Highway 101 intersection. I walked through the ditch and over into our yard, adding months and possibly years to my life. I would gladly let the mean girls have my purse each morning to get home by 4:00 instead of 6:00.

Today, as that bus drives by my house each afternoon I wonder about those kids inside. The buses are probably different now with cameras for the driver to maintain control. Those kids probably each have an iPhone which keeps them busy playing Angry Birds and texting. Or maybe they too are traumatized trying to keep their seat mate from stealing their $250 Livestrong Air Max Nikes.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Brownsville Station, “Smokin’ in the Boy’s Room”

Cat Stevens, “Old Schoolyard”

“Even to this day, when I see a school bus it’s just depressing to me. The poor little kids.” Dolly Parton

Love Shack baby!

February 14, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Nana was born on Valentine’s Day. How perfect! The day of love and happiness. Growing up, the Valentine’s Day parties in elementary school with the cute little cards and yummy cupcakes were all secondary to Nana’s Valentine’s Day Birthday. We eagerly showered her with homemade cards, candy, a cake and presents – along with an off key rendition of Happy Birthday.

When Nana and Papa Creecy moved to Keiser from the home place, they bought the brick house next door to the Grahams. I thought it was the prettiest house in Keiser. It had a very cool finished-out attic which became our hideout. Staci and I played with our barbies there and listened to music during bunkin’ parties. There was no furniture in the attic, other than an oversized bright yellow wooden rocker. The house must have been built around that rocker – it was there when they bought it. And it was part of the deal when my mother sold it, after they died. The attic stairs were super steep and small – a secret little stairwell – that chair wasn’t going anywhere. The Mystery of the Attic Chair… I’m sure had Nancy Drew known, she would have solved the puzzle. I bet it’s still there.

In junior high, the attic became the site of many, many games of 7 Minutes in Heaven…Keiser,Arkansas-Style. Our version was really more a combination of Spin the Bottle and Thirty Seconds in the Closet. We all sat in a big circle surrounding a coke bottle in the center. We turned the overhead light off – probably because we were too embarrassed to see ourselves. Understandably, this drove Nana crazy. She would flip the switch at the bottom of the stairs and yell up to the attic space, “Taaaaaaaalya!!!” We would all giggle, “Oh sorry!” like we had no idea how that light turned itself off, wait a couple of minutes, and flip the switch again from upstairs. She couldn’t (or wouldn’t) climb those steep stairs, and we knew it. We took turns spinning the bottle, and the person the bottle landed on was the lucky recipient of a few seconds in the attic closet, in the shadows.

We spent lots of weekend nights up there – our little group of friends – Becky, Anita, Trina, Craig, Graham, Judy, Charles M, Timmy and others I’m sure. It was far from heavenly, but it was the closest we had been. It was fun and different and exciting at a time when we were innocent and full of teenage curiosity. No one spoke of what went on after a turn in that closet, but I doubt there are any big secrets. Timmy was always cute and nervous in that dark closet. He was funny, but shy. A turn with Craig was like 7 minutes of Botox. He nearly ate our lips off. Ruth was likely starving him – he was always in trouble with his mom… He definitely would have been punished had she known about Nana’s attic. We each kissed everyone eventually – we didn’t care which boy it landed on. They were all like our brothers… That game of thirty seconds in the closet was our important entre into dating and eventually true love.

I’m sure young teens today have outgrown Spin the Bottle. They are too busy texting and living in an online world.

Norfork Lake

Nana was much like Lucy Ricardo – funny, always laughing and typically into some type of mischief. I think Annabelle the Schnauzer must take after her…She was strong and faithful – at church every time the doors were open. She was loved by all – including all the kids up in the attic. Even though she was sick for much of her life – brain surgery in her 20s, leukemia in her 60s and a terrible headache nearly every day in between, Nana always had a beautiful smile on her face. And something funny to say. She never tried to be funny. She just was. Everyone who came into contact with her was better for it, and I miss her every day. Of course my mother has turned into her, so she isn’t really ever very far away.

I love this quote from Oscar Wilde…”All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That is his.”

Happy Valentine’s Day & Happy Birthday Nana!

xoxo

talya