grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Marcia! Marcia! Marcia!

By

I wanted to be a cheerleader in the 7th grade. I was skinny and dorky and nervous. BUT, my super cool cousin, Cindy, was the captain. She was a 9th grader. So, maybe I had a chance – nepotism and all. She graciously took me under her wing, and attempted to teach me a cheer for tryouts. We could do any cheer we wanted which was pretty neat. Cindy had a whole repertoire from which to select. I was a cheerleader moron – a blank slate. 
Cindy selected a cheer and helped me master it, paying special attention to my floppy arms and overall gawkiness. We worked on it in the front yard during the summer before tryouts. I remember it very well.

Tic-Toc, It’s Time to Rock
Let’s Have a Vic-to-ry!
Tic-Toc, The Game is Locked,
And the Jackets, (clap-clap) Have the Key.

SERIOUSLY? 
Clearly, she did not want me on the squad. Not the coolest cheer in the ole cheer book. Of course this was the 70s.
Marcia
My sister and I loved to spend the night with Mam-maw Ruby and Papa Homer when Cindy was there. Cindy was our leader. Our inspiration. She wore Cover Girl makeup – lots of it – and removed it with Noxema. We weren’t allowed. She looked like those models on Teen Magazine. She even did some modeling in Memphis. How could we EVER compete with this? For a period of time, she even spelled her name Cindi – with an ‘i’. She was that kind of girl. She could just change her own name, and everyone went right along with it. She knew just how to apply that tanning lotion – QT. I tried to do it one time but my hands turned completely rusted and my legs looked corroded. She was bronze. I couldn’t leave the house for a week. My dad thought she freaking hung the moon. So did we.

Tryouts made me very nervous. I was sure I wouldn’t make the squad – I wore gold wire rim glasses! How can you cheer in glasses? I was Jan Brady. Cindy, of course, was Marcia. Most definitely. She had straight, long, shiny, brown hair that swung across her back as she walked around the Keiser playground. Just like Marcia. AND, her boyfriend was James Parks – ohsweetjesus. If he even looked in my direction I stuttered. He too was in the 9th grade. AND, he was the big brother of my best friend. So, I got to look at him a lot. Marcia had Davy Jones; Cindy had James Parks, and I had glasses. Like Jan.

Jan
Cindy worked and worked with me on the splits – it was part of the tryout test. There was no way I could do the splits. Not even close. How could I possibly be a cheerleader and not do the splits? My legs didn’t work that way. She gave me homework – stretching exercises which I did religiously, on my own time. Staci, my little sister who also was uncool – tried to help. She stood over me and pushed my shoulders down, trying to force me into the splits. Surprisingly, to my knowledge, I didn’t rupture anything. I rubbed vaseline into my knees, trying to limber them up (my own idea). No luck. Cindy was as nimble as Raggedy Ann. She could actually sit on the floor Indian style and put her feet around her head! She invented the flowering lotus pose before yoga was invented. We were first cousins! Why couldn’t I do that? 

When the time came for tryouts, I took my glasses off and handed them to Cindy. a) I didn’t want to be a four-eyes; and b) I didn’t want to be able to see anyone in the stands, especially Mrs. Ashley who selected the team. The team needed a blind cheerleader – I was sure of it. I couldn’t see a thing without my glasses. I squinted the entire time. Attractive.


Amazingly, I did make the squad. Maybe everyone made it? I don’t remember, and I didn’t know because I couldn’t see. I was too cool now for glasses. Thanks to Cindy, I’m certain. 


James Parks
Later, in 1977, the year I turned Sweet 16, I actually had my first date – with James Parks. Still the most handsome boy in Keiser, somehow Becky and I finagled a double date with James and his best friend, Lance. They took us to the Osceola drive-in theatre, across from the graveyard. The movie was Walking Tall, but I couldn’t concentrate on it. I was too aware of James sitting so close to me in that dark back seat of Lance’s dusty car. I had no idea how I had gotten so lucky to be on my first date with James Parks!  I was pretty sure being a cheerleader helped. James played football. Later, we learned Becky’s dad tradedhis best hunting dog to Lance to entice him into this date. Nice. I still have no idea what my daddy promised to James, but I would have given my eye teeth and sold my soul to truly get his attention. Of course, I was just his little sister’s annoying friend and he never gave me a second thought. I don’t even think he knew I was there. I’m sure he was still thinking about Cindy.



I actually saw James Parks a few weeks ago on his way to a funeral, and he asked me about Cindy. I KNEW he was still thinking about her. 


jan


Musical Pairings:
Ella Fitzgerald, “Blue Moon”
Johnny Rodriguez, “Ridin’ My Thumb to Mexico”
Keiser Jr. High Cheerleaders
Yellow Jackets!
I’m on the far left standing on one leg like a flamingo?

don’t make me run!

By

I don’t run.  I hate to run.  Running hurts my boobs. My best friend, Becky, lovelovesloves to run. She cranks up Keith Urban on her iPod, sucks down a tube of espresso love energy gel and jogs off in her cute little running skort looking so toned and in her zone. It’s the combination of Keith and espresso love that gives her that extra sparkle.  

Last year, Becky ran her first half marathon in Dallas – what an awesome accomplishment. I was so proud and excited for her! Judy (my other BFF) and I watched her cross the line, snapping pictures and screaming like we were at a Donny Osmond concert in 1972. Yay Becky! Good for her!
See Becky Run!
I wouldn’t run a half marathon if Keith Urban was standing at the finish line naked, waiting to sing a brand new song he had written and recorded especially for me. I just wouldn’t. Not for Keith or anyone else. Ok, well, except maybe for Coach Graham.  There was actually a time I ran for Coach Graham. He was the Keiser Jr. High girl’s basketball and track coach. All the silly, giggly, goofball teenage girls in Keiser were C-RAZY about him. He was our Keith Urban. He motivated us to run even as he tortured us daily! But, we didn’t care. We would have jumped off the Keiser water tower for Coach Graham. And still would.
As part of our basketball practice, we “jumped benches” – hard, wooden benches – with both feet, at the same time. If you mis-jumped, you dragged your tired butt home with a purple goose egg on your shin. (I can no longer jump benches. I am certain of this, because I tried during bootcamp last year. I even envisioned Coach standing there, swinging that whistle like always he did, but I still could not get both feet to work together.  One jumped and the other lagged behind like a delayed reaction.) We also ran suicides and bleacher laps and held the chair pose against the gym wall until our thighs screamed for mercy. Then, at the very end of practice, as we were sweating out Coca-cola (we didn’t know about GU gel) and very near tears, Coach made us run from the school gym to the Keiser Experiment Station (pronounced “spearmint” station for you non-townspeople).

Keiser, Arkansas is a small town – there were only about 600 residents when I was in junior high and probably about the same now.  It’s surrounded by soybean and cotton fields, right between Sandy Bayou and Hall Town. The Keiser Experiment Station was a big deal I guess, like something from the Dharma Initiative. As a kid I wondered, “Just what exactly were they experimenting on at the edge of town?” It was somewhat of a cool mystery, intriguing but not enough so to quiz my mother on it, just something to ponder now and then. Were there dead bodies there? Dead chickens? In junior high, I came to understand “they” were performing research for the University of Arkansas – research on crop production and pesticides. (woo pig sooie!) Although I was a farmer’s daughter, and those crops put cornbread in my mouth, I didn’t think that was all too interesting. For me, the experiment station meant one thing – the absolute worst part of my teenage day.
Even though the road was flat and it probably wasn’t a mile round trip, it was exta-long with Coach tailing behind us, very slowing, in his truck. He always had his window rolled down to shout out words of “motivation”. Why didn’t he get out of that truck and run with us? That was one of the biggest debates in 7th grade. By the time I passed by Mrs. Mills’ house, I had painful stitches in my side. I could hide behind Mrs. Mills’ house, catch my breath, and fall back in line when my girlfriends came running back from the spearmint station. But NO, helicopter Coach was on to me, back there following with his trust issues. By the time I made it to the big tree where we looped back, I was seriously considering hiding out behind the cotton trailers at the spearmint station – I would stay there until high school. I didn’t care what the hell kind of odd things they were doing. I would volunteer to be experimented on, if it meant not having to run back to school. It wasn’t until we were a bit older that we learned, not only was crop research happening there, but at night, when it was dark, especially on the weekends, the experiment station was the place teenagers made out – a whole different sort of spearminting.
Becky never ran to the Experiment Station. She didn’t play basketball or run track. I have no idea how she weaseled out of it, but obviously that strategy boosted her long-term running career while mine was completely stunted. When Becky planned to run her half, Judy and I reluctantly decided to participate in the 5-K. Best friends since elementary school, we did want to be supportive of Becky. We wanted to be there cheering her on when she crossed that finish line, just not sweaty. Plus we really wanted one of those cute Big D Marathon t-shirts.
The night before the big event, Becky educated us on proper running attire. Judy and I were none too happy to discover that you NEVER wear your new shirt for the actual event referenced on the shirt. It’s too new and not broken in yet, and people who do that are total novices. She said we couldn’t wear it until the next event, or maybe the Big D run the following year.  What? Judy and I looked at each other but did not speak. There was going to be a next event? 
On the day of the run, the serious marathoners started first. And they were an intimidating bunch sporting state of the art, water-wicking, coconut-infused, anti-chafing, UVA-protecting technological running gear with tubes of gel and energy packs wrapped around their waist like gun holsters. Heck, even I might be able to run if I had all that groovy crap! Suddenly I was very self-conscious of the getup I was wearing: hand-me-down gray sweat pants from the floor of my son’s closet and my faded yellow “Life Is Good” t-shirt. And Becky was so right – thank God she saved us! No one except a family of dorks wore those cute baby blue Big D Marathon t-shirts we received in the registration packets.  How uncool were they? Ha!
Judy and I totally missed Becky out of the gate.  We were standing in line at the nasty port-a-potties.  But finally, it was our turn. Our crowd was pretty respectable as well. We politely cued up in the very, very back of the crowd, certainly not wanting to slow down anyone. Plus part of my strategy was to draft off some over-achieving quick chick who should have been running with Becky, instead of us. (I learned about drafting running to the spearmint station behind Carrie Jones.) I was carrying both a water bottle and my iPhone, so clearly this was not an activity in which I anticipated breaking a sweat, but more of a social event for Judy and me – time to catch up while we walked. The announcer was speaking over the loudspeaker, but we couldn’t hear him very well – they had a poor sound system. I took a picture of Judy, and she took one of me. How fun! Evidence for Facebook:) The announcer continued to babble on like Charlie Brown’s teacher. Suddenly, and without warning, the entire crowd of runners, except us, turned 180 degrees around to face the opposite direction, and Judy and I were in the very front of the crowd! OMG-OMG-OMG. Apparently our route was different from the marathoners, and we were soon to be trampled to death, never getting to wear our cute new t-shirts… Quickly, we scurried to the sideline so the true runners would not have to hurtle over us as we lay dying on the asphalt. I reminded myself, I would never see these people again.
Coach Graham. He’s still got it!
Once the crowd began to thin a bit, we disappeared into a group of Asians jogging in jeans.  Ok, seriously? Jeans? We could not let these people in JEANS cross the finish line before us. Really? Did they just suddenly decide to register for the run on their Sunday morning field trip to the Science Place across the way? Sensing Coach Graham in his truck behind us, we picked up the pace.  He would be so proud.

talya


Musical Pairings:
Peter Frampton, “Do You Feel Like We Do”


Becky’s Medal

Jeepers Creepers Where’d Ya Get Those Eyebrows?

By

The Moms of Keiser Elementary School, Keiser, Arkansas
(left to right)
1. Lavern McLean Glaub
2. Barbara Perry
3. Ruth Barnett
4. Edwina Nash Graham
5. Peggy Eatmon
6. Barbara Creecy Tate (my mother)
Is this not the Best Photograph Ever???! Everything about this photo is incredible – the clothing and matching accessories, brilliant smiles, perfectly coiffed hair and expressive hands. They could have been hand models! And my, what perfect eyebrows these women had! I would bet money that not a single one of them ever paid ten bucks to have their brows waxed by Henri, the Vietnamese man at the corner of Live Oak and Skillman.  

Lavern Glaub was obviously about to pee in her pantyhose. I wonder who took the photo?  He must have been laying it on thick with these ladies. (Yes, you know it was a man.) Lavern was wearing a gorgeous dress, fit for a wedding by today’s standards. And this was for a PTA meeting! Today, schools could significantly boost fundraising if moms dressed this hot while their kids peddled all that gift wrap and chocolate chip cookie dough each fall. There was certainly no sag swag back then.    

Barbara Perry looked 12 years old. Even in black and white, it’s obvious she had rosy skin. To this day, all the girls from Keiser are envious of her daughter, who married the cutest-boy-to-ever-come-out-of-Keiser.

Ruth Barnett’s home always smelled of Allspice from the delicious raisin cookies she magically pulled from the oven as you walked into the back door. She apparently baked daily, as this could not have been planned – friends just “dropped in” on each other. Now if someone knocks at the door unexpectedly, it’s a kid selling ten pound buckets of chocolate chip cookie dough. Or gift wrap. In addition to her cookie baking, she was an excellent delegator, bordering on conniving.  She thought up projects to better the school and community, always managing to hook some unsuspecting volunteer (my mother) for the execution of the task.  It was part of her charm.  In the photo, she looks as if she knows a secret, but there were no secrets in Keiser.  I really want her purse.

Edwina Graham looked as if she breezed off a Pan Am turnaround flight for a quick layover before jetting off to Paris. She had arms more perfectly toned than Jennifer Aniston, and cooked like Giada de Laurentiis. She always had a huge pot of peas or beans simmering away on the stove, as if she was preparing a huge, community-wide feast. She probably was. And now her daughter is an amazing cook. The cutest-boy-to-ever-come-out-of-Keiser is her son.  

Peggy Eatmon’s daughter played basketball with me in junior high. Correction: her daughter played basketball, and I made sure she NEVER passed the ball to me. She threw the round ball like a missile, knocking even the boys to their knees during dodge ball. Dodge ball was stressful. 

And lastly, my mother. She had great eyebrows. Why didn’t I get those eyebrows? Yesterday I tried to make mine a bit fuller and darker but ended up looking like a cross between Brooke Shields and Priscilla Presley on her wedding day. Maybe Henri needs to see this picture? For whatever reason, my mother was stifling her laugh. This is typical.  She either shows no teeth or every tooth in her head when she smiles.  She told me last week as we looked at this photo that she always hated that skirt. Nevertheless, I’m sure it’s still in her house somewhere.  I bet I could find it.

I love the graffiti on the wall – “Class of 69”. That was the year the Eagle landed, Sesame Street premiered, Abbey Road was released and Wal-Mart became incorporated. And, it was the year my friends and I started 1st Grade. 


This is a Life Magazine cover-worthy photo (circa 1971-72ish).  It proves that beauty is timeless.  


  

talya


Musical Pairings:
Simon & Garfunkel, “Mrs.  Robinson”
Tom Jones, “She’s a Lady”



Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

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