Keiser - grace grits and gardening

A Place to Remember

June 7, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

I don’t think you see a town until you spend time walking around. Every place has hidden treasures to uncover, even those nearly invisible communities tucked among the corn fields hours away from the closest Dillard’s. You may need to squint to clearly see.

Presbyterian Church, Piggott, Ar

Flying down Main Street in a cool car driving somewhere better, the old church cornerstone is a blur, the cemetery overgrown, the dilapidated house with gingerbread trim faded. The town appears abandoned, a ghostly whistle-stop off the interstate. Small-town stereotypes come to mind leaving an empty feeling, a who-on-earth-lives-here feeling. Stopping at the single red light seems ridiculous with not a soul in sight. You have some place to be. Some place exciting. Some other place. But walking the neighborhood, studying the building design and reading the historical markers bring back life. A life. A history. Every place is someone’s home, someone’s place to remember. It crosses someone’s mind.

Faded mural on side of building

Last night I walked for hours taking pictures of this little town that at first glance appeared forlorn, forgotten, faded. A passerby waved and an old man said hello from his porch swing. A stone cottage surrounded by a sizable garden with rows and rows of vegetables and apple trees caught my eye. It was framed by a rock wall, crooked yet perfect. I coveted it. I considered knocking on the door to ask permission to walk beyond the stone wall. Tomatoes already grew heavy on the vine. Could I have garden tour and learn the secret to this abundance? Would the gardeners who live within those walls consider me crazy? Do I care? It was late so I thought better of it.

Piggott reminds me of Keiser where I attended grade school, trick-or-treated on Halloween and hung out with my friends on weekends. I’m sure travelers blow through thinking it to be a sad, depressing place. They didn’t know Vic and Bobby Don who always hung out at the gas station guarding the entrance into town, or Howard Ray who road his bicycle affectionately named Trigger, or the Shake Shack with slap-yo-momma Pizza Burgers. But we do. We were part of it. We remember cotton trailers lined up at the gin, Edwina’s Beauty Shop always smelling of perms, and Spin-the-Bottle in Nana’s dimly lit attic. We remember cheering on the Keiser Yellow Jackets. We remember.

talya

“Living in a small town…is like living in a large family of rather uncongenial relations. Sometimes it’s fun, and sometimes it’s perfectly awful, but it’s always good for you. People in large towns are like only-children.” Joyce Dennys, Henrietta Sees It Through

Don’t change a thing and you will go far.

May 9, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

May is graduation time. As graduation announcements begin to roll in, I think back to my own high school graduation. Rivercrest High School, Class of 1980. Just yesterday to me. As a high school senior, the last looooonnng year drags and anticipation builds up to that all important moment when you walk across the stage to receive your much deserved diploma, trying to smile for the camera while balancing that ill-fitting mortarboard hat.
I remember thinking that hat was going to fall off my head, plus it was squishing my carefully feathered bangs totally flattening my hair which I had curled loosely on hot rollers. It was rocking the Farrah ‘do when I left the house until Mrs. Meadows adjusted it, securing it to my skull with bobby pins. Just give me my diploma so I can start my life, please.

Yesterday, with my life in full swing, I attempted to make a dent in our disorganized garage. In the bottom of a storage crate, I ran across my senior year Memories book. And that was the end of my garage cleaning project. Wiping the cover clean of dust bunnies, I immediately plopped down on the dirty floor of the garage to relive a bit of 1980.

Apparently I was a big time scrapbooker before scrapbooking was in vogue as every single page of the book was completely filled with thoughts, pictures, and newspaper and magazine clippings. Or maybe I was just bored to death. Flipping through the pages I realized I had unearthed a time capsule. It looked as if it might have been living in the bottom of a locker at Rivercrest for the past thirty-two years. Or buried in the field beside the school parking lot where my little yellow corvette accidentally threw gravel peeling out for the last time.

As I read through the pages, I was struck by how fortunate I am to still be friends with many of my classmates and teachers.

It was the year the Rivercrest Colts beat the rival Osceola Seminoles 9-6 on November 2, 1979, at home. I know because I wrote all about it. It’s recorded in ink for all of eternity, in my handwriting, probably with a Bic pen, and backed up with a newspaper clipping of the same. Back then, before Rivercrest dominated every sport throughout the entire state of Arkansas, Osceola always beat us, SoThisWasBIG. We had a great baseball team too, also walloping the Seminoles 14-3 to win Regionals. It still makes me happy.

Tim Hardin

It was the year my classmate Tim Allen (from Dyess not Hollywood) and I won our three-legged race during intermurals, but he received a broken arm and I got 6 stitches in my chin for our efforts. That gym floor was slick in sock feet. We were unable to compete in the final heat.

According to my anthology, Billy Joel and Pink Floyd were my favorite musical artists, and my preferred television shows were Dallas, SNL, Three’s Company (RIP John Ritter) and Dukes of Hazzard. Movies = Grease, Halloween (the original one) and The Jerk. Reflecting on this, I think these are all good choices still.

I loved Hang Ten and Chic clothing, Candies shoes and Jontue perfume. I have pictures of these logos plastered on the “Gradfad” page…And an Arkansas Razorback banner – why did I not attend the University of Arkansas?

News From Planet Earth

On the “News From Planet Earth” page, I glued headlines of the Persian Gulf Crisis, Khomeini, Teheran, the Crisis in Iran. So basically nothing has changed. There was also the headline “Did Elvis Die From Drug Abuse?” Really? Was society debating this during in 1980? Everyone knows Elvis is still alive living in Arizona…

2 pages dedicated to the race track???

The fact that I devoted two entire pages to the horse races speaks to my obvious gambling problem. There wasn’t a “horse race page” in the book, but I surely made room including losing tickets and season guest passes and a detailed diary of the entire weekend with the Barnetts. I’m certain my comprehensive account of the events would hold up in federal court should I be required to testify for some reason. And so my journal begins with, “We left for Hot Springs on Wednesday, April 2, 1980. This was during our Easter vacation. Clyde Barnett left at 7:00 am, Daddy left at 8:10 am, Mrs. Barnett, Bob and Bill left at 3:30 and Momma, Staci, Craig and I followed after that. We had 4 vehicles up there.” According to my specifics, “Craig and I placed all our bets together, betting $66.00 and losing $69.00 by the end of day one, winning $58.20 by the end of the 3rd race on day two but losing $12.70 by day’s end. On the 3rd day in the 9th race (the Fantasy Stakes) Craig bet $5 across the board on Bold ‘n Determined, Staci bet $5 to show on Honest & True and I bet $5.00 on Satin Ribera. All 3 horses came in, and I was ahead $20 at day’s end”. SERIOUSLY!? I kept track of all this. Did my parents not realize I had a gambling problem at an early age? I was insane and destined to be a bookie but ended up a banker – a close second I suppose.

Not surprisingly, I have a list of every single graduation gift I received. Unlike the popular gift of cash or gift card for today’s grad, most people gave actual presents in 1980. Like towels or picture frames or a Cross pen set or 2 pairs of bikini panties.…Yes. 2 pairs of bikini panties from a family in Keiser who shall remain nameless. Apparently I didn’t think it was one bit odd at the time, because I proudly listed it in my book. I wonder if this was their standard gift to all Keiser grads? Did BeckyJudyNormaAnitaCarrieMary receive this as well? (I swear this is true. And no, it wasn’t from the Barnetts.)

Lots of classmates wrote little messages in my book. Everyone proudly signed their name with “class of 80”. It was a very good year. Next time I go home I may bury this valuable cache of historic information in front of the school by the brick wall where the Future Business Leaders take yearbook pictures. Hundreds of years from now, new emerging civilizations will discover it and wish they had it so great. And they will wonder what the hell kind of gift bikini panties were for graduation…

Happy Graduation!

talya

Musical Pairing:

Seals & Croft, “We May Never Pass This Way Again” (class song)

Excerpts of friend comments from my Memory book:

“Without you failing your test too, I could have never made it.” darla h.

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw you in biology, stuck-up, but now you are a great friend.” tim a.

“I didn’t get to know you like I wanted to know you, but what I know is good.” clay w.

“You are a great friend and a great person and very great looking with a great personality and a great singing voice.” joe a.

“We’ve had great times together and I’m sure there will be more to come.” craig b.

“Let’s keep in touch and don’t let your feet stick to the Murr Theatre.” becky p.

“Don’t change a thing and you will go far daughter.” tim h.

Kelsey – Class of 2007
Threw hat in the air…

Tate – Class of 2011
Balancing that hat

The Year of the Bear!

April 3, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

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.