grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

That Bookstore in Blytheville

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Mary Gay Shipley has my dream job. She is the proprietor of That Bookstore in Blytheville near my hometown.  I recall in the mid-1970s when she first opened the store, it was The Book Rack.  At that time, it was more of a used book exchange.  Nearly every week, my mother walked into The Book Rack with a stack of paperbacks to trade and walked out with a new stack of volumes to read, fueling my addiction at a very early age. Of course, this was after an hour of browsing and chatting with the ladies there, who could always make wonderful reading recommendations over a cup of coffee. The book exchange idea proved to be a great recycling program, if you are one of those people who can let go of a book. I cannot.

For years, everyone simply referred to The Book Rack as “that bookstore in Blytheville“. I suppose Mary Gay decided to go with the flow, as eventually she officially renamed it. I doubt I have ever been to Blytheville without stopping there. It’s actually the reason to go to Blytheville. It’s a destination, not just a quick side trip on the way home from someplace else.

A few of my signed first editions.

Shiny, Clean, Aligned, Happy 

Mary Gay has attracted many impressive southern authors to book signings and readings, thus I have amassed quite an impressive collection of signed first editions.  I treasure these books. When our house nearly flooded a few years ago, I was fully prepared to strap a bookcase on my husband’s back, if necessary. I have many, many more autographed books than shoes. It’s not even close. 

If I ever move back home to Mississippi County, I plan to occupy the storefront until Mary Gay agrees to hire me. I have thought this through and feel certain that it would be to her advantage. She needs an understudy.  She has earned an understudy – someone who appreciates all things southern like whipping up the perfectly balanced pitcher of mint juleps or executing a successful late evening snipe hunt among friends.  
Most of my shoes.
Faded, Dirty, Jumbled, Sad
I would cheerfully fetch John Grisham from the airport for his book signing events, engage him in clever conversation about soybean futures and discuss his latest protagonist during the drive to Blytheville. 

One day I hope to see my own book for sale on the shelves at That Bookstore in Blytheville complete with an endearing quote from Mary Gay Shipley on the back cover. That is on the very TOP of my bucket list. (The understudy position is a teeny bit further down.) But honestly, I’m not a stalker, just a fan. I swear.

talya

Grace Grits & Gardening

Channeling Thomas Tate

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I slowly try to push through the fog and cobwebs to a state of semi-consciousness. My scratchy, sticky eyes will not open quite yet. I hear rain in the distance. Once my still sleepy brain clears a bit, I recognize the rain is not rain at all – it’s actually the bathroom shower. Slowly the day begins to come into focus. Ready or not, John has an early morning flight to Pittsburgh. 

I try to roll over but Annabelle has pinned my leg. It is numb. Carefully extricating myself, I shift to the other side, re-establishing blood flow to that dying limb. Without warning, I am jolted wide awake with one whiff of my pungent pillowcase. Ugh! Eau de Schnauzer! During the day, if Annabelle is not up to some type of puppy shenanigan, she can be found recharging on my pillow. It is 4:30 a.m.

John flips on the television and overhead lights, and begins to open and close drawers.  He is packing. He packs the morning of his trip, no matter how early the flight. I feign sleep and dare not breathe so that Lucy and Annabelle do not decide to begin their day as well.  I shall not walk dogs at 4:30 a.m.  I am quiet and still.  I listen to the sounds of this morning.  

The news reporters apparently have misplaced their script. Or perhaps the early bird newscast is just a time for improvisation practice while reporting on North Texas fluff?  Who watches at 4:30 anyhow? Joe Biden will be in town today – yippee! A man in Plano was caught “cloning” Walmart gift cards.  Now I’m no scientist, but doesn’t cloning involve genes and DNA and tissue and embryonic cells and biological stuff?  Interesting word choice for a piece of hard plastic used to buy toilet paper. Other breaking news: Kim Kardashian was spotted at the Galleria with Khloe. I will never understand the world’s fascination with the Kardashian Klan. I cannot fathom it. Who cares if Kris is in Miami? Or if Khloe was adopted? It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to learn the whole gaggle of sisters had been cloned.  Nor would I care. And who knew there were two younger daughters, Kylie and Kendall? (I didn’t until I googled them, no doubt adding to their popularity.) No one keeps up with poor Kylie and Kendall because their last name is Jenner. There is just no alliteration there. Bor–r-r-ring. 


John plops t-shirts on the window seat cushion, somehow managing to make this sound noisy. He stacks and re-stacks these shirts as if arranging a display table at The Gap.  I am very familiar with his packing routine. Although I do not open my eyes – I can feel Annabelle staring at me – I know John is contemplating what to take with him. He checks his iPad for the weather in Pittsburgh. He is talking to himself. He opens the drawer in the nightstand right beside my head which startles me a bit. He doesn’t visit that drawer very often – it is home to his winter things, rarely needed in Dallas. The hardwood floors creaked under his heavy steps. Is he stomping on purpose or has he decided to wear his heavy Halloween Frankenstein shoes today? Not the best shoes for airport security. And, isn’t he only staying 2 days! From my spot in bed, it sounded as if he was packing for  Europe. Would he go to Europe without me!? Or, did he pick this very moment in time to organize his drawers? As he walks back into his closet again, it hits me –  he is like my dad. He’s up – we should all be up….? He was channeling Thomas Tate!

So it’s true. Girls turn into their mothers and marry someone just like their fathers. We resist it, we deny it, but then suddenly it has happened.  Just like that. There were a few similarities: work hard, provide well, grumble a bit, take care of business and family, vacation when forced, avoid doctors:)

Today would have been my dad’s 75th birthday, but he died of colon cancer when he was only 57. So Incredibly Young. Daddy was a farmer. He awoke before the chickens no matter the season/weather and blasted us all out of bed to the melodic tunes of Willie Nelson.  In a 1970s renovation, my clever, hip mother installed groovy stereo speakers in all the rooms throughout the house.  In the ceiling, above the beds.   He wrote the check for them, but the Tate girls paid the price every single morning.

Although I was blasted out of bed this morning by doggie smelling salts, the television and harsh overhead lights, I think I heard “Good Hearted Woman” in the back of my head.  As soon as he returns from Europe, I’m going to make sure John gets a colonoscopy. But first I am going to wash my sheets.

Thomas Lee Tate
Happy Birthday!
Jan 31, 1937

talya
Musical Pairings:
Willie Nelson, “Pretty Paper”
Don Williams, “Some Broken Hearts Never Mend”
Bee Gees, “Jive Talking”


Jeepers Creepers Where’d Ya Get Those Eyebrows?

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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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