Osceola - grace grits and gardening

Musical Beds

March 17, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Has anyone tried the new McDonald’s Fish McBites? They have been heavily advertised everywhere lately. Who buys these things? I couldn’t even bribe my 11-year-old niece and nephew to test them out during one of our four McDonald’s stops Saturday. Yes, we made four McDonald’s pit stops driving from Dallas to our childhood home in Osceola, Arkansas. The fresh brewed iced tea and generally clean bathrooms make it often the best, safest stop along the way. This 8 hour drive marked the beginning of our exciting spring break kick-off. No exhilarating snow skiing trips to Vail or warm, sunny Caribbean cruises with tropical coconut umbrella drinks. No lazy walks on sugary Destin beaches for us. Our family spring break trips include Arkansas, complete with tornado warnings, horse races and trips to That Bookstore in Blytheville. Always. That’s just how we are.

As soon as we walked into our house in Arkansas, an immediate argument ensued involving who would sleep where. Tired, numb and irritable, this issue was suddenly escalated to our number one hot topic, ahead of dinner plans. There are 4 bedrooms in this sprawling house if you include the cave-like, tornado-shelter, doll tomb room. I was NOT going to sleep in there. The house rambles around almost in a horseshoe shape, with one bedroom facing each direction which makes for better storm viewing. Rooms were added every few years when Daddy had an especially good crop and Momma was particularly bored.

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The big bedroom in the back of the house is the room Staci and I shared growing up. It’s still our room. The man from Memphis who installed our orange shag carpet in the early 1970s told us he installed the exact carpet in Graceland for Elvis! Wow. And now with one flip of her long straight hair, my niece decided she would sleep in our room? NotGonnaHappen. Our stuff is still in there. Our handprints from Vacation Bible School still mark the space.

A slight meltdown followed as we ignored her. And there was pouting. She shot us the stink eye. With one quick glance to my sister, we silently formed an allegiance like old times, completely pulling rank, taking back what was rightfully ours. We could do that hair flip too, summoning the ghost of our 1970s long mousy brown ironing board straight hair. (insert eye roll here) My niece, Taylor, clearly had no idea we were once cool. Sorta. We haven’t always had this old short brittle hair.

That night, Staci and I settled into our big king sized bed giggling and gossiping until we drifted off to sleep, with visions of an earlier time dancing in our head. There is something about being home that makes you revert to being a teenager…All was calm, until we woke up frozen half to death. It was cold and windy in the back of the house, in our bedroom, even piled under quilts and blankets. We tossed and turned, too cold to escape long enough to turn up the heat. That next morning my back was stiff and my neck hurt. I didn’t feel like a teenager. Was Staci alive? She wasn’t moving. The bed was hard and the pillow was a stone. It didn’t seem the same.

As we crawled into the kitchen for coffee, Momma confessed that our comfy bed had been switched out with another ancient bed from Papa Creecy’s house. What?? Ick! Suddenly our room didn’t seem so attractive. With our sister alliance still firmly in place at breakfast we announced to Taylor, “You can have our bedroom tonight. So you can watch the tv.”

Hollow victory.

talya

Beatles, “I’m so Tired”

The Chordettes, “Mr. Sandman”

Reading Talking & Library Gossip

January 26, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

I love libraries. In junior high I volunteered in the school library for Mrs. Perry, our librarian. She taught me how to sort and arrange books, and how to properly align them on the shelves. I dusted the book jackets and wiped down the reading tables at day’s end. I loved the smell of the books and the lemon pledge. I still do.

While visiting my home town, I planned to spend some time at the public library, which was one of the only places with wi-fi. I was looking forward to this, because I had fond memories of that place. Growing up, my sister and I spent many a hot summer day there. We walked to the library while our mother had her hair styled a few blocks over at Lucille’s Beauty Shop. This was when kids could play outside all day long and not end up on the 6 o’clock news as a kidnapped, decapitated victim. This was when the primary crop in the county was cotton, instead of crystal meth.

I remembered the building well. It was a stately, two-story, brown brick building with large white columns in front. Inside, the space was serene, clean and organized – everything I came to love. The librarian commanded respect with her low voice. She looked and acted the part. A card catalog whiz, she was kind, yet strict and orderly. I’m sure it was in her job description. I became best friends with Nancy Drew in that very building.

Fast forward 33 years: Oddly the building had mysteriously shrunk. The columns seemed smaller. The inside was tired and chaotic. Most of the reading tables had been replaced with study carrels equipped with computers – a sign of the times. The two remaining reading tables were covered with cardboard boxes of books – seemingly donated – haphazardly stacked, uncataloged and unorganized, leaving no room for actual reading! Checking out a library book seemed almost secondary there. It was a sad state of affairs.

Books, books everywhere, but no
place to read….

To say that it was difficult to concentrate on my writing was a wild understatement. Evidently library etiquette had changed since I was there in the 1970s. It was now acceptable to use your “outside voice” inside the library, to each other, to yourself, or on a cell phone. And the cell phone could freely ring – no need to put it on vibrate. But it was NOT ok to take a lidded iced tea inside. I was required to leave my tea at the check-in counter totally unattended where anyone could slip in a roofie. But I am a rule follower, so I complied.

Although thirsty, I learned quite a bit about a variety of topics. The first day, I assisted my carrel-mate with her spelling as she hand-wrote “prison letters”. The second day, I inadvertently memorized most of the GED questions as the man across the aisle read the questions over and over aloud. The lady adjacent to me was working on her cosmetology license. I’m pretty sure I could roll up a perm now. Do people still get perms?? I also learned the citizens were in an uproar over the high electric bills in town. They blamed the mayor.

The library workers were an interesting group. Mr. Librarian actually assembled a salad for his lunch on the counter while demonstrating the proper way to cut and chop an avocado to the other workers. I think I saw him wash it down with a swig of my tea. He was on a low fat/high protein diet except on Saturdays when he liked to eat Mexican food at Mi Pueblo. He coached the other workers on the difference between good fat and bad fat. He scolded them about eating bad fat, quizzing them to see if they really knew the difference. I wonder, did he get this information from a library book? On day three of my library adventure, there was a lengthy debate among the library workers centered around smoking. The conversation became heated when Mr. Librarian posed the following, “Why did God invent tobacco if we weren’t supposed to smoke?” I kid you not. I looked above my study carrel at these people, and almost blurted out, “But didn’t God ‘invent’ bad fat?????” I seriously needed to return to Dallas ASAP.

During the three afternoons I was there, one elderly man came in to check out books! Only one person. Bless his heart. Once I was convinced he was not a missing silver alert victim who had accidentally stumbled in, I was beyond thrilled. I heard him ask for assistance locating a specific book. He waited quietly and patiently for the conclusion of the riveting avocado demonstration. I almost jumped up to eagerly help him myself. Or cut up the damn avocado.

Mrs. Perry would be mortified.

talya

Musical Pairings:
David Allen Coe, “Jack Daniel’s If You Please”

Sleeping in My Bed

January 19, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

I’m home in Arkansas for a week or so. It’s always so good to be home, in the country, in my childhood home. Tonight I will be sleeping in my own bed, in the room my sister and I shared until I went off to college in 1980. It is super quiet and dark, the opposite of our Dallas home with sirens, lights, random gunfire and no stars in the sky.

Although the bright orange shag carpet is long gone, the room hasn’t changed much. I wonder if when the carpet was removed my mother noticed the burn mark under the bed? My friend Anita and I shoved an ashtray and lit cigarette under the bed one night when my mom came to the door, melting the carpet slightly. We tried really hard to smoke for about a week, but were never successful, thank goodness. And I doubt we ever inhaled- we couldn’t really figure it out.

Favorite books. Note – an Elvis book prior to his death.

This bedroom is a time capsule – like Graceland without the jungle room. But it is comfortable. My favorite paperbacks still line the bookshelf above my desk where I did my homework. My boxes of 8-track tapes are piled in a cabinet. Within the built-in drawers around the desk lies an archaeological dig, undisturbed for years, except when I occasionally sift through the hidden treasures. The deeper into the drawers you explore, the older the civilization. Letters my Nana and mother wrote to me at Baylor University, along with my college grades, are scattered on the top. Further down are high school pictures and newspaper articles. Still deeper, there is junior high cheerleader memorabilia. Near the very bottom of the dig are Valentines Day cards from elementary school parties and letters from my 4th grade classmates when I was in the hospital. I’m still really good friends with many of these classmates.

My mother sometimes talks of selling this old house. It needs work and is getting harder for her to maintain. It sits on an active earthquake fault which, over time, has caused shifting and cracking in the walls, allowing in the occasional bull snake. And there is a constant parade of field mice. (So maybe we do have a jungle room like The King…?) Even so, it will be a strange and sad day when we can no longer come back here to re-group, relax and reminisce. There is something comforting about sleeping in your own bed.