Staci Tate - grace grits and gardening

L is for Lake

April 13, 2013 By Talya Tate Boerner

In my family, we count down to our annual lake trip as though we are jetting off to Bora Bora.

Those not born into our family (i.e. husbands*) do not share in our delight. Oh, they are supportive of our lake love, and once every five years or so even accompany us, but they see little charm in the rustic cabins with fickle plumbing. Finding no thrill in worshipping the blazing sun, they prefer to stay inside and read until their talents are requested at the grill.They just aren’t big boat people, we say about these landlocked husbands, even as our crippled boat is being towed into the nearest dock. Our vintage boat with her smashed bow and tired motor is no beauty, but we love her anyway. Being towed by a sympathetic boater is all part of the adventure, we say. We don’t need no stinkin’ new boat, we say.

They humor us, these dry-land men, but try as they might, they don’t get it. And, how could they, really? Lake water doesn’t flow through their veins.

They weren’t around when we watched and watched for the first peep of the lake through the Ozark Mountains, then waited and waited in the long line to ride the magical ferry across. They missed the thrill of climbing the cliffs for the first time, the first time we JUMPED!

They never shot bottle rockets under a globe of stars. They weren’t lucky enough to taste Daddy’s melt-in-your-mouth ribs or hear Uncle Ted’s hilarious rendition of Blue Moon broadcast along the streets of Mountain Home. They weren’t part of the family when 80-year-old Aunt Virgie jumped in the lake and lost her wig.

They never fished in the foggy cove before sunrise or roasted marshmellows at midnight.

They weren’t there…

with my sister, 2012

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

P.S. Since this was written in 2013, we did buy a new boat and she’s FABULOUS.

[tweetthis]L is for Lake. Party in slow motion… #arkansaslife[/tweetthis]

*current, ex or pending

Musical Pairing:

Little Big Town, Pontoon

A to Z April Blog Challenge. L is for Lake:))

Tonka Truck Tale

December 25, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

After crafting my letter to Santa, I proof-read my little sister’s. At the top of her list, a Tonka Truck.

“No, Staci! That’s a boy’s present!!!” I was incredulous. Although we both had tomboy tendencies favoring tree climbing to tea parties, she couldn’t waste her main gift on a boy’s present. Papa Creecy would buy us boy presents any time we wanted, at the mere mention of a matchbox car or a baseball bat…

Grateful to have been saved from such a misguided gift, Staci erased and erased and erased until she almost ripped the notebook paper. Over the bare worn spot, she wrote Baby Alive Doll in large block letters. There could be no confusion on Santa’s part. Much better, I thought.

Satisfied, we taped our letters near the rock fireplace in the living room. Santa would spot them the moment he slid down our chimney. I felt a bit sorry for Staci—her letter was really messy with all that erasing. I would have started over with a clean sheet of paper…

Christmas morning was cold and blustery and WHITE. Snow on the most wonderful day of the year! But the snow would have to wait. We crept into the living room wondering had we really been good enough? I had doubts.

Shocked, we stared dumb-struck at the Christmas miracle. Parked underneath the Scotch pine tree—a shiny Tonka Dump Truck and Front End Bucket Loader. Santa really didknow what we were thinking.

I was surprised to receive anything that year after making fun of my sister’s letter to Santa.

We played with those trucks for years, and to this day they sit on my mother’s back porch. Tonka Trucks are guaranteed for life, you know.

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing:

Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Jackson 5

“Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time.”
― Laura Ingalls Wilder

A Very Brinkley Christmas

December 15, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

I love Christmas music. Christmas music in the car makes every drive better. A drive to Plano, a quick trip to the Texaco for gasoline, or even a long slow haul through Oklahoma.

Winter Wonderland reminds me of Brother Brown and Brinkley Chapel Christmas programs—a private joke among the youth choir, and I use the term choir very loosely… We were an impressive group—me, Staci, our cousin Lesa, and the three Davis girls who ironically were also cousins. I was the oldest, the leader of the pack, but we were all within 3 years of each other. Without fail, we performed a Christmas pageant every year at Brinkley under the direction and choreography of my mother, church pianist.

Staci, Lesa, Talya, Jamie, Karen, Monica
How excited were we?

As young girls, we wore similar floor length velvet-ish dresses sewn by our mothers or grandmothers. We loved those dresses. Those dresses were the ONLY reason we agreed to perform.

In junior high we showcased our more individually developing talents like playing the flute or guitar to Away in a Manger, more of a 1970’s variety show, made popular at the time by Sonny & Cher, Tony Orlando & Dawn, etc. One year we were even allowed to wear bell-bottom jeans. Eventually, younger Davis kids came along—Kim and Jeff and Mitzi—never part of the core choir, but allowed to play lesser roles such as lambs in the manger scene.

By the time we were in high school, we six girls were completely mortified by this musical spectacle. There was much loud protesting, teenage moaning, hair flipping and eye rolling. We begged and pleaded to pass the torch permanently to the younger Davis clan, but to no avail. Our fan club (mostly relatives) demanded it, feigning absolute delight each year with our performance. There was nothing much to do in Mississippi County.

The finale was always identical, year after year, a Brinkley tradition—We Wish You a Merry Christmas with the entire congregation joining in for the final verse (which was the same as the first verse).

Finally, Santa magically appeared in the sanctuary complete with red suit, fluffy white beard and a large burlap sack on his back. He spread good cheer and plain brown paper sacks to everyone. Inside, an apple, tangerine, assorted nuts, individually wrapped chocolate and peppermints. I can still smell that wonderful combination of treats. These goodie bags, a highlight and huge indulgence, made the whole debacle worthwhile. I made my chocolate last for days.

Jimmy Davis, church secretary and official keeper of all valuable statistical information, was Santa. He got all the best church jobs.