Monthly Archives: April 2012

The Garden: Progress Report #1

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For years and years, probably his whole life, my papa has had a big vegetable garden.  As he has gotten older and less able to do all of the physical work required to have a successful garden, he has reduced the number of things that he grows down to the bare essentials.  This year, he mentioned that he “might not fool with a garden” at all. I protested heavily.

Being the good papa that he is, and after some negotiating on my part, he agreed to go ahead and put out a garden this year since I will be driving up every few weeks to help him now that I live relatively close by.

I’m not really sure how much help I will be given that I am looking forward to this as a learning opportunity, but I suppose at the very least I can contribute manual labor.  I can’t wait to get my hands on the tiller.  Watch out.

Last weekend, I went up to Burkesville to visit and Papa, Lauren and I checked out the early stages of the garden.  Papa had already put out a few hardy things and he gave us a little tour.

This is the garden plot.

These are Texas super onions.

These are sweet candy onions.

And these are multipl-I-yan un-yuns.   My papa calls these “old-timey” onions because the original onions that these started from are very old.  If you save one of these onions (or several), let it dry and store it in a cold, dry place for the winter, the next year, you can plant it again and it literally multiplies into several onions.  You can do this again and again every year.  Thus, you never have to buy new seed.  It’s pretty amazing. Or, at least, I think it is.

There’s currently a shortage of rain in southern Kentucky (some might call it a drought) so the ground is harder than normal.  Hence, my papa had to use a pick to harvest some onions for supper.  It was pretty intense.

My family really likes onions.

We do, however, grow other vegetables as well.

This is lettuce, looking a little thirsty.

And these are brussel sprouts, which my papa planted upon my request.  My granny was displeased about these being added to the garden because apparently they get worms in them.  I’m not really sure what to do about that but I’m sure my papa will have a solution.  Did I mention my papa was an Ag teacher?

Also, that blue Croc is my cousin Lauren’s shoe.  I had a full picture of her standing in the garden but she threatened my life if I included it in this post because she did not feel that she had on her best look.

These little boogers are beets.  I will not be eating these.

This is the barn next to the garden.  I like barns.  I can’t wait to have my own one day.  I am pretty sure it will be black like this one.

On a side note, I would like to confess at this time that I have eaten Chik-fil-A three times in the past week because they are everywhere in Nashville and they were nowhere in Boston.  I’m just making up for lost time.

Hopefully once my papa’s garden is producing food, there will be less Chik-fil-A and more butter beans and hot peppers in my life.   But I do love me some Chik-fil-A.

More to come as we plant beans and peppers and tomatoes and other stuff after the threat of frost has passed.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

It’s Official

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It’s official: I’m a Tennessean.

Yesterday, I got my TIN-ne-see driver’s license.   When I walked into the DMV, there were about 15 or 20 people in the waiting area so I figured things would go pretty quickly.

I walked up to the desk and told the woman I would like to get a Tennessee license.  I had read about the required paperwork online prior to my visit and believed that I was adequately prepared with my birth certificate, current Massachusetts license, car insurance, front page of my lease, and my social security number.

Apparently I needed the LAST page of my lease with both signatures, not the front one.  The lady informed me that this was no big deal and requested that I have my apartment office fax over the last page of the lease.

So I stepped out to call the apartment office and requested that they fax over the correct papers.  What’s that? They don’t fax leases? Oh.  You have to come into the apartment office to pick up a copy of the lease personally.  Bummer.

I walked out of the DMV and drove 10 minutes back to my apartment, asked the nice lady to make me a copy of the signed pages of my lease and in 10 minutes I was on my way back to the DMV.  Sure that I had lost my place in line, I went back to the woman at the desk and requested a new number.  She asked to see my original ticket number and then promptly handed it back to me and said:

“You’re fih-ne.”  As in, my number had not yet been called.

Wonderful!  I didn’t lose my place in line.  Surely it will just be a few more minutes.

Or hours.

2 hours later, after checking my email, the news, and people.com on my phone 93 times, my number was called.

Things went fairly quickly after that.  I barely could see the third column for the eye test, but I passed.

As the woman was giving me back all of my paperwork, I asked her if she would be giving me my Massachusetts license back.  She smiled and this is what I thought she said:

“We keep the old ones, but we’re about to give you a ten-cent one.”

I smiled politely and said, “Oh ok!”  (What? A ten-cent license?)

Reflecting on this exchange as I was waiting to have my picture taken, it occurred to me that she actually said “a Tennessee license.”  (Duh.)   I guess I haven’t completely mastered the accent yet.

Thoroughly famished, I left the DMV beaming like I had won the lottery, with my “ten-cent” license in hand.

Today, I psyched myself up for going to get my Tennessee registration and license plate.  I decided to eat lunch BEFORE embarking on this journey, which I expected to be even more of a process than getting my license.

I went to get my oil changed, then to have an emissions test done, and finally headed to the county clerk’s office for my registration and license plate.

I walked into the office and there was no one in line.  There was hope for an afternoon of productivity.  The nice lady, Wilma, called me up to her station and requested my paperwork, which thankfully this time I had in its entirety.

The whole ordeal took about 5 minutes and I mentioned to Wilma that I was pleasantly surprised by how quick and painless this process was.  I told her that I had been to the DMV yesterday and before I could tell her how many hours I had spent there, she chuckled and said:

“Did you bring your lunch?  Man, I dread goin’ over there.”

I laughed and told her I will definitely pack a snack next time.

She chuckled some more and then typed a few things.  And then chuckled.  And then chuckled some more.  And then a little bit more.  She handed me back my paperwork.  Chuckle.  Chuckle.  Apparently Wilma thought I was a hoot.

I liked Wilma.

A few minutes later, I walked out the proud owner of a Tennessee license plate and registration.

So it’s official, I’m now a TIN-ne-see-yan.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Butter Beans

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Whenever I visit my grandparents in Kentucky, there is always a lot of food involved.  Delicious.  Country.  Food.

My favorite kind of food that my grandmothers prepare is homegrown beans.  I love love love them, especially topped with fresh diced onion and jalapeno pepper, which also come from my papa’s garden.   If there are beans and cornbread on the table, there’s really no point in preparing anything else for me because all I’m interested in are those two items.

This past weekend, my granny made me some butter beans, which are speckled lima beans.  And as my whole family knows, I love me some butter beans.

Last Christmas, we were all working our way around the kitchen to fill up our plates with food and when I got to the butter beans, I said “I love me some butter beans.”  I didn’t realize that my whole family had heard me trying on my country accent for size, but they all started to crack up, especially my Aunt Vickie.  We still laugh about it now every time we have beans.

My love for butter beans runs so deep that I even tried to grow them in Boston last summer.

This is what they look like dried (as seed):

And this is what they look like as they begin to grow as shown in a picture of my garden last summer:

Now, as I mentioned, these I tried to grow in Boston, in a yard that had about 10 square feet of full day sun, imported soil, and a growing season about a month too short.  They are pretty pitiful.  In Kentucky, however, my papa’s bean plants grow to be about 8 feet tall and are so dense that they form a canopy between rows.

My yield was about 47 beans last summer.

My papa’s yield was probably 2047 beans last summer.

My solution to my gardening challenges?

Move South.

I have since moved to Nashville, TN and am driving up to Kentucky every few weeks to help my papa with his garden.   No joke.  I’m very serious about butter beans.

I have high hopes for the butter bean crop this year.

I love me some butter beans.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Granny’s Chocolate Pie

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This is one of my granny’s specialties.

My granny is a great baker and while the rest of my family thinks her pecan pie and her butterscotch pie are unrivaled, I would take her chocolate pie over those two any day.

She makes a chocolate pie every time I come to visit and I always look forward to it.  There’s just nothing else quite like it.

When I make her chocolate pie, I ignore the meringue because that just dilutes the wonderful, rich chocolate.  But for those who are serious about pretty pies, I have included the meringue in the recipe.

While the pie is not that hard to make, there are a few tricks that are critical.  It just so happens that these tricks are not listed in my granny’s recipe as submitted to a local cookbook.  Though some people leave out ingredients and steps so no one can steal their thunder, I don’t think this was intentional on my granny’s part.  She has just made this pie so many times in her life that I bet she didn’t even realize some of the things that she does that make it just so.

Consequently, I had to make the pie with her several times before I had all of the right steps and ingredients.  I have notes scribbled all over the recipe in the cookbook.  One thing that she does is make 1 ½ times the recipe ingredients for a fuller pie.  So, for the sake of simplicity, I have listed the ingredients as she and I always make them instead of trying to remember to multiply all of the measurements by 1 ½.  Brilliant, right?

She taught me to make this pie several years ago and then she later taught my cousin.  Wouldn’t you know that she has changed the recipe in the last year?

She added cornstarch, which I think makes it too thick and robs it of its velvety goodness.  Apparently, there is also cream of tartar and marshmallow fluff in the meringue. This was news to me, but I don’t make the meringue anyway, so I’m not going to get all worked up about it.

Here is what you will need:

Ingredients:

9” pie crust

1 ½ cups sugar

3 ½ tbsp. all-purpose flour

1 ½ cups milk (best made with whole milk)

4 ½ tbsp. cocoa powder

Smidgen of salt

5 eggs, separated

2 tbsp. butter

1 tsp. vanilla

Pinch of cream of tartar

3 tbsp. marshmallow creme

I forgot to pull out the marshmallow creme for the picture.  Sorry about that.  Also, the sugar and flour seem to be a little shy as they hide behind the cornstarch that I would recommend you not use.  I should also note at this point that my granny does not put any salt in the pie, but I feel like just the tiniest amount really boosts the chocolate-y-ness.

So, here we go:

Bake off the pie shell according to the package instructions.  Or, if you would like to blind bake a homemade crust, knock yourself out.

Meanwhile, combine dry ingredients in the pot that will be the top half of your double boiler.

Separate eggs.  Set egg whites aside for meringue.

Combine half of milk and yolks…

…and whisk until completely incorporated (i.e. no yolk bits that could cause lumps in the pie.  Your granny will be very upset if you are not careful about this. Trust me, I speak from experience.)

Now here is some tricky business that my granny does not have written down anywhere, but it is the secret to having a smooth pie filling: pour egg and milk mixture through a strainer into dry mixture.

Because we told Granny to sit down as we prepared the pie so we could try to make it ourselves, there was a lot of back seat driving.  Apparently, we weren’t straining the eggs correctly…..but the pie turned out fine.

Assure your grandma that you’ve got things under control and then add the other half of the milk through the strainer.

And then give it a big ol’ stir to let the ingredients get to know each other.

Then put the mixture on the stove and stir. I should mention that my granny has a bizarre pot (pictured) that I believe was once part of a pressure cooker that somehow functions similarly to a double boiler so we always use this to make pie fillings.  One less thing to clean.

Now, you may want to start out with a whisk to make sure all of the ingredients incorporate, but then switch to a spoon and stir the mixture over medium-low heat constantly until the mixture has thickened.  Be sure to scrape the bottom of the pot gently so thickened parts don’t stick to the bottom of the pot and burn.

If you are impatient when it comes to eating chocolate like I am, you may think the filling is done when the mixture has a little bit of body to it, but you would be incorrect.  The mixture is not adequately thickened until you can see the bottom of the pot for a few seconds in the wake of your spoon when you scrape it against the pot.

As the mixture begins to thicken, you may add the butter and vanilla for a nice touch of richness because the chocolate is not rich enough already. Ha.

Continue cooking until the mixture achieves the viscosity described above.

Let cool a bit and then pour into baked pie shell.

Let pie cool completely before preparing meringue.  Or just let it cool until it’s just warm and eat a slice without any of that silly meringue.  Suit yourself.

Please lick the pot as you wait. It would be a sin to let any chocolate go to waste.

My cousins, sister and I have licked many a chocolate pie pot in our days.  We were caught chocolate-handedwhen this photo was taken a few years ago.

If you elect to make a sky-high meringue as my cousin Lauren did, beat the egg whites with a pinch of cream of tartar on high until they form peaks when you pull the whisk out.  Then, add marshmallow creme 1 tablespoon at a time.

I forgot to take a picture of this step because I was still licking the pot.

Next, using a spatula, make your meringue real purty on the pie.  Then bake it in a 400 degree oven until the meringue peaks start to brown.

Let pie cool and then devour.

Even though I promptly slid the meringue off my pie when I ate a piece, I have to admit that my cousin did a lovely job with the meringue.

Please enjoy.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Driving to Burkesville

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Welcome to Cumberland County.

This is my (very dirty) car, Chino, sitting in my grandparents’ driveway in Kentucky.

Why is this noteworthy?

Well, let me tell you.

I’ve never been able to just drive to my grandparents’ houses in Burkesville, Kentucky.  Having lived in the Northeast and about 1000 miles from my grandparents my whole life, any visit involved at least one plane ride (usually 2) and then a 2 ½ hour drive from the airport in either Louisville or Nashville to rural Kentucky.

Now that I live in Nashville, I can drive up to visit and be there in 2 ½ hours.  It’s glorious.

The blue Jeep, Azul, is my cousin Lauren’s.  Since this is Chino’s first time in Kentucky, he and Azul had never met and they are just tickled to death (a favorite Southern saying) to finally be together as family.

Naturally, as soon as I arrived in Burkesville, we had to eat.  We went to one of my favorite little spots on the square in town: Annie Ruby’s.

Now, Annie Ruby’s is in the location that was formerly Smith Pharmacy.  My papa thinks it had been open since the town was founded in 1810.  He said that when he was little a single ice cream cone was a nickel and a double was 10 cents.  My parents used to go there as kids for ice cream and orangeades, which they could purchase for something like a quarter. This was pretty amazing (even back then) since it took 2 fresh, sweet oranges to produce enough juice for this specialty.

My cousins, sister and I had a summer ritual at Smith Pharmacy when we were growing up where we would go sit at the old-timey fountain and order coke floats after a long day in the office (more on this later).  They had the BEST old school vanilla ice cream that was sort of a creamy yellow and then they would pour over the fountain coke to create the perfect ice cream to coke ratio.  This sounds pretty basic, but there’s quite an art to making a coke float.  Trust me, I’m a coke float connoisseur.

While we were devastated when Smith’s pharmacy went out a little while back, we were so excited to learn that Annie Ruby’s would be opening with good food and with the fountain.  It’s the same fountain that was in Smith’s and they do a darn good job with the coke float.  Their curry chicken salad is also pretty delicious if you want something to go with that coke float.  Actually, maybe eat the sandwich first and then savor the coke float.

Annie Ruby’s is known for “tomato pie,” which I’m sure is delightful, but unfortunately I’m some sort of genetic mutant and do not like tomatoes.  As my granny says, “what a shame” because my papa grows a whole mess of tomatoes that the rest of my family lives for.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve worked up a craving for a coke float.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Packages

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I love putting together packages for people, especially when it is not for a special occasion, but rather to say “thank you” or “I’m thinking of you” or “I hope you feel better” or “congratulations” or “happy Tuesday” or “I think you’re alright”.

One of my favorite things to wrap up is food, which is no surprise because I love food.  Mostly I love the eating of it, but I do like to bake and cook as well.

So what better way to combine my passions than to bake something, do some heavy sampling (just for the safety of its recipients, of course), and then wrap it up with some cellophane, a pretty bow and a tag.

I’m also a huge fan of making gift baskets filled with mason jars of soups and such because they exude a homemade vibe, are timeless, very durable and also reusable for years and years.   In summary, they are very pretty and practical (and I’m slightly obsessed).

This morning I baked some peanut butter chocolate chip cookies for a “thank you for inviting me to supper” package.  I intended to capture the step-by-step preparation of these lovely things with my camera to include a recipe, but realized as I was adding the last ingredient that I forgot to take pictures.  I will try to do better next time.

Here are the cookies as they cool on the baking sheet for a moment:

And here they are all wrapped up purty-like:

In addition to making the package look nice, I always like to put a little tag or sticker (handwritten for a nice homemade touch) to inform the recipients of what they are about to put in their mouths.  I do this especially when there are controversial ingredients such as peanut butter, nuts, or oatmeal.  I might even add raisins to that list because I can’t tell you how many times I have bitten into a cookie thinking it was chocolate chip (my favorite) and quickly discovered that it was some sort of devilish raisin nonsense (my not favorite).

It is my conviction that cookies shall not contain raisins just as cornbread shall not contain sugar.  Amen.

Now that we have that settled, I will get back to the point.

Even though I love putting together an unexpected package, I do enjoy wrapping up gift boxes for holidays, birthdays and other occasions.  Here’s a gift I wrapped recently for a friend’s birthday:

I found the peacock paper at Homegoods and the ribbon I ordered from the ribbon factory.  While a great paper sets the tone, I think a nice, sharp bow really finishes a beautiful present.  I learned this from my Aunt Anna, who was the queen of gift-wrapping.

My Aunt Anna (we called her “A-Nana” which I will explain in a future post) passed away in early 2011, but she was quite the gift-wrapper.  She always wrapped gifts in beautiful paper with big bows and, for Christmas, she often added a little ornament or accessory to the bow.  These packages were so beautiful that you almost didn’t want to unwrap them.  I said almost.  There was always a thoughtful gift inside, so you had to unwrap it.

To have your wrapping likened to Aunt Anna’s is a big honor and level of distinction in our family.  You have arrived on the wrapping scene if some says your gift-wrapping work looks like “An Aunt Anna Package.”   Over the last few years, a few people have received this praise and we continue this tradition of wrapping excellence in her memory.

I love you and miss you, Aunt Anna.  You were such an elegant lady who did everything with great care.  You are an inspiration to me and I think of you every time I wrap a package.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Southern Staples

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Lordy, what have I done?

This is my cart at Walmart.  I don’t know how this happened.  And, yes, I am feeding a family of one.

Want to guess how much this cost?

Actually, please don’t.  It’s still a touchy subject for me and my credit card.

It took 8 trips to unload all of this from my car to my apartment.

But, a girl’s gotta have her staples.   During my first grocery shopping trip, I failed to purchase many basics such as tin-foil, eggs, mustard, flour, sugar, etc. so I had a lot to buy.

Somewhere in that cart are two glorious items that I could not find in the Northeast no matter how hard I tried.  They are critical components of Southern meals so I am just thrilled to pieces to have had the opportunity to purchase them (and soon to eat them).

Might I first mention that I could not get over the variety of cornmeal available here.  In Boston, if you didn’t know exactly where to look for the cornmeal in the grocery store, you would never find it. And when you find it, you will realize that it is not the one you want.  Here, it’s impossible to miss because there are dozens of choices.  But, I had one in particular I was looking for as it is the kind that both of my grandmothers use:

Item #1: Martha White Cornmeal

This is self-rising cornmeal and it’s white and fine (not yellow and coarse).  And, in my opinion, it should NEVER be prepared with sugar.  Cornbread shall not be sweet.  I’m pretty sure that’s in the Bible. Corn muffins, maybe, but cornbread, absolutely not.  How would you like a cupcake to sop up all that good pinto bean soup?  I don’t think so.

Cornbread should be salty, never sweet.  Amen.

My kitchen lacks a cast iron skillet, which is essential for making cornbread so I guess I’ll have to add that to the list of things I still need to get (much to my bank account’s dismay).

Item #2:  Hot breakfast sausage

Yes!  I can’t tell you how many places in Boston I looked for this stuff.  Those Northerners just don’t know what’s good.  But I do.  It’s hot pork sausage loosely packed so that it crumbles up and leaves behind enough drippings for a real nice gravy. Mmmmmmhmmmm.

This item does not require a cast iron skillet, although that would be a mighty good way to cook up some sausage patties and season the skillet real good for when I make cornbread.

I stopped short of buying myself some lard/shortening for a real initiation into Southern cooking, but I’m sure that will make it into my kitchen at some point in the near future.  I can’t help it. I’m Southern now.

I would like to end with a realization that has changed my life immeasurably.  Down here, the speed limit is 70 miles per hour on the highway (15 miles per hour faster than I’m used to) and I now live in the central time zone.

Translation:  I’m driving faster on slow time.

I feel like I’m getting more out of my day already.

Winning!

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Emily

The First Supper

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After a tearful goodbye with my parents at the airport, I decided I needed something to cheer myself up.  Food usually does the trick (because to me a good meal = home), but the only problem was there wasn’t any food in my apartment other than cheerios, so I decided to go grocery shopping.

When I arrived at the store, I browsed at my leisure for a while and then walked out with a very random assortment of items, such as herbs de provence, granola, polenta, and dried pinto beans.  I can’t explain these choices except to say that it was an emotional afternoon.

Thankfully, I had the sense to purchase frozen macaroni and cheese because I was busy all day and still unpacking and was not up for cooking a full meal.

I got home and took that sucker out of the box and went to put it in the microwave.

Oh wait, I don’t have a microwave.

Undeterred, I searched the box for oven directions because I do, in fact, have an oven.  And people must have made frozen macaroni and cheese before there were microwaves, right? ……..No? ……..Frozen macaroni and cheese was invented for the microwave? Oh….…. Well, anyway, there were oven directions on the side of the box.

The oven directions said to unwrap the plastic and place the container on a tinfoil-lined baking sheet.

Oh wait, I don’t have any tin foil.  Bummer.

Not to worry, I actually bought stovetop macaroni and cheese because I found it before I got to the frozen section.  It was a long day of unpacking and I was tired and too lazy to take the stovetop macaroni back to its isle so I left it in my cart and purchased it.  Good thing, because I was ill-equipped to prepare for myself what seemed to be the impossibly easy dinner of microwave macaroni and cheese.

So then I got out one of my new pots, filled it with water and set it on the stove to boil.

Then I smelled something similar to what a hair-dryer that’s about to burn out smells like.   I turned the stove off momentarily and immediately called my cousin Lauren who I thought might have a similar stove at her apartment.   Luckily she answered and told me that that had happened to her before if it had been a while since she turned on the stove and that it was likely the cleaning solution burning off from when my apartment was prepared for my arrival.  Phew.

Confident that I was going to be eating dinner, I got the water back up to boiling and threw in the pasta.

Then I realized I didn’t have a strainer, but that was fine.  I would just use the lid to the pot to drain the water.   I only lost a few past shells down the drain.

As I was pulling out a bowl to put my pasta in, I saw that I actually did have a strainer.

Oh well.

I then made bake-and-break cookies without incident.  These are normally against my religion, but judging by the chain of events I just described, do you really think I had the ingredients, equipment or mental capacity to make cookies from scratch?  Ah, no.

The cookies weren’t terrible but they didn’t quite taste like home sweet home either.

Full of sub-par macaroni and cheese and square cookies, I continued to unpack and the cats watched, exhausted from tracking my quest for dinner.

Just as I was worried about the drive and hotel stay with the cats, I thought they might take a while to adjust to my new apartment.  As you can see, Gus is barely managing to hold it together on the sectional.

While things are going well in the living room, I think there is only room for improvement here in the kitchen.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Hello, Nashville!

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Hello, Nashville!

19 driving hours, 1150 miles and 8 states later, Amarillo, my mom, my dad, Gus, Scarlett and I arrived in my new hometown of Nashville, Tennessee.   My dear mom and dad, as well as Amarillo (my moving truck that I grew attached to) were along for the journey to help me move.

Although my cat Gus meowed constantly for about an hour straight after we left, the cats traveled much better than I thought they would.  I think their pleasantness had a lot to do with my ingenious set-up for them in the back of my car.  I purchased the largest animal crate that would fit into the back of my Jeep and used the divider (intended to be used vertically) to create a mezzanine level so the cats wouldn’t be on top of each other.  Scarlett took the main floor and stretched out in the camper while Gus opted for the upper deck and was able to see out the windows and enjoy the scenery.  I realized about an hour into the trip that Gus’ blanket (“the mommy”) was outside the cage so at our first rest stop I put the blanket in his bed in the cage.  He snuggled right in and the meowing abruptly ceased.  What a weird cat.

They were much more relaxed when we were moving at a steady pace than when we were stopped.  I think the might have thought that a stop meant we had arrived at the vet’s office.   They do not like the vet.

The drive was especially beautiful in some of the states we passed through, particularly Virginia and eastern Tennessee.  This was my view for about 500 miles.  Not too shabby.

I love me some hills.

This was a very pretty sky.  I can’t remember if this was late Thursday or very early Friday.  It’s all a blur.

Here is my naked apartment right after I signed my lease and my life away.

Love the pale pink counter tops. Not.

I will be painting as soon as I have some energy after packing up, driving across the country and then unpacking my life.  Maybe I’ll feel up to it by the time my lease is up.

My seeeester, Eugene, and my cousin Lauren drove down from Lexington, Kentucky (where they both go to school with the 2012 NCAA Men’s Basketball Champions.  No big deal).

They were such great helpers and I really don’t think I could have gotten everything carried up into my 3rd floor apartment and pretty close to set up without them.  I think I’ll keep them around.  I tried to get them to stay at my apartment but they gave me some spiel about having to get back to school for class.  Lame.

Who could say no to this?

After a few hours of unpacking the truck and carrying my ridiculous amount of stuff up to my apartment on Friday, we were all starving and we went to one of my new favorite spots in Franklin called Sol.  It’s kind of funky Mexican or Mexico meets the South or something like that.   Whatever you want to call it, it is obnoxiously delicious.  We started out with some freshly made table-side guacamole.   YUM.   As our entrees were ready to be served, our waiter took the guacamole bowl and I was very displeased because I had not yet scraped the bowl clean with the homemade tortilla chips so as not to leave a morsel of deliciousness behind.

I quickly got over my outrage as soon as my dinner arrived.  I ordered one of the evening’s specials: chipotle honey pan seared salmon with herb and parmesan polenta (and some sautéed spinach that I ignored).  This was heaven on a plate.  I have a picture that will surely make you hop in your car and drive however many miles (it doesn’t matter how many) to taste a bit of this wonderfulness.

After dinner, we were all drifting off into food comas and wanted to pass out.  Eugene, Lauren and I had to make a quick trip to Walmart, however, because I had no food in the house and no couch for my sister or cousin to sleep on.  As with all Dyer Walmart trips, this was an adventure.  We were delirious at this point and must have circled the bedding department 43 times before I made up my mind on which sheet set and blanket would coordinate best with my décor (even though they were going on an air mattress).

I expected to find an air mattress in this section also, but I was informed by my cousin Lauren that such an item would actually be found in the “camping and recreation” section.  I mentioned to her that I was impressed by how well she knew the departments and that I was grateful to have her along because I never would have found it on my own.  Her response:

“Honey, I was practically raised in Walmart.”

Her parents might find this statement troubling, but I thought it was hilarious.

We got back to my apartment and Lauren blew up the air mattress (inflated it, rather.  She didn’t explode it.  That would have been real bad).  And then we all passed out at the thought of more unpacking the next day.

More to come.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Boston

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I’ve spent 13 years, the majority of my life, in Boston.

I went to middle school, high school, undergraduate and graduate school here.  It’s where I learned to drive and where I started my business.  It’s where I have met people who have been very important in my life.  In large part, it’s where I became who I am.

But there’s always been a part of me that belonged to the South.  It’s where my family is from and it has always felt like home. I have visited my extended family in Kentucky at least twice a year for my entire life.  I used to cry on the way back from visiting Kentucky when I was little because I wanted to live there so badly.

I guess as I was planning my move to Nashville I was thinking mostly of the excitement of living in a new city, in the South, within an easy car-ride of my extended family.  I knew that would mean leaving behind some great people, but it didn’t really sink in until this week as I said goodbye to my clients, my friends and people who have become like family to me.  I always loved the South because of the genuine people, but it turns out I have found some really wonderful people in these Northern parts, too.

I will miss my friends.  Even though most of them are dispersed throughout the country (and even the globe), there were a few good friends who stayed in Boston that I saw regularly after we graduated.  I will certainly miss our get-togethers and those last remnants of college.  I guess we are officially grown-ups now as all of us start new phases in our lives with new jobs and new homes.

I will miss my neighbors. The kids I once babysat are now driving, but they’ll always be those cute little kiddoes in my mind who kept it real.

I will miss my clients.  When people invite you into their homes, even though it’s for business, there’s no getting around the fact that you will learn about their lives and often develop a friendship.  I have had many wonderful clients that I have gotten to know well and I will certainly miss our meetings.

I will miss my trade network.  Working alongside people in the design and building trades, you make small talk to make the day more pleasant, you see how hard they work and how they are just good, down to earth people.

And then there are people who don’t fit into just one category, but span many.  Although we are certainly an unlikely pair as she is 44 years my senior, I will greatly miss a woman I have known for over a decade, who has made window treatments and pillows for my parents and then for my clients after I started my interior design business.  She gave me great support and advice as I was starting my business and she has become a very close friend and mentor.  Whenever I would bring fabrics over for a job, we would quickly go through the details and then just talk.  Sometimes we would be so deep in conversation that an hour would go by before we knew it.  Even though for most of my day I am in a hurry, I’ve always cherished my talks with her.

It goes without saying that I will of course miss my parents terribly, but my hope is that they will move back to the South to be near me and my sister in the very near future.  So I’m just thinking of this separation as temporary because that’s the only way I can get through it.

I’ve had some great times here with some really great people, but I am excited to finally get my wish to live in the South.  Just like the best chocolate, it’s bittersweet.

Thank you for everything, Boston.  I will miss you.

(But don’t worry, I’ll be back to visit 🙂 )

Sugarlump