Last night, I went out for a lovely dinner with my aunt, uncle, cousins and sister. Uncle Brian and Aunt Vickie took us to this cute little place in Cookeville for a Cajun inspired meal. We took a poll and … Continue reading
Oyster Odyssey
Category Archives: Life-Altering
Crazy Skies
The other day, I casually walked over to the glass door by my deck to check on my plants and was confronted by this scene. GOODNESS GRACIOUS! My first instinct was to run away. My second instinct was to grab … Continue reading
Scarlett and Her Chair
This was my cats Scarlett’s chair at my parents’ house. She has good taste in chairs as it was the most comfortable chair in the house, but unfortunately it did not face the TEE-v so people rarely sat in it. That was just fine with Scarlett.
She’s so cute when she’s sleeping.
“What about when I’m awake?” (frown)
She loved to sit up on the back cushion of this chair, which was very wide and soft. It had a permanent slouch in the middle of the cushion from her sitting there so often. I imagine she liked sitting there not only because it was comfortable, but also because she could observe all of us sitting in the family room and see through the door opening into the kitchen to keep tabs on the activity in there as well. This is very important to her as she insists that her contribution to the household is to secure the premises. She’s not just a pretty face, ya know.
Because this was her favorite spot, I was a little bit nervous about how she would handle the move given that I was not taking her chair. It did cross my mind to take the chair but a) it’s not mine to take as it is part of the seating arrangement in my parents’ family room, b) it’s an enormous chair and would be way over-scaled for my 980 square foot apartment, and c) it would be absurd to bring a large chair for a cat.
So as we settled into our new apartment, I waited to see where Scarlett would perch. She quickly adopted one of my Aunt Anna’s chairs that I have in my apartment. I am sure it is no coincidence that she chose the one where she can stare me down as I watch TV from the sofa as she simultaneously watches birds flitting around on my deck through the glass door.
She has really taken to this chair.
As it is a tight-back chair, it isn’t comfortable to sit on the top of the chair (I would imagine), so she just kicks back on the seat cushion like a raccoon.
“Hiiiiiiiiii.”
And looks regal.
“What now?”
Sometimes she falls asleep on the job.
“I heard that.” (stink-eye)
She’s really leaning into that armrest. Good thing it’s just her height.
While the chair is her usual hangout, she sometimes opts for the higher altitude of the back cushions on the sectional so she can see me if I’m at my desk or in the kitchen. These are not nearly as soft as the cushion on the chair she loved so dearly at my parents’ house so she is making her way around the sectional, breaking in each of the pillows for me. What would I do without her?
Livin’ large.
Y’all come back now, ya hear?
Sugarlump
It’s Official
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
Southern Staples
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
Hello, Nashville!
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
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
Getting Glasses
I decided it was finally time to go to the eye doctor after about a decade (I know, bad bad bad) of not going to the eye doctor.
Diagnosis: My vision is uneven. Basically, my right eye is a weakling and my left eye is a champ.
Prognosis: I’m going to live.
I have to get glasses to be worn for “close work,” which includes looking at a computer screen, reading, drafting, or anything else that requires me to focus my eyes on something within the general vicinity of my face.
I have known for a long time that my left eye is stronger, but apparently the difference in my eyes has gotten more severe. I frequently “suffer from” (as they say) headaches and migraines, likely the result of me doing a lot of “close work” and thus exhausting my left eye because my right eye has no idea what to make of the screen in front of me.
So, I’m getting glasses that I will wear part-time. Not so bad. I think I can handle it and hope it will improve the throbbing head situation.
For a year or so when I was younger, I had to wear a Band-Aid-like eye patch over my left eye for a few hours each day after I got home from school in an attempt to strengthen my right eye. I think I handled this unconventional eyewear pretty well for a 5 year old, but I’m glad this time I will be getting glasses instead.
Though this wasn’t my best look, at least I had my kitten for emotional support. His name was Truder. I loved him very much.
Seeing (hahaha) as this whole glasses thing is a noteworthy development in my life, I felt the need to share the news with my sister, particularly since she once faked the need for glasses. She was 6. We had just moved to Boston and she was the “new girl” in her class for the first time in her life. I suppose she was feeling left out or wanted to attract some attention (for having glasses?) or wanted to hide behind something. I really can’t say why she faked the need for glasses, but the eye doctor caught on to what was happening when one day my sister told my mother that she couldn’t see and started squinting a lot. He subtly conveyed this message to my parents by winking as my sister pretended to be unable to read the lower half of the letter chart. He then told them that this was probably just a cry for attention at school given her age and that we had just moved to a new place and a new school. My parents, being the sensitive and supportive parents they are, played along and invested in Eugene’s desperate cry for attention to the tune of several hundred dollars. God bless my parents.
So given her complicated history with her vision, I thought she would be a good person to tell about my new glasses.
It was late the other night after I returned from the eye doctor, ate dinner, watched some TV, wrote a post, dilly-dallied, and pondered life a bit, so I opted to text my dear sister instead of calling her to tell her my glasses news in case she was asleep (hahaha) or in the library (surprisingly, much more likely at 11:00 PM on a Tuesday for a college student named Eugene).
Before you read the verbatim text conversation that is to follow, I want you to know that my sister and I are very mature and well-mannered young women. In public.
Me: Guess what?
Eugene: chicken butt!
Me: Yes!
(Long pause to appreciate that my sister just guessed exactly what I was thinking.)
Me: I have to get gafas.
(side note: My sister and I often speak in Spanglish because we’re weird and took a lot of Spanish in high school)
Eugene: What?! For reals?
Me: Yes. For reading and “close work” because one of my eyes is stronger than the other (which I knew) but the doctor thinks that’s exhausting my eyes to try to focus so I have to wear glasses for that stuff. I picked out some real sassy ones.
Eugene: oh la laaa! Slash kinda sounds like daddy.
Me: Getting sassy glasses?
Eugene: hahahah no no the stronger eye thing!
(End Scene.)
So as my sister mentioned, this whole uneven eye strength thing (and not surprisingly the migraine thing), runs in the left side of my family. Almost all members of this side of my family (that I am biologically related to) wear glasses. I guess it’s now official. I am a for sure my father’s daughter.
One point of divergence, however, is the type of glasses we will be sporting. His glasses are rectangular, simple and subtle. My selection is none of those things. I went for cat-eyed, sassy and bold. Here is my selection:
I am very pleased with my choice, but I also considered another more rectangular, tailored and professional looking pair. I selected these after asking the nice man who helps people pick out glasses if there was any section I should avoid since I was “trying not to break the bank” on my new glasses. He responded that the glasses were arranged by manufacturer and there was a range within each of them so there wasn’t really any section to avoid. Being me and having a specific arrangement with gravity to pull me towards expensive items, I of course selected one of the most expensive pairs in the whole place. The nice man saw what was happening and politely mentioned to me that “The Fendi options are probably not as budget-friendly.” Oh. Darn.
So then I found my lovely sassy glasses that had a much more agreeable price tag. And I was pleased.
I am now waiting (not so patiently and with a slight headache) for my glasses to arrive because I (unlike someone in my family who is younger that I am and named Eugene) actually need them.
Y’all come back now, ya hear?
Sugarlump
Glasses photo courtesy of framesdirect.com
Not Cool
I had something on the order of an “Aha” moment the other day while talking to my younger sister, except, it was more of an “Oh no” moment.
You see, I used to be too cool for school.
And then I was the cool big (and taller) sister. My shirt says so.
This dynamic really worked for us. I was daring and adventurous. I drove with my windshield down and no hands. I did not require a snowsuit to play outside in what is obviously multi-colored windbreaker weather. And I was still taller.
So a few years have passed since the pictures above and although my sister is now about 4” taller than I am, I thought I still had a firm grasp on the cool big sister gig.
And then, one (terribly sad and life-altering) day, that gig came to a screeching halt.
I was talking to my sister on the phone the other day and I was telling her about letting my clients know that I am moving and how much I will miss them. I mentioned one client in particular that I have really enjoyed getting to know because I feel like she and I are on the same page about a lot of things. I casually conveyed this thought by telling my sister that my client and I are “like souls” (as in similar), to which my sister replied “did you just say ‘souls’?” (exuding disdain)
Me: “What?? Is there something wrong with souls?”
Eugene: “No….it’s just….you’re just….funny.” (a.k.a. NOT cool)
And there we have it folks. I am no longer taller or cooler than my little sister.
And I have graduated from school so I can no longer be too cool for it either.
Dangit.
Y’all come back now, ya hear?
Sugarlump
The Sugarlump 