Summer Roast

(Backyard BBQ)

Two months to the date - I'm back. Ok, I couldn't resist the urge to write, but there were things that had to resolved before I could put my fingers to the keyboard recreationally.

Without doing a play by play, I've been most occupied with my new job. I'm the new brand manager for a recycled glass surface company that was, until recently, based out of California. They have since relocated and reorganized in the quiet hamlet of Tate, Georgia, which is where I commute to most days of the week. The funny thing about working for a company that manufactures building materials is that now think about my home more than ever.

So let's cut to the chase.

After a long hiatus of simply upkeep and maintenance, we are moving forward with more renovating plans. In fact, this afternoon, a fully assembled shed will arrive at our house. After doing more research than I did on past undergraduate papers, I found that buying the display model from the hardware is the way to go. The one we purchased had little wear and tear (I mean how many people have you actually seen walk inside the display anyway?), is fully assembled, and even comes with a few extra bells and whistles at more than half the original cost.

With the shed in place, Chris can begin the arduous process of emptying the basement of all things shed worthy so we can prepare the space for remediation. At the same time I am investigating stone options for our backyard patio project. (See above) Originally, I had a lead on dirt cheap marble, but with the cost of matching split-face (for the walls), we've decided to source stone from a distributor up I-75. Marble, although native to the area, would have been like outfitting a hound dog in a fur coat. Ridiculous.

We are, I'm happy to report, content. Of course, like any couple rounding out their second year we don't agree on everything (he wants a pitched roof, and I want to keep from bastardizing our ranch home), but then, I can't think of a single person I've ever agreed with about everything. In fact, in creating home with Chris, I've learned a lot about relationships, how they ebb and flow, and how each day is a discovery. An old friend asked me yesterday if it's love, does what Chris and I have constitute as the real thing? Of course, I said, love is the never ending attempt to want to know someone, even after realizing that we never really know anybody. And so I confess, I could spend the rest of my life wanting to know this man.

Mea Culpa

More to come when I have some down time today. The house has been filled with guests for three weeks in a row. Much to discuss!

To the Women - Make Use of Time

I've been in Jackson, Mississippi, since Thursday. The heavy hotel curtains have blocked out a good part of what I think must be a blue morning, only the other hotel rooms face mine so I can't open them quite yet. I've been up since 5:30 a.m., thinking about what's next. I came to Jackson for my film, the one I told myself I was over and then decided, showing it one more time wouldn't hurt. And it didn't. There was a lovely crowd for it, all quite complimentary and encouraging. Lots of questions at the end of the film. For me though, it was wonderful to see it one last time of such a big screen after working on a 14 in. screen for so long. Part of me is sad to move on from the film: there were so many conversations and friendships that grew out of the process. Another part of me is ready to put it to rest and focus on the book.

If I haven't mentioned this already (though I'm sure I have) the book is an outgrowth of my written thesis on the history of Thacker. Only after meeting with my editor yesterday I learned that rather than a stuff analysis of the show, he'd like to see something more personal. In most academic books, authors clearly identify who they are in relation to the subject they are writing about. I do the same in my thesis, but for the book, my editor suggested that insert myself into the story throughout. You can imagine the relief I felt when he told me this. To any naysayers of my version I can say, Listen, this is through my eyes. I hear pens are cheap these days, why don't you write a version of what you think happened.

So I am eager to get back and commit to my story perhaps in a way I was not able to as a graduate student when the demands of academia push my personal feelings, which I believe are equally important, into the margins. I told my friend the other day that I plan to commit to this writing the same way a southern woman commits to planning her wedding: fiercely and without regret. When so many things feel up in the air, it's nice to know that there is the permanence of words on paper.

G is For Galanga and the Wonderful Curries You Can Make With It

(Galangal root. No, it's not ginger.)

Last week we took our friends to a dinner at the Bangledeshi spot near our house. We haven't been there since last fall, and when I got there I remembered why.

Having lived a somewhat sheltered culinary life in Oxford and in the white collar world in general, I had forgotten what service at other cultural spots might entail. In truth, service has been up to my demanding standards at all the Buford Highway restaurants I frequent. I'm pretty patient, understanding, and often attempt to immerse myself in the scene. I can't think of the last time I've been slighted, save for the Chinese restaurant debacle during which Chris lost it on the waitress who in broken English called him a liar.

But dinner last week was something else. It was a reminder of what dining at other people's tables can be like in foreign countries. We take it for granted that when we enter these exotic restaurants, that we are still in the American South, but really we've crossed the threshold into new cultural territory. Some things are the same though. An insistent waiter is not unlike your Southern mother-in-law- who likes to see you gobble up her pineapple cheese casserole. (If you haven't tried this covered dish delight, you are missing out. The sweet pineapple is intensified by the salty cheese and ubiquitous Ritz crackers.) Then there's the command to try everything, a little of this, or a taste of that. Don't miss the pimento cheese. Yes, it looks unappetizing but it's not the appearance that matters. Right?

When I lived in London and went exploring in Holland, I ended up among a group of new friends who threw together a pot luck. The spread covered all four covers of the world. Try this, someone said as they ladled a curiously yellow soupy mess over a pile of rice. It ended up being a Indonesian-style chicken curry, and the next day, after my host had finished her morning prayers, I asked her to write down the recipe for me. You may not be able to find all of these ingredients, she told me, but she insisted I find them. She was right. For years I substituted galangal root with ginger, because I was too lazy to order the dried stuff online from an international food website. The ginger was a mediocre substitute at best and eventually I quit making the recipe. Then a few months ago, I was breezing through the Dekalb Farmer's Market when I spied a pile of galangal roots. Had my Indonesian friend not insisted, I would have forgotten about them.

Mold is a 50s Ranch-Style Home's Bestfriend

Not to gross out my dear readers, but I spent the good part of the early afternoon with Fred Rodriguez (Remediation Group), my newest client , as he went through our house looking for mold. Since I'm a firm believer in trading services whenever appropriate, he was valuing the amount of work I needed done on the house. Our friend N., who lives nearby recently had to have her home remediated after a series of health problems. (N. works for Fred and introduced the two of us.)

So what did he determine? Yes, we have mold (but apparently anyone who lives in a house as old or older does.) It's not as bad as N.'s place but we will have to do a significant amount of prep work in the basement before Fred will send in a crew to clean it up. Then what's next?

I was reviewing my nerded out list of house projects the other day and realized that we had accomplished 95% of our goals. I've added about ten more things to complete by this time next year, including packing up the contents of the basement and throwing out what can't be sold in a yard sale. Chris asked Fred when all this needed to be done to begin remediation. "Nothing is so bad it needs to be done now," he said. Then I chimed in, "It will get bad if it starts to bother me because I will bother you Chris."

Clean up begins next weekend.

Environmental Serenade

As I was running around Drew Valley the other day, I started to think about the running I did in Atlanta before I moved here, in particular, the neighborhood by friend's place in Buckhead. In the my the shapes of trees, curves of the street blended into my current surrounding, and as I approached the top of a hill, I had forgotten where I was. It was like waking up in a hotel bed after a night of boozing. I had to think hard. Where was I?

A friend just told me this is called disassociation. It's when you have so much going on that you layer information and things get confusing. I agree with her in some sense that this is my reality, but I also think it just shows the power of memory. So I went to yoga on Saturday to remedy the situation, forcing myself to take each moment at a time to filter out distraction. It seemed to work. Even though I had planned to make a day of writing on Sunday (I instead spent it up in the air with my guy in a helicopter and later braised beef short ribs), I find myself with a kind of clarity this morning.

With the washing machine whirring and Turner letting out an occasional growl at invisible passerbys to serenade me, I'm feeling quite zen staring out into the backyard as I start my day.

Schedule

Is it March already? I just finished eating a grilled pimento cheese sandwich on the day that marks my commitment to all things health and fitness related. A kind of personal housekeeping, if you will. The timing is perfect. We just had bash to celebrate Chris' 30th birthday and both of us want to get back to our pre-move-in state. For me, it's all about a schedule. Can I convince him to go for a run with me at 8 am a couple days in the coming weeks?

Part of all this maintenance is to motivate me to incorporate a writing schedule into my life. I was feeling particularly creative after making a movie about Chris for his birthday and realized if I applied that same dedication to my other projects, they wouldn't take years to complete. I haven't decided if Ill go the route of Salman Rushdie, who devotes the morning hours until lunch to write (which may not work for me with my consulting anyway), or the route of my friends who commit to writing on a per word basis. But I need to decide by tomorrow.