Category Archives: Atlanta

08.13.14
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Random Tips and Tricks: A Partial List

Today I was planning the menu for my sales meeting on Friday, and as I pondered ideas of possible soups, Paninis, flatbreads, and crostinis, I thought about my former colleagues who are probably already knee deep in essays to grade; it’s funny how quickly we can adjust to new things in life.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about little tips and tricks, (mostly for the kitchen, but a few others) that have become “normal” to me, although I didn’t learn most of them until I was an adult. While they may be fairly common, I wanted to share a few—just for giggles—in case anyone discovers a new tidbit here. (And I apologize in advance if these are too obvious, but I went at least 20+ years not knowing most of this list.)

The inspiration here began when a friend/salesperson for the company I work with met me at my house to grab food samples. I opened my freezer to snag appetizer bags, and she’s like, “Why do you have bags of Ziploc-ed Doritos in your freezer?” I always freeze my chips. They taste better, and never go stale. Plus, if they’re out of sight I don’t eat them in one sitting. But seriously, try some frozen Cheetos. They’ll blow your mind.

So here’s a few random tips and tricks that are common place in our home:

  1. Keep your chips in the freezer. Any and all of them—they don’t actually freeze. They just get super cold and are delicious.
  2. Dry your sheets (or any blankets) with a few tennis balls. It’ll make a bit of racket, but your goods won’t get as tangled up, and thus are less wrinkly.
  3. Add any type of fruit that you have in excess (or is about to go bad) to ice cube trays, fill with water and freeze. I pop them out, keep them in a Ziploc bag in the freezer and love to dress up water or cocktails with colorful cubes.
  4. Don’t crack eggs on the edges of bowls—that’s how I always ended up with shells in my cookies. Instead, gently crack them on the counter, or any flat surface—you’ll never have an egg shell escape in your food again.
  5. If you burn votive size candles in the glass holders, pop them in the freezer for an hour or two after they’ve burned out. The wax shrinks and pops right out so you don’t have to pry it out.
  6. Use an ice cream scoop to make perfectly round cookie-dough balls, put each scoop in a muffin tin, and freeze. Then Ziploc the dough balls and you can bake a few cookies at a time instead of the whole batch. (I make big batches of the kind we like, and I prefer a 10-minute bake for a fresh cookie versus keeping some pre-baked in the freezer.)
  7. When making any boxed-mix of muffins or bread, use apple or orange juice instead of water—your finished product is moist and flavorful, but people never say it tastes fruity–It’s more of an enhancer than a flavor profile change.
  8. Rub your skin with baby oil after your shower, then dry off. Your skin will stay super soft all day without the need for any lotion. (This is especially nice in the winter when the air is dryer.)
  9. Invest in a $3.99 bunch of wildflowers at Aldis. They last about 2-3 weeks and one bunch is enough to make 3-4 ball jars worth of flowers for the bathroom, table, etc. It’s a small price for the splash of happy it brings.
  10. I know by now I sound like a freezer nut, but keep your grapes frozen. Wash them, Ziploc them, and freeze them for a quick treat. They freeze part way, but are still soft enough to bite through, and there’s something about the sugar that intensifies when they’re frozen. It’s our favorite pool snack.

I know it’s silly, but picking up quirky tips from family and friends—mostly family—is one way I always feel connected. Nona (Nicholas’ mom) taught me about the eggs, my Aunt Jane always kept her chips frozen, and my mom loved her baby oil. I like to think we’re just a pretty montage of the most important people in our lives, and the tidbits and quirks that make them, and us, unique.

06.27.14
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Taking Stock and Building A Vision Board

Nicholas and I were talking extensively about creating a vision board last night; his mom made one last year and has encouraged us to do the same, as there’s nothing like the power of visuals and positive thinking to keep you on track. I used to have one in my classroom in San Antonio, but we’ve never made one together.

It’s a perfect time to refocus, especially as we’ve recently marked a year of us beginning our life back in Atlanta. It’s a good time to slow down, let our souls catch up with our bodies, and quietly review the transitions of the last year. After 14 years of working for Target, yesterday was Nicholas’ last day–perfect timing since we’re rounding the troops and spending as much time with Poppi as possible now that he’s on hospice care. Nothing like closing down both of our careers in the same year and learning that time with our dad is seriously limited –it all begs a moment to step back and take stock of our life.

The vision board seems easy at first–it’s simple to make a list of things that more money or time would get us, but we tried to focus on things less dependent on both, as how can you ever measure when you have enough of either? Instead, we focused on things that already do or would bring us more happiness or contentment.

Time together topped our list– spending time with family trumps all else–gathering together to hear Poppi’s stories, glean another cooking lesson or tip, and share laughter and memories over great food.

We want to continue building our friendships here, join an adult sport league like kickball or softball, bike the Atlanta belt line, and continue to entertain in our house.

Nicholas wants to hone his homebrews and I want more time in my “studio” to craft and dabble in homemade goods.

We have our sights set on weekend getaways to Savannah or Charleston, and of course can’t keep cruising off the board.

We haven’t lost hope of our supper club, built around concepts of napoletana pizza and homebrew, and I’m still scheming about a job in writing or nonprofit.

What I’m realizing, though, in brainstorming our continued vision for the future, is that I already have more than I ever imagined, or deserve, and I’m so thankful.

It’s not all perfect, of course–Transitions are tough and we have plenty of them, personally and professionally. But we’re loved beyond measure, surrounded in healthy and fulfilling relationships. I remind myself that this is more important than anything else this life could offer.

So as we continue to create a vision board, we’re dreaming hard, but are also taking the time to step back and recognize that it’s already a good life.

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03.30.14
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Garage Sale Inspiration

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Yesterday was the community garage sale in our neighborhood, Glenwood Park,which is nestled between East Atlanta Village and Grant Park. Instead of signing up to participate by selling my house-hold seconds, I thought I’d try my hand at selling all things “homegrownjewlz.” I recently decided my business logo should be a dragonfly (explanation to follow in another blog), made business cards and a banner to match, and then spent the last week making as much strawberry jam and pomegranate detergent as I had time to create.

It was a wet, overcast day and yet the community still came out in packs to
dig for bargains. I spooned jam into every mouth that would accept, and
particularly enjoyed the sticky-fingered kids who asked for more. I sold a
lot of jam yesterday, and all but 2 jars of my pomegranate detergent, but
more importantly, it was a great day for networking and meeting people who appreciate homemade things and/or have a similar sensibility and creative spirit.

Local residents, now acquaintances, and soon to be friends gave me a variety of ideas and were excited and supportive about my little garage business (soon to become my studio after remodel). As a result of yesterday, I submitted my application to sell detergents at a local co-op called Bee Hive in the Edgewood Shopping Center and talked to the owner of our community coffee shop about selling my jam on his shelves. Fingers crossed on both accounts.

I love the possibilities and hope that I feel today, and am ready to get back into my garage studio to tackle my next project–Aprons out of vintage sheets and doilies are up next.

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03.30.14
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A Little Blue Devil Tribute

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Last Saturday night I chaperoned what I imagine will be my last high school prom; (unless we have kids, and then heaven help us, I’ll be chaperoning with a bejeweled cane and Botox.)  The Norcross Blue Devils took over the Fox Theater for a night of all things fabulous, and my former colleague and I ditched our husbands and went for a few hours.

I loved watching my seniors enjoy their last high school dance, as graduation is pending and their bright lives are really just beginning.

That’s the beauty of working in education, when you do get a chance to step back and admire from a distance; these kids become our tomorrow, our new inventions, our brilliant minds as we get older and need new solutions.  It was only a semester, but I’m proud of the moments I got to have with them, and am proud of the people that they are and continue to become.  Most of all, I’m thankful for a bit of closure on a career that came to an abrupt halt.

And, let’s not forget the pack of boys who gave me hell for a semester, but ultimately showed themselves to be amazing young men with huge hearts, an incredible sense of humor, and resilience that I may never see again.

So here’s wishing my Norcross seniors an amazing Spring semester–complete with 4s and 5s on the IB test in May. 🙂 I’ll be honored to watch you walk the stage and transition to whatever life you choose next.

The following picture is apparently the youthful symbol for “innate brilliance.” Clearly, I was among geniuses. 🙂

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03.09.14
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Dough by D’Amico

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(This is an older picture of our food board when we did a trial run with friends)

My “pizza man” and I are starting a supper club this spring: bruschetta, napoletana pizza, home-brew and gelato. We’ve been scheming this for a good minute, but on a recent road trip to the mountains we brainstormed names and determined that “Dough by D’Amico” was the way to go.

We’re taking the month of April to plan our menus, design some decor, and of course, practice our 900 degree pizza method in order to smooth the system and avoid some oven mayhem that we’ve recently incurred.

If things go well, as the optimist in me declares will certainly be the case, we’ll turn the supper club into a pizza business in the empty shop across the street from our house; that’s the beauty of an adventure– we never know where it might lead and how it may change our life.

Side note: it was on this same road trip that we realized that a decision to live life sans-kids means the end of the D’Amico name…gasp! Who would run our pizza enterprise and make home brew in glasses sporting our fantastic Italian name? Oh, the pressure good pizza and home brew has created. 🙂

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02.16.14
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Truffle French Toast

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I’ve developed quite an affinity for truffle oil these days, and have been sneaking it into every recipe I can muster. Truffle macaroni and cheese and truffle bur rata have become pretty regular dinner fare, but his morning, we started “Sunday fun-day” with truffle french toast and left over filet mignon. Delish.

Truffle French Toast
(I don’t typically measure much, so these are all approximate. Blame my mom and grandma for teaching me about pinches and handfuls instead of teaspoons and cups!)

Whisk the following in a shallow bowl:
2 eggs
1 cup milk and 1/2 cup half and half
1 t vanilla
1 t truffle oil
1 t cinnamon
Pinch of salt

Dip bread until completely saturated, then pan fry until browned on both sides. (I used a baguette, so my French toast was in small, 2-bite pieces.)

I plated it over strawberry jam, and topped it with powdered sugar and syrup.

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Of course, I had to get weird and layer it up— this plate’s mine. 🙂

02.15.14
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Atlanta to Atlantis–Boon Companions

When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to grow up. I thought that adult life seemed way easier, and infinitely cooler.  I’m lucky enough to report that this childhood perspective is pretty accurate most days, and for that I’m quite grateful.  One thing that came easily as a kid was making friends, as I was somehow fortunate enough to be accepted into a group of amazing girlfriends in junior high/high school; I still connect with most of them on social media and am really close to two of them, in spite of the miles between.  The point is, I thought that making friends would be one of the easy pieces of childhood that would seamlessly transition into adulthood.  I quickly realized that this was not the case, especially once I got married and had another person to consider.

Nicholas and I have made a variety of friends over the last ten years, but it’s always been difficult to find couple friends we really connect with without significant effort.   Not that I expect everything to come easy in life, but it is pretty fantastic when you meet people who are just easy to love.

It all started with my first blog, a bocce ball court, and an unexpected reader.

An old friend from Atlanta stumbled across my blog one day, recognized the bocce ball court I wrote about in my post about our new house, and “Facebook-ed” me.  Turns out, his girlfriend lives just a couple miles from us, and they knew the exact area where we’d just bought our place.  We reconnected over pizza one night, and it wasn’t long before we met his girlfriend, totally clicked, and were hanging out like old friends.

I love that they know the house code and use it–no need for door bells.  They bring the dog over periodically, and while I’m not really an animal person anymore, I love being on  “pooch patrol.” There’s no pretention, whether we’re going for a power walk or to a New Year’s Eve party. One minute we’re laughing over grizzly bears and face planting, and the next we’re sharing family concerns, solving the world’s problems, and scheming items on our bucket list.

We recently took a little jaunt to Atlantis for the Super Bowl and some beach time, and after a decade of traveling alone, we made it a couples trip. Best. Decision. Ever.  You know you’re bona fide friends when you can travel together for days, sans annoyance, and start planning the next vacation on the ride home.

Life’s just better with friends who feel like family.

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02.01.14
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Pink, Glitter, and My Dear Friend Harold

Yesterday I ran across the street to the gym in an attempt to counterbalance another late night round of snacks.  I pulled up an old play list and fervently tried to distract myself long enough to get in a bit of cardio. The next thing I know, “Glitter in the Air”  begins as my opening number and I’m transported to San Antonio—it’s spring, I’m staying with a dear friend until my teaching contract is up, and I’m jogging the side streets listening to Pink and “training” for Beach to Bay.  It’s funny how a song can do that to you.

I’m obsessed with Pink, and by this I mean the color and the artist (both obsessions may be slightly unhealthy.) 🙂  Although it’s certainly not a song to keep pace to, I loved listening to “Glitter in the Air” every day on my jogging track in Live Oak Park last spring.

This time last year, our house sold and Nicholas got transferred back to Atlanta, all within a couple weeks.  We had three weeks to vacate our house in San Antonio, and while we had desperately hoped we’d get our transfer, we never dreamt it would all happen so soon.

A dear friend–let’s just use the name Harold to protect the innocent—offered to let me stay with him until June, when my teaching contract at Judson Early College Academy was up. I remember the day he offered and was shocked at his generosity; I didn’t have many close friends in SA, and after our house sold so soon, I had no idea where I would stay, or how I would manage to live and work so far from Nicholas and our future life.  We both moved in with Harold for a couple of weeks, then Nicholas transferred to temp living in Atlanta, and I remained in San Antonio until the first week of June.

It was a tough semester of transition; Nicholas was far away, super busy with a new job and extended retail hours, and we had limited time before his temporary housing would run out and we’d have to make a decision about a place to call home.  I flew in every few weekends to house hunt and spend time with him; our time was fast and furious, and I hated Sunday nights when I had to fly back to SA and leave him again.

Harold was my saving grace.  He understood life as an educator.  He understood the challenges of long distance relationships. He didn’t ask a lot of questions. He was easy to live with and brought laughter to a time in life that was really difficult; he helped me through a semester that could have been unbearable, and instead of feeling alone and homeless, I had someone to cook for at night and a place that became my temporary home.

The semester was a blur, as I had plenty to do: find a new home and job in Atlanta, finish my Master’s degree courses and sit for my exam, teach an eager class of juniors and engage in all that teaching entails…the list goes on.  The point is, I appreciated Harold, but didn’t realize quite how much I missed him until “Glitter in the Air” came blasting through my head phones, threw me back a year, and blurred my vision with unexpected tears; sometimes the hardest moments in life hold their own sense of glitter and attraction and we just don’t realize the entire beauty and magnitude until later.  They say that hindsight is always 20/20, and while I hate clichés and usually attempt to avoid them, I think this one is most often true.

It’s funny how an over-played radio hit can transport my mind and invigorate my sense of gratitude.

P.S. Harold, I hope your recycling situation has improved since I moved out, and if it isn’t obvious enough, I really miss you.

01.29.14
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My Dad Would Have Been Prepared For “Snowmageddon”

My dad has always been an extremist when it comes to safety precautions—he’s as prepared as a human could be for any possible disaster. If there’s ever a huge national crisis, I’m headed straight for rural Metamora where I’ll hide out in my parents’ basement, eat canned food and snooze under homemade afghans. As excessive as his precautions sometimes seem, (think mass amounts of bungee cords, pounds of sand, multiple blankets, and endless snacks) I was and still am thankful for his attention to detail, even if I didn’t recently heed his lessons like I should have.

My first car, an 80-something black escort, was a prime example, as the trunk was equipped with a box of sand, candles with matches, warm socks, a variety of non perishable snacks, flares, jumper cables, a first aid kit and a heavy afghan. I only needed a handful of these goods throughout high school and college, but on necessary occasion I was eternally grateful for my dad’s wisdom and diligence in making sure that us kids were always safe and prepared for whatever mother nature may have in store for us.

Most of my adult life I’ve resided in warmer climates and have subsequently paid little attention to these sort of precautions. Yesterday I was stranded for 22 hours in the snow/ice gridlock of our city, which has already taken on the nickname of “Snowmageddon 2014.” The usually one hour trek from Sugar Hill to my house became nearly a day’s trip, and I realized a few things:

1. My dad is always right, and I really wish I still had my winterized trunk of goodies.
2. In the absence of specific supplies my dad would have suggested, I still carry a pretty stocked purse—wipes, flashlight, pocket knife, gum, protein bars, and good lip gloss.
3. Southerners really freak out when they see snow/ice and my dad should give them a quick intro to downshifting on hills.
4. There’s still so much goodness in the world; a 20-something in Alpharetta was passing out hot coffee, an older woman in Roswell passed out cookies, and an entire family had their Red-Ryder’s out on 285 W passing out water.
5. Patience might be the most valuable attribute I could ever possess—I’m still working on this one.

My car will very soon be stocked with details to my dad’s specifications, just in case I ever need to spend the night in my car again. As for me? I’ve marked my spot next to Nicholas on the couch with my pink laptop and Rainbow Bright Snuggie and have no intentions of leaving the house any time soon.

Snuggie

I hope “Becah for JECA” knows how much I love this snuggie. 🙂

01.02.14
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Too much too fast…

My nephew Remington...of course, he was named after a gun...sigh.

My nephew Remington…of course, he was named after a gun…sigh.


This post comes with a significant disclaimer…it’s about to get really corny and cliché with a touch of cynicism, so if you were hoping for something clever and uplifting, you might want to close out and return to Facebook-surfing something else…

Nicholas and I were duly “home for the holidays” this year, and for that I’m sincerely thankful. After a beautiful holiday here with his side of the family, we flew to Illinois to do Christmas farm style.  After a year of significant change, I was really looking forward to the familiar and comfortable life that doesn’t change. The rust colored carpet in the upstairs of our farm house is as hideous as ever, my dad’s hamshack is still chock full of ham radio shenanigans and the water still tastes like rust.  The attic is still about 6 degrees in the winter and the trap door still squeaks as you open it into the vast unknown of years of storage.  The basement is still a creepy cellar full of canned food, my dad’s wood working projects and an obscene amount of split wood for the stove.  I love this house because it marks everything about my childhood.
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Only at my parents house, would you sleep beneath sweet photos and a gun.

Only at my parents house, would you sleep beneath sweet photos and a gun.

See..I  grew up in an intransient community AND we were Apostolic Christian. That means that home was everything: entertainment, family, love, food…everything.  It was normal to go to the garden and pick the veggies for dinner and go to the cellar to get chicken we butchered last summer out of the freezer.  We didn’t have a TV and we certainly didn’t go to the movies. What we did was learn to entertain ourselves in the crib, the barns, the pasture or the cellar, and were experts in pretend and creativity.  The farm wasn’t just a place I called home, but is a catalogue of my entire life. I know I sound dramatic, but even after I moved away, I knew that I could always come home tap into that world; I came home every summer of college to work on the farm and waitress in town. I came home after a semester in Austria and kept slipping into German while I attempted to share my experience with my parents.  And I’ve been home every summer except one since the day I moved to Atlanta 10 years ago.

This weekend we had some hard conversations about selling the farm, and I walked the house a million times, taking pictures, laughing at particular memories, and crying at the thought of this change.  We moved back to Atlanta this year. Nicholas got a transfer and has a totally different role with Target then he used to.  We broke from suburbia and live downtown. I took a job and a new/old school and just quit at semester. This is a lot of change. I feel like I’m on a merry go round that hasn’t stopped for the next guests.  I walked the house thinking about how selling the farm would be a bigger change on the scale than anything else this year…and I wanted to absorb every  bit of the house.   I touched the old quilts I used to think were tacky and admired the registers that Jeff and I used to use to listen to my sister’s conversations with boys downstairs.  I giggled at the stuffed raccoons over the fireplace that graced every prom picture background.  This house has so much character, and so many memories, and while I was already having separation anxiety, I was overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude, too.

How many people can say they were raised in the same place their entire life?  I’ve had a “home base” for 33 years now, and I have to be thankful for that grounding and the lessons of the farm.  Someone else now gets to have this benefit, and that is an awesome thing, I tell myself.  It’s an odd thing to mourn the potential loss of the farm in spite of the fact that I don’t want to live that life. I have no desire to butcher animals and cut asparagus, chase and shear sheep, pick up lamb’s tails, and drive 45 minutes to Target. I like walking across the street for dinner and mastering parallel parking on the square outside my front door. I love taking Uber to local events and while I complain about the traffic, I secretly love the congestion and chaos of the city.

The truth is, I love the life I’ve chosen and created, but sometimes in the midst of the chaos, I just want to be a kid again, play pretend in the barns, whine about the smell of butchering day, eat donuts with ham and cheese for lunch between the marathon church services on Sundays and be naïve enough to believe that it was normal to sew my own prom dress and learn to drive on the tractor.

I know that I’m not handling all the changes this year very gracefully, but I’m just trying to process and digest everything the best way I know how. The farm has taught me everything I ever needed to know and I find that the lessons are not quite over. Patience, acceptance, and the art of moving on may be the farm’s final lessons for me. Tonight I unpacked an aerial shot of the farm that has always hung in my classroom, and as I hung it on the wall and set up my vintage barn, I realized that I’m embracing multiple changes right now with as much grace as I can muster.
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