Grill Master Me

The senior awards banquet in high school was a big deal.  Kids studied hard for 4 years in hopes of being bestowed with honors like Science Student, Math Student or English Student of the Year.

I happen to hold one of those honors. 

Yes, you my friend are reading a blog post penned by the Home Economics Student of the Year, Class of 1998.

Seriously, I was that good!  By the time I was a mere 17 years old, I could make a dress, bake a soufflé, balance a checkbook, nurture an egg-baby and cook the best omelet you’ve ever had.

Unfortunately there was one cooking appliance that was unavailable for educational purposes:  the grill.

It wasn’t until just this year that I had the nerve to spark up the grill.  Maybe it’s because Mrs. Dance didn’t teach me how to, or because I perceived grilling to be the “man’s job.” (To be honest, I don’t ever remember my mom cooking on the grill.  She prepared meals in the kitchen while Dad manned the Weber.)

One of my best girlfriends can grill with the best of them.  I’ve had many ‘a grilled meals at her hand.  Every time she’d cook up grilled chicken or steak, I would wish I had mastered grilling on something other than the Forman.

If I was craving a hot dog?  Microwave.  Chicken?  Oven.   Pork Chops?  Skillet.  

The fact that I could cook everything I wanted inside, coupled with the fact that Ohio seasons really never leant themselves to much cooking on the patio, I meandered through life never knowing the joy of grilling.

Until our move to the warm-weathered, meat-loving state of Texas.

Mark started teaching me how to grill with simple items like burgers and chicken breasts.  Then last weekend, I took the leap and purchased a big ‘ole slab of baby back ribs.  Now neither Mark, nor I, have ever cooked a slab of ribs, and my fear of the grill is still very real!  But I had the butcher wrap them up, and I thanked him calmly, and walked away thinking “I have no idea what I’m gonna do with these!”

Thank God for the blessed internet.  Honestly I don’t know how people learned to cook before 1990.

So tonight, while Mark was out dining with his boss, I cooked- pardon me- grilled, a beautiful, delicious feast.

Move over, George.

Resumes, Herpes & Shopping Malls

Go-to friends.  Everyone has them.  Your friend who has a great eye for accessorizing that you call for advice before going on a first date.  Or your doctor/pharmacist friend that you annoy have on speed dial for your reoccurring eye twitch.  Or the mommy-friend that is 3 kids ahead of you and knows all the tricks of getting through teething.

Over the years, I found myself to be a go-to friend.  Specifically in the following categories: 

1) Grammar:  I can’t begin to tell you how many resumes I have proofread over the years.  Hey, at least my journalism degree has been put to good use!

2) Pharmaceuticals & disease states:  With eight years in the pharmaceutical industry, I like to think I became an expert on the products I sold, and the ailments they relieved. Migraines, schizophrenia, enlarged prostates and genital herpes are just the tip of the iceberg.  Unfortunately, this expertise has led me to engage in a few awkward conversations with friends who “had this friend” if you know what I mean.

3) My personal favorite – Shopping:  I quite enjoy an outing to the mall.  So much so, that I have developed a photographic memory of store and elevator locations (Hey, with a stroller in a mall, if you don’t know where the elevators are, you’re dead in the 1^st floor water. . .) 

And so I am that friend.  The one who frequently gets inquiries like:

“Where is the Nordstrom Rack in Chicago?”

“If I park at Macy’s, how do I get to The Gap?”

“Is there a Gymboree at Easton?”

And I’d say I have an unofficial 99% success rate with the correct answer.  Yep, I know my retail.

So you can imagine my embarrassment when I find myself standing in front of the giant, lit-up store directory trying to figure out where J.Crew is located!  B2 blue section? What? And I’m in section 1A orange now?  Uggh.

In Columbus, I could get to the J.Crew at Polaris or Easton with my eyes closed.  And maybe my hands tied behind my back for good measure.  In Dallas?  Oye Vey. 

What makes my predicament even worse is that there is like a million malls in Dallas.  Actually there are 22 shopping centers in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex, (the most stores per capita in any US city) but who’s counting?!?

I understand that many of you are questioning, “If you love shopping, how could this be a problem?”

My answer:  It’s impossible to really learn the layout and dynamics of a mall when you are in and out of so many.  The mind games start when you swear The Loft was right across from Victoria’s Secret, oh wait – that was a different mall.  Catch my drift?

And so, I now anxiously scroll through mall websites pre-visit to develop a routing plan, and sit in the parking lot scanning through the stacks of mall brochures in my diaper bag.   All so I don’t feel like I’ve lost my shopping center navigational skills.

Then, just the other day, a realization.  I was in Nordstrom at North Park Mall doing some Father’s Day shopping.  There was a customer in line ahead of me looking for a pair of Tommy Bahama swim trunks in a size medium.

The sales associate said “I’m sorry, we don’t have those here, but the computer shows there are 2 pairs available at The Galleria.”

The customer responded, “Where is that?”

As the sales associate shrugged her shoulders.  I jumped in and blurted out, “Just jump on 75 north to 635 west and get off at The Galleria exit.  Shouldn’t take you but 15 minutes.”

Whoa.  (Yes, like a Joey on Blossom whoa.) So maybe my intra-mall store locating competence here in Texas is not quite up-to-par.  But as I evolve, so will my shopping savvy.  For now, call me if you need directions to Highland Park Village.  Happy to get you there, friend.

The Much Anticipated “Post-Move-First-Trip-Home”

It’s weird.  We arrived in Columbus the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, and the familiarity of it all made it feel like we were returning home from a (very long) vacation.  And that’s when I began to ask myself:  When does my new home start to feel more like home than my old home?

The first leg of our trip we stayed with friends across the street from our condo.  Our stay in Columbus was lovely and bizarre all at the same time.  It was wonderful catching up and spending quality time with close friends, but driving by the place where we became a family (and that was no longer ours-yes we finally sold!) caused a little ache in my heart.

But thankfully the trip was packed full:  picnic with friends, rehearsal dinner and wedding, trip to the lake, night at Put-In-Bay, Lake’s first trip to Cedar Point, and a retirement party. (Don't worry - you'll get specifics in future posts!) Whew!  Those 10 days were filled with fun and family and were exactly what I needed.

The morning of our departure back to Dallas, I was apprehensive.  The pull of friends and loved-ones exceeded my desire to come back to Texas;  but alas, we made the drive to Pittsburgh airport and survived the flight back to DFW.  Oddly enough, I felt a sense of relief when we walked into the apartment – the security of our belongings and the love of our attention-starved kitties brought me back to life.

And so I realized it would be naïve of me to think that after 8 short weeks, I would feel more at home in Dallas than in a place I spent 30 years living.  So, I may have just a few, or I may have a lifetime of trips up north before I feel like Texas is more my home than Ohio.    But Ohio will always be my home.  I guess I’ll just have to have two J