Coming Full Circle

I’m finally back to work. It took me eight weeks of soul searching, researching the realities of each of my dream businesses, and aligning them to my “Why” to bring me full circle–to the place I started my career.

I had been researching the possibility of opening a coffee shop in a growing area south of town. I found the perfect location, outlined the concept, drafted an initial business plan, and Mike and I met with the bank. But when push came to shove, I just couldn’t do it and  was disappointed in myself that I didn’t have the guts to take the risk.

I was also getting lonely. I missed the daily interactions with co-workers, this introvert’s excuse for engaging with people outside my family.

So on a whim I stopped at a salon and picked up an application.

You see, I officially started my career as a cosmetologist, but as a mother of a busy family, I quickly learned that being successful at it meant giving up nights and weekends with my family. So I took an 8 – 4:30 gig that provided the means for me to have my cake and eat it to, at least initially. (But if you’ve read my previous posts, you already know how that story ended.)

Over the years I’ve kept up my license, not because I ever intended–or even wanted–to do hair again, but one never knows when something like that may come in handy.  Now I believe it was one of the best decisions I ever made.

As I started talking to salon managers, I began to realize the reason I went in to the cosmetology profession in the first place. It was because…

  • I wanted to share beauty, solace, and simplicity with others as they face this hectic, stressful world.
  • I believe everyone deserves to feel beautiful, valued, and confident.
  • It was a perfect way to practice kindness, patience, and understanding to everyone I came in contact with.

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding…!

I’ve had the means to pursue my “why” all along but was too distracted by the fantasy of greener grass to grasp it.

I’ve now been back in the salon for a week and it feels right. While I have more experience in an office, I no longer feel like a fraud. And, just like riding a bike, it all came back the minute I picked up the shears.

I’ve already had a few weird customers and a few perfect ones too, and all of them have shared a piece of themselves with me. Being a little older and wiser, I realize every appointment hasn’t been perfect, but I think (or at least hope) all my customers have left feeling a little bit better than when they came in.

Sometimes when you stop dreaming of the next best thing, you realize you had it all along.  So I’m going to focus on this now and make the most of it. Who knows where it will take me.

 

 

Yiayia’s Avgolemono

Mike and I just returned from a long weekend in Ohio celebrating his cousin’s wedding. It was a great trip and a wonderful opportunity to reconnect with the Greek side of Grumpa’s family.

If you are an Xeno like me, it’s important to note that the caricatures of Greek pride depicted in My Big Fat Greek Wedding are not far from the truth. Mike is only part Greek, but his Grandfather Minos was a full-blooded, feisty little man who’s big Greek attitude more than made up for his small stature. Rose Antonucci, his sassy little Italian bride, was known to say “I thought I married a Greek god, but I actually married a “g-d” Greek!”

That Greek pride does rub off on you though, even if you are an Xeno. Rose became my kids’ Yiayia not their Nonna and she was the one who introduced me to my first taste of lamb and many of Papouli’s favorite Greek dishes.

A family favorite was Yiayia’s Greek Soup or Avgolemono. It was her cure for everything that ailed you and a big way this sassy little lady showed her love.

I’ve checked out dozens of recipes online and am always tasting would be Avgolemono soups wherever they appear on a menu. I consider NONE of them Greek! Because none of them come close to Yiayia’s.

Thankfully, I had a good teacher. I have a scribbled version of this recipe on the back of an old kindergarten worksheet from my daughter Olivia. (Just where a recipe like this should be written.) It only includes how to make the lemon-egg mixture and how to assemble the soup. The rest is all taste, feel, and love.

I take a few liberties with Yiayia’s recipe because I’m not as experienced as her yet at gauging the ingredient amounts even though I’ve been making this soup for 20+ years. For example, she never added bouillon and she cooked the rice within the soup which slightly thickens it. She never added flour which I find in many versions; adding flour makes the soup heavy and diminishes its lemony freshness which makes it perfect any season of the year.

So here’s Yiayia’s Greek soup. The best I’ve ever eaten. While neither Yiayia nor Papouli are with us anymore, I still think of them with every bowl.

Yiayia’s Greek Soup

  • 1 Whole, skin-on, bone-in chicken, cut into pieces
  • Olive oil
  • 4 Eggs – separated and set aside
  • 2-3 large lemons juiced, strained, and set aside (or 3-4 small)
  • Salt
  • Water
  • Chicken bouillon or soup base (optional)
  • Cheese cloth
  • 6-12 servings cooked rice (use what you think you’ll need and freeze the rest)
  • Freshly ground black pepper for serving

Prepare your soup base

  1. Generously salt chicken pieces and brown in olive oil in a heavy bottomed soup pot.
  2. Once nice and browned, cover chicken with water, salt generously, and simmer chicken until tender.
  3. Remove cooked chicken from broth and set it aside to cool slightly before removing skin and meat.
  4. Strain the broth through the cheese cloth to make sure it’s nice and clear.
  5. Return strained broth to the heat and taste. Add enough water and bouillon to accommodate the amount of soup you want and bring to a simmer.
  6. Remove 1-2 cups of prepared broth to cool slightly for your lemon/egg mixture
  7. Remove skin and bones from the chicken (be careful to remove all fatty bits and reserve the cleanest pieces of meat for your soup.) Return cleaned meat to the broth and discard the rest.
  8. Stir in your desired amount of rice.

Prepare the lemon-egg mixture

  1. Beat your egg whites until nice and fluffy.
  2. Gradually add yolks to the whites one at a time. Beat until your eggs begin to stiffen.
  3. While eggs are beating, slowly pour in lemon juice, and then slowly pour in broth. Your lemon/egg mixture will be a pale and frothy yellow.

Finish off the soup

  1. Gradually stir in a couple ladles of lemon/egg mixture into your soup, then slowly pour in the rest.
  2. Taste and adjust salt as necessary and heat to desired temperature.
  3. Serve with freshly ground black pepper, pita bread, and a simple salad dressed in lemon and oil.

Getting to Know Dad

I’m the youngest (the accident, the oops! the tag-a-long) of seven kids. I have been told that when the pregnancy was announced, my Dad was not only less than thrilled, but actually angry, that Mom had gotten herself pregnant again. 

Stories like this may have been made in jest, but they formed the perceptions I had of my father growing up. I don’t remember him laughing only yelling, never encouraging only berating. I hated him, but I didn’t really know him.

Time and experience have definitely taught me a few things about people and perceptions.

My Dad was definitely high-strung and volatile, but he had seven–SEVEN–spoiled, rowdy kids to keep alive–yes alive. As a parent, I now know that anxiety and worry can manifest themselves in anger and frustration. I can only imagine how he agonized over the care and keeping of us all. Dad’s generation wasn’t known for being in touch with their sensitive sides, thus his anxiety became anger and his worry became frustration. I’m sure it didn’t help that I obviously didn’t appreciated him, never thanked him for anything he did, or even said I loved him.

He also had a strong-willed, demanding wife. My mom was loving and generous to a fault with her kids, her siblings, and others, but she was extremely critical of my Dad and often demeaned him in front of others and undermined his authority with us kids. As a wife, I can only imagine what that would do to my self-esteem and confidence over time.

Despite all this, he remained faithful to God and to his wife. He gave all he had to his children, and worked hard. He only craved a little peace and quiet which he never got. Many people would lament a life like his, but he sees it as a “good” life despite the imperfections.

This week marks Dad’s 88th birthday. He suffers from mild dementia–struggling with the present–but reminiscing vividly on the past. I love to hear stories from his youth and our time in the Big House. (No, not prison, but the huge house we lived in for many years that Dad affectionately calls the Big House.)

He’s a man of simple pleasures; his recliner, coffee and a healthy supply of Snickers, visits with his kids, and a good corny joke…

“Did you hear Willy Nelson died?”….”Yeah, he was playin on the road again!”

Or

“Did you hear? They outlawed round hay bales?” …. “Cows just can’t get a square meal out of them!”

Since we lost Mom in 2014, Dad finally has his peace and quiet. It’s allowed me to really get to know him too. He’s a truly good man full of faith, humor, and resilience. He loved deeply, he worried frantically, and he cherished us all. I praise God for giving me this time with him.

I love you Dad!