My Tres Leches Cake

You 'ont know nothin' bout DIS!

What 'chu know bout DAT?

Awww, yeah. It's the milky silky Tres Leches cake all topped with whipped cream all up in my fridge all up in ya girl's kitchen. Yeah. Tres Leches, son.

So, I was in Texas and we made a quick stop by a supermarket named Fiesta. I virtually stepped into Mexico. Mariachi music on the loudspeakers, signs in Spanish, spicy, foreign, Cheeto-like snacks in the snack aisle. I was in a wonderland of Spanishness. When I saw a bilingual Duncan Hines box mix for Tres Leches cake, I snatched that bad boy up and vowed to make it once I returned to my syrupy sweet native (sort of) Alabama.

Sweet potato pie's been scarfed away, peach cobbler's been gobbled, so I whipped up this sucka. Mmmm. Silky milky goodness.

Prince Caspian

I have seen both Narnia movies more times that I'd like to admit. Wiping drool away from my mouth after awakening from having slept through the bulk of the second one, Prince Caspian, I caught the tail end. Peter, Susan, Edmond and Lucy, after having saved Narnia once again, say their farewells and head back through the portal to return to their lives as English schoolkids.

It hit me that night how deeply sad that part is. (And it's not because Susan impulsively kisses Prince Caspian after she tells him it wouldn't work. Prince Caspian is a total weenie throughout the whole movie. Good riddance, Susan.) For some reason, that night, it left a hollow in my soul. I mean it. And the song that accompanies it, "The Call" by Regina Spektor, is so hauntingly sadly beautiful, I just wanted to scream, "No! Don't go back! Stay in Narnia forever!"

When will I get it through my head that Narnia is make-believe?

Today is Thanksgiving Day

so I'll do what everyone does and what everyone should do and list the things that I am thankful for.

1. The grace and mercy of God.

2. A functional, supportive family.

3. My health.

4. A working car.

5. My education.

6. Chocolate.

7. The opportunity to travel.

8. Straight teeth.

9. Time off.

10. Cool, funny brothers who would fight for me at the drop of a hat.

11. The laughter of children.

12. Good, true, honest friends.

13. My present inability to gain significant weight.

14. Healthy parents who look like they'll last a long, long time.

15. A safe, cozy place to sleep at night.

16. Sunflowers.

17. Hot, buttery Auntie Anne's pretzels with no salt from the mall.

18. Things that make me laugh every time I think about them.

19. Hugs.

20. Smiles. (Especially from attractive, tall, bespectacled men.)

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Morning Prayer

My mind is crammed with me.

Moving creatures jostling, wriggling

Infused with me

Injected with Serum of Me

And left to grow frantic.

Deconstruct me.

Decentralize me.

Don't leave me tangled in me

Forced to breathe the odor of me

Sweet, fearful stench.

Unfold me.

Instead, I want to carry

The power of small things:

One word, one grain, one note, one drop, one thread

At ease with days of no resolve.

Show me.

I am a beloved stranger.

Strangers learn by imitation

Strangers smile at approximation

They know this is not their country.

On Love

There was a little girl in my Sunday School class yesterday. She was inconsolable. She pushed away crayons, stickers. She declined the opportunity to paste brightly colored feathers onto a handprint turkey. She said "no" to a fuzzy bear that wanted a hug. She cried. She whined. She tantrumed. She pulled out and tried to knock down multi-colored wooden chairs. She wandered around the room instead of joining the group.

Even the most unhappy children perk up for snack time. But she pushed away even animal crackers and juice. I almost gave up. I didn't know what this child wanted. She wasn't even crying for Mommy like most of the criers do. I finally bent down and picked her up, fully expecting her to push me away. But instead of wriggling out of my grasp, she clung to me and buried her face in my neck. I rubbed her back and told her "it's okay" until she calmed down.

That's all she wanted. Someone to hold her and love her and give her positive attention.

I held her in my lap as I continued with the lesson. She slowly began to eat the animal crackers, drink the juice and eventually participate with the other children.

It was amazing to me. There are so many children whose parents, due to youth, poverty and ignorance, don't treat them like children. Maybe they treat them the way they were treated as children. It becomes a vicious cycle.

Maybe I'll have the chance to teach the little girl again.

The whole experience made me think about how I will treat my own children and how important it is, above anything else, to show them love.

This Just In! OMG!

I twittered my t-shirt pics to Don Miller and got a DIRECT REPLY from him!

You have a new direct message:

donmilleris: My girl!!! Yes! So good Chan. Thanks so much. You are such a bright spot on the tour for me.

I am in 7th Heaven. So sweet.

My Brush with Destiny

As any faithful readers know, last night was my brush with destiny. After so many years of being touched by Don Miller's writing, and as a result, loving him, I finally met him in the flesh. It was fantastic.

Okay, let me start out by saying this: Everything on my wishlist came true. (Mention on his blog as yet undetermined.) Boy, am I glad I wore my shirt! It was a hit. People commented on it, but most of all, Don loved it. When I walked up to him to get my book signed, he was pleasantly surprised at my shirt. He was all flattered and said it was great and asked me to send him a picture. Then he asked for a hug. I was more than happy to oblige.

Here's the thing: Because of time constraints, Don was only to autograph the books. No time for writing special messages, etc. But Don himself asked me my name and wrote an unsolicited special message in my book right above his autograph. Take a look at the slideshow and see everything for yourself:

I'll be writing a less giddy, more informative report on my night with Don Miller for 90&9 soon. But for now, a few details:

1. Susan Isaacs was Don's warm-up act, so to speak, and she did a great piece from her book Angry Conversations with God.

2. While Don was chatting right before intermission about The Mentoring Project and Worldvision, he tripped off of the platform! It was a really bad trip, but he saved himself from actually taking a dive. I was horrified, but he recovered quite nicely with his signature self-deprecating humor. It endeared him to me even more, though. It made him seem more human.

3. I sat in the very first pew, front and center. I am so thankful that my friend insisted we sit right up front. She also took many of the pictures for me. She really helped to make it a special night for me. Love you, k.

I don't think anything could have gone much better. Don really exceeded my expectations!

Today Is Don Miller Day!

Omgness. Freakingoutity. Ican'tbelieveitescence.

If you notice, there's no more counting down on my "Days Before My Brush With Destiny" widget. Today is the day. Don Miller and I will be in the same lifespace and there is nothing that can prevent destiny from running its course.

Whenever faced with a situation of such epic proportions, a million absurdities begin to dance through my head. What if I:

1. Ran onstage and jumped on Don Miller's back?

2. Stood on my chair in the middle of his talk and started singing "Halo" to him?

3. Leaned in and smelled him while he signed my book?

Not that I would even seriously consider doing any of these things; I guess thinking about doing absurd things that I would never do amuses me.

Okay, let's be more realistic. I would be satisfied if I ended the night with:

1. Getting A Million Miles in a Thousand Years signed by him.

2. Saying something to him and him responding to me.

3. Getting a picture taken with him.

I would be even happier if:

1. I got a hug from him.

2. He smiled at me.

3. He mentioned me on his blog.

My next post will be a rundown of how many of these things came to pass. And it came to pass in those days that twentysomething women became obsessed with Donald Miller; they went to hear him speak, and the plague was stayed.

And if you take a look at Don's tweets, he says he's on his way to Birmingham! He's coming!

Yet Another List

1. Dallas was great. I spent time with a lovely friend and her endearing daughter. Sometimes you just need to get away and see different faces and breathe different air. I'm grateful for friends who allow you to do that.

2. I learned how to make cake balls. I'm so going to make some. They're decadent bon-bons of icing-moistened chocolate cake formed into balls and then dipped into melted chocolate. In the process, I learned the 11th Commandment: Thou shalt never waste chocolate.

3. A cat with a French name inspires one to speak to it in French.

4. I now know what a horse apple is, and I'm aware that worms can crawl out of them with perfect timing. Here is a picture of one for your enlightenment:



5. God can use anybody anywhere anytime to tell you anything. Picture this: You're slipping out of the tail end of an Israel and New Breed concert because your friend's daughter needs to be picked up from the babysitter's and you're in the parking lot when a person you don't know and that your friend doesn't know runs out after you, introduces herself and tells you that God impressed upon her to pray for you. At first you're kind of stunned, but then you consent, planning to just be nice, pray and go on your way. But then you end up basically having a personal Day of Pentecost in the middle of the parking lot.

6. Imagination is definitely an asset in dealings with imaginative 9-year-olds.

7. I must work on seeming less awkward and dumbfounded when I am the target of an unexpected mack.

8. If you're me and have a connecting flight, you will have a flight delay that will cause you to miss your connecting flight. And then you will buy McNuggets with a meal voucher and spend the night in a king-sized bed.

9. You know the song "Home On the Range?": "Where seldom is heard a discouraging word/ And the skies are not clouded all day?" I used to think that 'seldom' was the discouraging word that is heard. As if it were written like this: "Where 'seldom' is heard, a discouraging word, and the skies are not clouded all day." What a difference punctuation makes.

10. I ate a green apple on the way to work today that was the Platonic ideal of a green apple. It was large and firm and crisp and tart, and was the most beautiful green apple green. It looked like it belonged on the cover of Green Apple magazine. But there was a small bruise. I guess even the most perfect things on this earth are still somehow flawed.

TTFN

Tomorrow morning I'm up at the crack of dawn (again!) to head out the the airport. I'm visiting a friend in the great state of Texas. So, just a head's up that my blog baby may take a lil nap till Sunday, unless some breaking news happens. Deuces!

I'm up early again

this morning because I had to take my mom to the airport. Come to think of it, I'll be going to the airport myself a little later on this week to visit a friend in Dallas. Maybe it's not so bad that I don't have a lot of friends where I'm located currently. It gives me an excuse to get up and go somewhere.

Once I got back from the airport, going back to sleep was not an option. I'm, unfortunately, one of those people who can't go back to sleep. Once I'm up, I'm up.

So, I did what every self-respecting girl who's up early and can't go back to sleep would do -- I got my housewife on. I whipped up a pretty superb omelet, if I may say so myself. An homage to my upcoming French experience. I can actually say coherent, conversational things in French at this point. I can talk about myself, my family, what I like to do, I can describe events in the past. I've been corresponding with my host counselor and people at my little language school in French. They think my French is good because I can write it okay, but I'm afraid they'll be disappointed when they hear me speak.

Over tea, I read a Don Miller interview from a link sent to me by my go-to book guy, and it descended upon me how close my brush with destiny is! On my countdown, I have just over a week left. Reading the interview, I thought about how, in a little over a week from now, I may have an opportunity to talk to him too. But what would I say? I don't want to be a giggly groupie, but I want to impress in his mind how much his writing has truly meant to me. And the thing is, I know scores of other people have probably said the same thing to him. I want to be unique. I want him to remember me.

On the Road in the Morning

Today, I got up at the crack of dawn and made the trek to the French consulate to present all of my little documents to procure a visa so that I can legally reside in France for 6 months.

When I'm in my car, on the road, by myself, driving a distance to wherever, part of me feels empowered. I'm a woman on a mission. Handling my business. Going where I need to go. Doing what I want to do. I can fill up my car with gas, jump in, and go anywhere I want. The world feels open, limitless. I'm passing slow moving cars, watching the sky lighten, scanning the road for cops tucked away in enclaves lying in wait to catch speeders unawares, Mapquest directions my only companion. (I don't have a GPS.) I'm on a journey headed for a sure destination.

But another part of me feels in my place, circumscribed by lines that I can't change. Instead of the world feeling open and limitless, it feels empty and lonely. The rubber hits the road and the wheels spin. Over and over and over. I feel a sense of inevitability and sameness. Ecclesiastes (which I'm convinced is the most depressing book of the Bible) rolls through my head: That which was is that which shall be. There is no new thing under the sun. I'm reminded of the many things beyond my control. NPR and old dcTalk songs can't drown out the buzzing in my head. The lightening sky serves as the backdrop for my mind to dredge up things I'm trying to leave behind and I feel the powerlessness that memory can bring.

I flip back and forth between the two like pre-programmed radio stations. Open and limitless, empty and lonely. An unwritten future, an unchangeable past. The unknown is exciting, the unknown is daunting. I have a quarter tank of gas left, my tank is 3/4ths empty.

The funny thing is that I romanticize both of them. Open and limitless, ah, la vie en rose. Empty and lonely, ah, a beautifully tragic solitude. It really is funny. Like, comically funny. Once I get over flipping between the two pre-programmed philosophical radio stations, the next stage is self-parody. In one scene, I'm galloping through rainbows and fields of daffodils on a unicorn. In the next, I'm gathering fallen rose petals in the cold to wipe my tear-streaked face.

There's got to be a realistic medium that is neither sun-streaked nor tinged with gray. There is, and I live it reluctantly every day. My brain can't stop my heart from hoping. My heart can't stop my brain from overanalyzing.

Set in Stone

My ticket to France has been purchased. I'm leaving January 3rd. It's set in stone. I'm going.

I also now have everything together to (finally) apply for my visa. Yay! I have an appointment at the French consulate Monday morning.

Any time I get down, my new way to deal with it will be to repeat to myself over and over I'm going to France, I'm going to France, I'm going to France!

Seriously, how dare I even think about getting depressed when I have a whole 6-month, all-expenses-paid trip to France awaiting me?

Me 1: (in a fetal position) My life is bleak.

Me 2: (incredulous) Are you serious?

Me 1: (nodding weakly, sighing) Everything is so uncertain. I mean, there are so many things I'm unsure about . . . who knows what I'm going to do when I get back from France --

Me 2: I'm sorry? Did you just say "when I get back from France"? You haven't even left yet! Why on Earth are you worrying about when you get back?

Me 1: (burying face in hands) I know . . . nobody understands . . . I wish things weren't this way . . . it's just so hard to deal with the contradictions of myself and being so analytical yet so emotional and not knowing what to do and feeling like I don't know what I'm doing and wishing I had never --

Me 2: (getting up, grabbing Me 1 by the shoulders and shaking her) You're killing me! Listen, you have been handed an opportunity to go live in another country for 6 months and your only responsibilities are learning French and being a good American. And everything's paid for! So, please, cut the existential angst crap and go SAT yourself down somewhere. I mean, really. You're so annoying.

Me 1: (sniffling) Sorry.

Me 2: (feeling perhaps she had been a little harsh) It's all right. C'mere. (gives Me 1 a sympathetic hug) Just do yourself a favor and skip the David Gray songs on your iPod for a while, okay? Stick with your Motown oldies playlist for now.

Me 1: (smiling slowly) Okay.

Mighty, Mighty, Mighty God!

That's what my mom reported saying to the doctor and technician this morning when she found that she, in fact, did not have to get a certain procedure done. But if you knew my mom, you'd know that that was probably the abridged version of what she did once she found out the news. My mom is that lady in church. Yes, that lady who used to make me slide down in the pew and disown her in my mind when I was a teenager. That is not my mom shouting and dancing while everyone else is calmly clapping. That is not my mom laying prostrate speaking in tongues in front of the whole church and it's not even altar call yet. What's funny is that in small ways I'm turning into her. Maybe one day my daughter will go through a phase of disowning me in her mind during church, too.

It's exciting that God cares and knows. He knew my mom didn't want to have to undergo that procedure. She was worried about it. It was a cloud over her. A weight. She was prepped and ready and draped in one of those gowns, waiting nervously. And just when she thought it was time, instead, the doctor said that he wasn't going to put her through that. After re-examining the results of previous tests, he determined that it was unnecessary. Mighty, mighty, mighty, God!

It's a testimony for my mom, but it's a testimony to other people too. Just when we think the worst is to come, God can suddenly lift a weight off our shoulders. I forget this time and time again, but today I remembered that He is in control.

My New Tea Love

Dear chai tea,

I thought I would never get over you. Here and there I had a few dalliances with French vanilla tea and honey chamomile tea, but still, I clung to chai tea. You dominated my tea palate.

But one day, I took a sip of lemon ginger tea and my world turned upside down. That lemony zing. That gingery spice. It was soothing, yet energizing. Lemonly calming, while at the same time rocking my world with a ginger-flavored bite. I surrendered to it, and realized that I could move on. Chai tea lattes didn't have to dominate my tea palate. There were other unique, flavorful teas that I could love, too.

Chai tea, this doesn't mean that I've forgotten you. That I won't occasionally whip up a latte of your essence. I'm just saying that lemon ginger tea is what's up right now. It's that tea. But knowing my various and capricious tastes, who's to say some other tea won't come along and make lemon ginger but a byword? Who's to know I won't be writing a similar letter to it in the near future?

As a tea yourself, I think you understand. Tea tastes come and go. There was a time when Earl Grey was all the rage, but now something even as modern as green tea knows that nothing gold can stay. You must understand.

Maybe we'll come full circle. Maybe one day, I'll be in my old age, in a rocking chair, sipping you while reading a story to my grandchildren for whom I've prepared sweet, milky mugs of you. Who knows what the future holds?

But for now, I must say goodbye. Things have changed. Lemon ginger has stolen my heart.

Sincerely,

Me