Consider me egocasted.

A few days ago I adventured into our attic, assessing roof damage and poking around for lamp shades. And underneath a stack of pre-pregnancy clothes that will never fit me again, I found my old iBook clamshell. Yeah, that's right.

One of THESE babies. Actually, the one on the right. Yep. That's mine.

In the winter of 2005, my hard drive went straight wonky and when you're an English Major, in the middle of mid-term papers, you tend to panic. So instead of trying to nurse him back to health, wings and prayers and whispers, I went ahead and scooped up a new computer. Oh weird, I have a picture of that.

21 years old. Way excited. Can that septum ring BE any bigger?

The iBook was sadly put away to storage (the lower shelf of my bookcase) and moved with me as I hopped back and forth between home and home and home. Even if I couldn't move pass the startup screen or access any of my documents, I just couldn't throw it away. Who throws away a computer? Is that even legal?

So the other day, for shits and giggles, I plugged it into the wall outlet.

And can you imagine my surprise when my computer started up and then, for the first time in 5 years, I was staring at my hot pink desktop, the home to everything I had ever written/downloaded/listened to, from my senior year of high school till 2005. (That's four years, y'all)

ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

Yes, that's totally my tiger-striped comforter that I bought from Delia*s in the 7th grade.

It was Mikey boarding the The Inferno, you guys.
It was GLORIOUS.

Over 200 pages of Appleworks journal entries, college application essays, email correspondence about freshmen dorm room assignments(whaaat?!), old AIM conversations, my favorite pieces of undergraduate work (Faulkner, Bukowski, Research Methods), and photos upon photos (upon photos?) My grandfather drinking his last beer before passing away; exploits and adventures of the best kids in Boston...

17 years old. Skipping freshmen orientation to go the MFA.
Hemp necklace!

So many things I knew I had lost, so much more I had completely forgotten.
Reminiscent feels shallow and longing, too dramatic. But there's brightness, somehow, linking my youth to this present life. I'm resisting the word fate, but whatevs. The ability to recognize that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, has been a trying feat.

Lately, I've been making a sort of reconciliation with myself. Making an attempt to piece together all these bitparts and try to remember why it was worth so much. The stories I tell are long breaths and sweeping-wide hand gestures. Parts played by the gorgeous, the brilliant, the broken. Everything was so important, all of the time, and I didn't know why. Paper hearts, paper tigers and oh! the self interest!

More of a weird back story, maybe more than you wanted to know, probably more than I should say. But this was not the life I wanted, this was not what I had planned.
Delusions, the false sense of my security, were taking me somewhere else.
But now that I am here, nothing would have made me as happy as I am now.
No one would have allowed me to feel this way.

(I'm trying really hard not to sound like an asshole, I'm not sure if that's carrying through.)

All these painful intricacies that were supposed to be useless, let me wind up here.
More specifically, it was those details that gave me a restaurant job in Nashville. A healthy appetite for Guinness that kept me at the bar. And just the right amount of awkwardness to draw it out and pull it together when our days turned absolutely perfect.

I might be still be in Nashville, but I'm miles away from where I started.

So thanks, life.
And thanks to everyone.
For the loves, the hates, the heartfucks.

For setting the course for this kid

For letting this one find her way home, to me.

Ooof!
Apologies for the lack of pie updates.
Graduate school's more work than I ever could have imagined.
I promise I'll be back with less sappiness and more pie.
More pie!
And for those few readers out there,
thanks for sticking with me while I try and find my voice on here.
I think I almost have it.

Meep.

Pie Crust, Revealed

Wedding Day Pies

Oh, hey y'all!

Earlier this week I finally received my judging sheets from my very first pie competition - American Pie Council's Great American Pie Festival. (America! America! Pie! Pie!)
Perhaps my first competition shouldn't have been such a mammer jammer, but I dove headfirst anyways.

My competition pies were (and please forgive the cheesy names, it's a pie festival.)

l. Oh My Hearts and Stars Cherry Pie
r. My Favorite's Favorite Pear Pie and Almond Crust

What I'm happy to report is that the pear pie, which I started tinkering with just a month before competition, scored pretty well. Like A minus well, which I didn't expect at all.

The cherry pie? Failed. Miserably failed. We didn't even make it out of the gate with that one.

So what's a pie mama to do?
An early morning pie crust experiment, that's what!

And I'm pretty sure that I hit the jackpot.
Ahem...hem...hem.


Pie Crust Recipe - Version 2.0
For a double crust.

3 cups all-purpose flour
1 TSP salt
1 TSP sugar
1 1/2 cups shortening, as cold as you can get and divided.
1 egg
1 TBSP apple cider vinegar
5 TBSP ice cold water (you probably won't use all 5...)

In a large mixing bowl combine flour, salt, sugar. Cut in your shortening until the mixture is coarse looking and you have about pea-sized clumps of shortening and flour. Be very careful not to overwork. You don't want the shortening to melt into the mix. (Don't lose the fat!)

In a small bowl, mix together your vinegar and egg. Incorporate into your flour-shortening mix.

Drizzle in water, a tablespoon at a time, just until your dough holds together. Once it holds, stop adding the water, yo.

Separate into two balls, wrap in plastic wrap, flatten into disks and freeze for about 30 minutes.

If your dough's too hard to work with, it's cool to let it thaw a bit on your counter.

Then, commence with the rolling!

What you should see is a somewhat marbled effect of your shortening in the dough. That's the key to a flaky-awesome-crust. Once it melts, it leaves these tiny little pockets of badassness.
You can totally thank me later.

The important thing to remember is to keep the ingredients ice-ice-baby cold. You also need to limit your handling time. I try to keep it under 5 minutes, total.

Good luck!
Yay pie!

I know, I know. That photograph of the competition pies isn't the greatest.
I was contemplating buying a fancy SLR for food portraits, the internal monologue went a like this:

I should really get a fancy camera for all these up and coming pie pictures!

Wait, you want a buy a camera to take pictures of food?

Denise, that's real dumb.

Yeah. You're right. That's pretty lame.

18 Months and then some.

I can't shake the feeling, no matter how unscientific it may be, that she's been with me longer than 18 months.The willingness to embrace her peers, a hug just to say "Hi, what's your name?" Her over enthusiastic waving and those pretty little snarls. Certain books I read while pregnant, she'll choose their now-DVD cases and kiss the covers. How quick she is to dance to those songs I played ceaselessly when I was younger. Swaying left, wobbling right, with hands high above her head.

Slivers of personality she shows me - almost as if saying, but mama, I do remember. Of course I do.

(Obviously, I know she's most likely observing me and putting these things together on her own.)

But with every day that passes and I hear myself saying, "You like that too?! That's my favorite!"

My heart's a toy balloon.

In baked good news. I just revamped my pie crust recipe! Check back soon for the unveiling. Huzzah!

History, my story, her story.

Lately, it's been brought to my attention that 2010 might be a year full of more grown up responsibilities. Well, at least more grown up-er?
Possible home ownership, incurring a fistful of debt, raising a balls-to-the-walls, independent, growling toddler.
All good things. Maybe not the most pleasant at times, but good nonetheless.

With all this in mind, I also think this is the year we finally sell my car.
*Collective gasp!*
For those unaware, the car in question is my first car, the broken little Integra - my Gally, my Battle Angel.

Yes. I totally named my car after an anime character.
But James Cameron is totally adapting her into a movie, so who's laughing now? Hmm..?

She popped into my life, a complete surprise, on August 27, 1999. It was a Friday.
I came home from school when my mom asked if I could go into work a little late.
"Why?"
"I need you to call the Acura dealership, to see if your car's ready to be picked up."
Holy shit.
[!!!!!]
And yes, I was late to Little Caeser's (Battlewood, how can I help you?), but it was the best damn day, ever.
Ever, ever.

I spent a lot of time in my car those first few years. First kisses and bad poetry and cans of Dr. Pepper. Sleeping in the front seat when Bellevue or Murfreesboro or Franklin was just too damn much. Punk rock road trips and driving to shows and shows and shows. Broken hearts and Camel Lights and music so loud it rattled my mirrors.
On any given weekend, you'd find us sitting in the backseat. We'd listen to Bjork's Homogenic, feeling the bass turn our insides to goo, the backs of our heads sinking into the upholstery.

Soon enough, I learned about her strange center of gravity, an unceasing barrage of Interstate debris - runaway bumpers, loose 2x4's, broken PVC pipes. A decent smattering of all things you'd never want hitting your car while pushing 70mph on I-65.

My sophomore year of college, when I was overstressed and reeeeeaally not at my best, I drove a total of 36 hours so I could spend half a day in Nashville.
Seven days later, she was stolen.

I was rushing out of my apartment, running late for my flight to Nashville.
There was a gaping hole in front of our place, a Japanese sedan-sized hole that simply said, "Oh, fuck."
I remember fighting with my mom over the phone, she was furious.
I remember screaming, "Yeah! It was my fault, Mom! I parked it extra close to the bad part of town, Mom! And I left the door wide open with keys inside, Mom! Christ! Mom!"
"Watch your language!"
"Jesus!"
"What did I just say?!"
"Jeeeeez!"
"That's still too close."

The unfortunate thing was that I did, in fact, reside in the bad part of town.
But I definitely didn't leave my keys in the ignition.

One month later I received the phone call no one was expecting - they had found my car and she was all in one piece. She came back to me! With a busted steering column! And minus my subwoofer! What a dumb name for something!

June 2003.
I moved to Nashville right after fixing my recovered car. 4 hours out of Boston, I realized the mechanics forgot to replace my oil cap. I spent the night in a gas station. This is me, finally leaving Fishkill, NY.

Post-college my car became a living example of all the bad decisions I was making in my life. Dents the size and shape of feet, another broken windshield, two broken doors, stab wounds in her roof. (Stabby StabbyMcStabberson?)
....but mama, I'm in love.....

It was a difficult and very, very, very stupid time in my life. It feels awful that my car still wears those scars, while mine faded all too soon.

Wait, is this going on my carfax report?

Not to get all symbol-y on your asses, but when my now-husband and I started dating, he struck me dumb when he started putting my car back together. Speaker by speaker, bit by bit.
Kids, it's the little things.
Those damnsweet little things.

June 2007.
Road trippin'. Saint Louis. Not married.

September 2009.
On my way to my wedding. Already married. About to get married again.

When I was 9 months pregnant, tight swollen with hormones, fat with scary emotions*, I was driving to work.
I was listening to the Beastie Boys, something I've done a thousand times over in that car, and out of nowhere, I began sobbing. Crying those big ole tears, the ones that really count. My thought process was as such:
"I love the Beastie Boys! I'm about to have a baby! She'll love the Beastie Boys too! Man, she's gonna be so cool! Oh my god! I'm having a cool baby! Waaaaah! Like, literally!"
I know that it doesn't seem like an earth shattering realization, but for some reason it took a while for everything to settle in. Honestly, there are some days when I look at my daughter and say, "Oh my god! I have a baby?!"

It's fun. You should look forward to it.

April 2010.
Quite possibly, the least flattering picture of my child.

That's basically it though. My Gally, my Battle Angel.
A witness to awkward high school proms, college-aged breakdowns (physical and emotional), post-graduate violence/vices, my most favorite love story, and the prettiest baby girl.
That's a lot of years and that's a lot of miles.
198,867 to be exact.

I've learned a lot about that little car, but I still don't know what color she is.
Purple? Grey? Brown? Champagne-y?
Strangely enough though, I owned a pair of corduroy bell bottoms that were exactly the same color.

You'll be missed.
(x infinity. plus one.)



You know what else I miss?
The way Trent Reznor used to look.


*For the record, I wasn't really, really crazy while I was pregnant. The only other time I remember weeping those hard and heavy cries was when I decided to watch Armageddon. Just to see if I could watch it, 9 months pregnant, and not cry. I failed miserably and wound up crying for 5 hours. My husband came home to find me whimpering in my blanket cocoon.
"What happened?!"
"It was like...as soon as they got into space, baby. Everything was just...so hard."

Disasters, floods and one badass mom.

It's been one helluva week.

In case you haven't heard, Nashville is flooded.
Middle Tennessee is flooded.
Western Tennessee is flooded.
This is disaster.

On Saturday, my husband and I watched a live feed of Interstate 24, westbound.
He turned to me saying, "But that's the interstate -- the interstate doesn't flood."
We watched as traffic merged into one lane as Mill Creek pushed over its banks.
Within three minutes, cars began floating into one another.
Passengers were crawling out of their windows, fleeing to the eastbound lanes that still had moving traffic.

It never stopped raining.

We woke up early for a Sunday. Thunder booms and a frightened baby.
At 9am I decided to call my mom, to let her know that we were fine, to make sure that she was safe.
She told me they had closed the road in front of her house.
The Harpeth River was making its way across Bellevue.
While on the phone with her, I could hear an emergency official ask if she was alright.
Telling her to get to the second story.
"I'm okay. I walk with a cane, but I'll be alright."

Within the hour she was evacuated.
And it would be hours still until I would speak with her again.

Waiting for her to call, I watched the news as helicopters flew over Bellevue, over River Plantation.



That's when I couldn't stop shaking.
My jaw locked up and I could only chatter my responses.

Ryan was amazing.
He called around to find a friend, who had a friend, whose mother also lived in River Plantation.
He told me that everything was going to be fine.
And then he went to go find my mom.

Moments after he left, she called.
And then everything was okay.

Because she's Sister Rose. She's my strength and my faith.
And she's my mom.

She's persevered through heart break, pneumonia and paralysis.
She's raised three goofy half-asian kids and dealt with my sister as a teenager.
She's spent more than half of her life living in strange countries; thousands of miles away from her home, her country, her family.
She endured 10 months of agonizing and excruciating physical therapy --
and she walked away from it.
She has flourished and she has always persevered.

And she sure as hell won't let a flood defeat her now.



Plus, two years ago, when I called her up and said, "Um...Ryan and I just eloped..." She didn't get mad.
So that makes her a supreme badass.

Baking Shenanigans. Master Degree.

First up!
As of this afternoon, I have been officially accepted into GRADUATE SCHOOL!
WOOOOOO!

To be honest, I was convinced that they would pass on me. I had no academic references (only professional) and my GRE math score was abominable (like, I'll cringe for the rest of my life when I think of it), but somehow those things didn't really come into play.

What I'd really like to say though, is that even if your academic plans veer slightly off track (i.e. having a baby), you can always go back to school and commence with kicking school's ass.
So now you know, and knowing is half the power. G.I. Joooooe...

...ahem

There was a good amount of random baking experiments this week.


Lemon Meringue Experiment, Take One.
As I'm trying to rework my pie, I threw one together with diced strawberries in the curd.
I do not recommend.

It wasn't a complete disaster, but the strawberries added too much moisture to the filling and the results were creepy and tart. Also, since I'm not accustomed to making just a single pie crust, I wound up leaving out half of my shortening and that my friends, that was the disastrous part.

Lemon Meringue Experiment, Take Two.
A few days later I needed to prove to myself that I actually can make a single pie crust, with all the shortening it deserves. So I did. This time around we only had one lemon (I usually use the juice from two), but we did have that juicy little half-breed, the Minneola Tangelo. So I used the juice from one lemon, about a 1/4 cup, and the same amount from the tangelo.
The results?

Eh....so, so?

Delicious, yes. But I was hoping for more of a blend, you could barely taste the tangelo. I'd really like to tinker with the recipe more, especially since the Minneola Tangelo is from the Orlando area (where the pie championship will be, geography points?) but we're running out of patience and tooth enamel. We'll just have to wait and see.


*By the way, that lemon meringue pie image is definitely not mine. I'm still without my card reader and I've come to the realization that camera phone pictures of food do not look appealing, in any way. Unless you're in really great natural light, which I am obviously not.

Cheers!

Midge.

This past weekend we took an exciting trip to the mall. (Woohoo! Saturday nights!) To make it even more spectacular, we actually just went to the mall to pick up some underwear for my husband. I know, it doesn't get any more fascinating than that, right?

We found ourselves in Pottery Barn kids and Ella did the strangest thing. She walked over to a barrel full of toys and grabbed this 2 foot tall stuffed animal. Which doesn't sound completely strange, but I guess you'd have to know that our baby does not attach to anything, most of the time not even to her parents. So we were completely taken aback by Ella stomping around the store, with the sides of this toy crammed into her chubby little fists. Needless to say, we splurged and bought her this guy:

That's 20 inches of hot pink, corduroy mouse- named Midge.
And no, there's no buyer's remorse here. I am ridiculously in love with the fact that my child now has a dance partner her size and that she has someone else's mouth to force feed crackers into, but the hot pink really threw me.

Here's my theory.
Never try and avoid certain colors when preparing for a baby.
Don't get me wrong, I don't hate the color pink, but I certainly haven't been its most avid fan. And I definitely did not fill little baby girl dressers with it. Needless to say, I was surprised when she completely bypassed the super tall green owl and toddled full speed towards the hot pink mouse.
You just can't run away from the color pink. Your baby girl will find it and she will looove it. Lurve it, even.


Sometimes though, especially late at night, I'm afraid Midge might go all Velveteen Rabbit on our asses.

Pillows. Pies. Valentines.

Goodness. It's been a busy week.
Here's what I've been up to.
I know, I know...the picture quality sucks.
I've been without my card reader, so camera phone pictures it is.

For some reason I've been on a pillow making rampage. I'm actually an awful seamstress so my finished pillows wound up being all kinds of wonky, but they're for Ella's room. So wonky's okay by me...or her. Whatever.


I also made a Valentine's Day pie. Cherry, obviously.


I guess you could say I'm in the process of "training" for the National Pie Championships. Woohoo! (Man, I am a baking nerd.) Currently I'm trekking along, trying to master my recipes and get my time management in check. 3 hours? Two pies? Huzzah!
Can I bake you a pie? No, seriously. Can I? Eat my pie!

OH! Valentine's was ridiculously awesome. I woke up to 99 red balloons, literally, in my living room.
It was perfect. When I was younger, I used to have major issues with grand gestures of romance. I'm pretty sure my husband kicked me of the habit, or maybe he just spins it into something quirky and digestible.

We're also still waiting to hear back from Tennessee's Graduate Program. It's sticky pins and needles kind of stuff. I hate having the What's Next conversation with myself.
"But this is Plan B. There is no Plan C. Oh shit, there's no C?!"
My fingers are crossed and my breath is held. Eep.

On a much lighter note though, Happy Chinese Year!


Look at how white that baby is. Even in a changshan. Who would've guessed?

Cheers!

New new-ness.

Wow.
New resolution to update more often.
Which essentially translates to finding more time for myself.
Sweet, sweet selfish me time.

Here's the quick and dirty.

In September, Ryan and I were married again.
It was crazy stressful, awkward in all the right places and ridiculously awesome.

The only thing my mom and I fought over was the whole pie vs. cake ordeal.
Our compromise went something like this:

D: Fine, I'll have a cake. But it needs to be awesome.
M: Deal. What kind of cake do you want?
D: Kenyah tribal battle shield!

Exhibit A: Shield from my mom's family (the ones in the jungle).


Exhibit B: Battle Cake!


Huzzah! Everybody was happy!
And hopefully I scored some points with my long lost headhunter ancestors. Which is never a bad thing, right?

After the wedding Ryan made a huge career change and picked up a shiny new job (salary and benefits and daytime hours, oh my!) Although deep down, he'll always be my favorite salty bartender.

The holidays came blazing around the corner in a rush of too much food, lots of family time and a whole lotta pie.
Ella's birthday was on the tail end of the season and we celebrated at home and at my friends' wedding.
She was pretty much the sleepiest kid throughout the entire weekend. Although, she did manage to shake her stuff at the reception. Just a bit.

And as of right now?
We're the proud parents of a full blown toddler, whose favorite thing, as of today, is walking backwards in circles.

And to honor Ella's first 12 months of life, here's a group of pictures I call "Thanks for being such a good sport about all of this!"




And maybe just one that's not completely silly.


Cheers!