Sending Cookie-Shaped Hugs (plus recipe: Salted Caramel Sugar Cookies)

As you’ve probably guessed by now, food is my love language. I can’t always give hugs to the people I care about. My friends and family members live all over the world (usually far beyond my arms’ reach), which is kind of amazing, when you think about it, but it makes getting together for a casual “I’m thinking about you” date kind of difficult to pull off. So when I hear that a friend is having a rough time, cookies are often the tangible way I can send my love.

These cookies were created for my friend, Amanda Gardner, who is an amazing woman, a terrific writer, and someone who always takes time to let me know that I’m loved when I’m having a rough day. (She’s a super-creative video game designer as well. Her new game, Perception, released at the end of May. And while the game is far too intense for my sensibilities, I know a lot of people who will absolutely fall in love with it. I’m proud of what she has accomplished.)

So when Amanda joked one day, after seeing one of probably a million cookie pics I had posted on Facebook, that she was having a rough week and I should send her some cookies to make it all better … I had to create a custom cookie flavor just for her.

Salted caramel sugar cookies may not quite cure the troubles in your life, but they’ll definitely make you smile! (Unless, of course, you don’t like sharing. Because I guarantee: everyone within sniffing distance will be lining up in your kitchen for a taste!)

Salted Caramel Sugar Cookies

Usually, I flatten the cookie dough slightly before baking, but for these mini (1/3 size) cookies, I left several of them unflattened for a different texture (I wouldn't recommend it for full-sized cookies, as they'd be underbaked in the center).

You will need:

1 can sweetened condensed milk

2 c. butter

1 c. sugar

3 eggs

2 tsp. baking powder

2 tsp. vanilla

1 tsp. salt

7 c. flour

Coarsely-ground sea salt (opt.)

Make caramel with the sweetened condensed milk:

Pour sweetened condensed milk into a large (2 quart) glass bowl. (It won’t fill up much of the bowl, but don’t give into the temptation to use a smaller bowl. You need plenty of room for expansion as the caramel boils, or you’ll have a mess to clean up afterward!)

Microwave on high for 2 minutes. Stir briskly, then scrape down the edges of the bowl with a rubber spatula.

Continue to microwave for 4 more minutes, stopping the microwave every 30-45 seconds to stir the mixture and scrape the milk off the walls of the bowl. (Watch carefully, as the milk tends to bubble up and may boil over if you’re not paying attention.)

Chill for 30 minutes in the refrigerator.

Cream together butter and sugar.

Beat in eggs, baking powder, vanilla, salt, and caramel.

Add half of the flour and mix until fully incorporated. Then, add remaining flour, 1 c. at a time, beating between each addition.

Portion dough with a 1-inch cookie scoop, then flatten each cookie ball into a disc, about ¼” thick. Sprinkle with sea salt, if desired.

Bake on parchment-lined baking sheets for 8 minutes at 400 degrees Fahrenheit. (Don’t overbake, or cookies won’t be soft!)

Cookies and Hugs Might Not Fix the World, But I'll Do My Best!

There is so much darkness in the world today. Hatred, violence, intolerance … and hiding away in a bubble of ignorance (as tempting as that may sound) doesn’t help. After all, “Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing” (JohnStuart Mill). It’s absolutely vital, now more than ever, to stand up for the things we believe in with courage and conviction.

But I’m learning that there are a lot of different ways to stand up, and it’s okay if my stance doesn’t look exactly like yours. We all have different abilities and strengths. I may not be as tall as you, or be able to carry the same kind of load. Some people might be able to reach greater distances in a single leap or run farther before they have to stop to rest. But we all have something to contribute.

I’ve been feeling terribly guilty for months, because I’m just not doing enough. Even on my tiptoes, I can’t stand as tall as some of the giants I know.

I see my friends marching in rallies and making live broadcasts of their daily phone calls to senators and members of congress to make their voices heard.

I see other friends writing articles and blog posts and books that highlight Important issues to enlighten the world.

And I’ve felt like a gigantic failure, because I’m not Making A Difference. I can’t march because anger (even when rightfully directed at great injustices) literally paralyzes me (stupid brain tumor). And though I’m proud of the sweet, fluffy stories I tell, I may never write the kind of Important books my friends do.

Except …

There was the little Hispanic girl at the Gaithersburg Book Festival a couple of weeks ago who excitedly hugged my book and exclaimed “the princess looks just like me!” (I wish I had a picture, because the resemblance was uncanny. They even had the same glasses!) And maybe this little girl had never seen herself in a princess book before. But she stood a little taller as she walked away, clutching a bookmark and pin depicting the princess that looked just like she did.

Maybe it was important to her.

And I may not have the kind of strength that makes a hero, but I have arms that are great at giving hugs and ears that are highly skilled listening devices. I might not be able to confront the bullies on the playground, but I can definitely lift and support those who are being attacked. And I might not be able to fix everything, but maybe I can make one small corner of the world just a little bit better. And maybe that is important enough.

I will probably continue to feel guilty more days than not. By tomorrow morning, I will likely be once again feeling like my contribution isn’t good enough. Because, to be honest, there will never be a “good enough” until the good shines stronger than darkness, lifting those who have been beaten down to cower in the shadows. And I will never stop wishing that I could stand a little taller and reach a little farther and banish the bullies from the playground.

Maybe someday I will get there. At least, if I keep trying, I will get closer. But in the meantime, I will do what I can. And for now, I know I can do this:

I can look for the goodness in the people around me. I can acknowledge the beauty of those who might feel invisible, those who feel forgotten and neglected. I can be there to listen when someone needs to talk, and I can amplify the voices of those who stand a bit taller or reach a bit farther than I can. Those who have such Important things to say.

And I can spread sunshine in the ways I know how. With bubbles and fairy tales and chocolate sprinkles on top.

Cookies and hugs might not fix the evil in the world, but sometimes the little things are Important too.

Gray Hairs and Aging Gratefully

I got my first gray hair a little while ago (I would post a picture as proof, but I accidentally pulled it out while I was trying to get a closer look – to prove that it was, in fact, a gray hair and not just a trick of the light.)

I got my first gray hair, and I cried.

I’m not mourning the loss of my youth or feeling down about moving over the hill. I cried not because I was upset, but because I honestly didn't ever think I'd make it this far.

For more than half of my life, I’ve wondered if I’d ever get to the gray hair stage. Even before they found my brain tumor, I wondered.

When I was in school, and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always told them I wanted to be a stay at home mom and a famous author of children’s books. What I didn’t ever say out loud was that I hoped, beyond anything else, that I could grow up. And sometimes, when I got dizzy and passed out while reaching for something on a high shelf, or when I couldn’t eat for a week at a time because everything I swallowed came right back up … Sometimes, I secretly felt like my body might just stop working one day, with no warning, and I’d be gone.

Then, in my second year of college, I slept past my alarm one morning. Which wouldn’t usually be terribly alarming. After all, college is all about late nights and sleeping in. But then I just kept sleeping. For three weeks. And even when I woke up, I often couldn’t move or speak. My husband managed to rouse me for a few minutes each day, to feed me a few bites of soup or something easy to swallow, but then I’d slip away again. Once or twice, I woke up enough to get out of bed. I spent almost all of those waking moments at the doctor’s office, where they verified that something was wrong, but the tests were so contradictory that they couldn’t pinpoint a cause. So they wrote notes to my professors, excusing me from the classes and tests I’d missed, and ordered more tests. It was a terrifying three weeks, and I wondered if this was the moment I’d secretly feared for so long. Every time I slipped back into unconsciousness, I wondered if it might be the last time. If I’d ever wake up again. … Until, as suddenly as it came, my mysterious illness was gone.

But I continued to have random, mystery illnesses that popped up from time to time. Never the same thing twice, but always just as baffling to me and my doctors. Until finally, nearly fifteen years ago, they discovered my brain tumor. Which explained a lot, but still causes a lot of confusion and consternation among my doctors, who never know what to do with me. (Seriously, what do you do with a patient who demonstrates the symptoms of a severe allergic reaction whenever she eats anything, but tests negatively for all allergies?)

But here I am, just past forty, and even though I wouldn't exactly call life a cake walk, I'm still here. I’m getting gray hair. And that's beautiful.

(Maybe one day, I’ll even get to have wrinkles!)