I’m up late baking a cake for my boyfriend as it’s his birthday tomorrow. I’m also a bit fascinated at the changes in me as I’ve aged, and why this is such a daunting task. I mean- I remember back when I was 8 to 10 years of age and I could have whipped this up from scratch. We’re talking using only one hand to deftly crack an egg and empty it into the batter with no shell, then decorating the cake afterwards in a professional manner.

And now I find myself straining to remember the last time I baked, striking yoga poses to reach into back cabinets for long missing electric beaters and squinting at directions printed on the back of a cake mix box, hoping to not screw up the whopping 4 steps I must follow for an edible treat.

It’s funny how some loves stay with you through your life, and some fade in and out on the journey as they’re meant to. I still enjoy cooking, but admit baking is an art that takes more patience than I seem to have anymore.

Looking back, I remember signs that this transition was taking place. I learned how to change the oil on my first motorcycle, but one time when I went to accomplish this I found I couldn’t remove the plug to drain the oil. I called in a friend to help me and when he asked if I had a pan to empty the old oil into he was fairly shocked when I emerged from my apartment with a pie tin that belonged to my roommate. Shock turned to laughter when I used flour to soak up some oil I spilled onto the pavement in the parking lot.

Thankfully these days I’m equipped to perform routine maintenance on my bike without having to steal makeshift tools from the kitchen! Likewise no loose screws will be found in the birthday cake tomorrow, just in the cook…