Getting older is strange.
I call this cake: Home
It is nostalgia in a bottle. It tastes like childhood (something about Fall I’m just all about it) the most direct route back for me; the senses… 1. smell 2. taste…
My mom and Randi had a little cake party for me turning 26. I made the cake. Caramel Cake. I mastered the homemade carmel, which made me happy. I have tried numerous times and failed but yesterday I got it right.
I made myself a birthday cake to take myself back. It got me to thinking about halloween decorating. When I was a kid, I’d go to visit my dad we would spend theentire weekend making decorations to strew on his lawn, and hang from the trees in front of his big house. I would stuff pillowcases to make hanging ghosts and draw faces on them with magic markers. . . carve faces on pumpkins. In some warped connected way, I bit into that cake and tasted that. What life tasted like then, and still can if I let it. Thing is, I forget a lot. At least If I forget, the cake doesn’t.
the yoga of cake 