|It was so hard to let this cake cool before cutting into it.|
Why is it when I bake a coffee cake I get all dreamy and gooey inside, like a knee-socked school girl in Latin class, riveted to the patch of peachy, fuzzy cloud against the swaying swatch of blue between the maple tree branches outside the classroom window, imagining love itself is out there, waiting, breathing, just beyond reach, ready to pounce. Like grace. When you least expect it, a gift arrives. Often in a form you don't recognize at first.
Like a plaid shirt.
And hands that juggle.
The truth is, I didn't even know juggling was on my list.