I've heard this advice about tackling hard things: pick the thing on your to-do list that you want to do least and just do it! Once you've scratched it off, the rest of the list feels easier, like coasting downhill slowly, as you tick down the items. You feel empowered by having accomplished that first unpleasant bit.

Fun fact: Sometimes you can't do the thing you want to do least for the obvious reason that you DON'T WANT TO DO IT. But that's okay. You try again the next day. Like those wretchedly long papers you had to write in college, somehow it gets accomplished!

I'm out at our house this weekend, happily breathing in the sea air and stopping at all the beaches around town, watching the water change color with the hour. There's something specifically wonderful about the ocean in winter weather. It's mercurial and capricious, swinging quickly from a calm and brilliant turquoise to a sullen navy blue, the surface swirled by cold winds and pelted with ice. 

The electric feeling in the air before a snowstorm reminds me of being little again. There's a giddiness and a building anticipation; throughout the city, the energy feels heightened. The grocery stores are busier, everyone seems chattier. The television screens inside nail salons and sports bars hum with red headlines promising "up to 6 inches!" and images of handsome weathermen interspersed with still shots of previous winters: Central Park blanketed in snow, cabs swerved on icy roads, and so on.

What marks a life well-lived better than cake? The happiest, most celebratory moments are marked by it. I tick through brightly-colored memories in flavors of cake. Wedding cake. Birthday cake. Sunday morning coffeecake. Post-field hockey game apple cake. Chocolate lava cake after high school nights out. Funfetti cake from a mix after college nights out. Chiffon cake, frosted Yule logs at Christmas, simple yogurt cakes topped with fresh strawberries from the garden all summer.