Last night I exercised some (premature) house-wifely tendencies. I went to a baking class. Or rather, a cake-decorating class. And in a task that probably shouldn't have made me nervous---because I chose to go, because I enjoy it, because it is something I have always wanted to learn---I still was. But---minus the cracked fondant, the air-bubble and my own awkward clumsiness---it was fun. And I learned a lot---and that, that progress is all I really wanted.
It felt a little strange to take a class in something hands on. I am not used to that, really, having moulded the last five or so years around more theoretic things. (Although, I confess, I've never really been that good with my hands---probably why my choices have been the choices they are: book-based).
But I'll go again next week. And then I'll just see what happens---you never know, I might have a (pretty) cake to show you.
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