When I turned 45, I lay in bed reflecting on all life had taught me. My soul sprang a leak and ideas flowed out. My pen simply caught them and set the words on paper. I typed them up and turned them into a newspaper column of the 45 lessons life taught me. When I hit 50, I added five more lessons and the paper ran the column again.

If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.

Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.

If baking is any labor at all, it's a labor of love. A love that gets passed from generation to generation.

Bakers get excited over aprons. I love the soft cotton ones with pockets like my gramma and mom wore. They always kept a hankie tucked in one pocket, which wasn't sanitary, but was comforting to the child who needed a tear or nose wiped.

When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

Baking happens with ingredients that last for months and come to life inside a warm oven. Baking is slow and leisurely.