How One Cake Taught Me Everything About Life

— Mama Tiff

Once a year—and only once—I make this cake. (This is what I do for Jack. He decorates the tree, and I make his favorite cake.)

Mama Tiff’s Orange Cranberry Cake.

She’s legendary. She’s stunning. She’s not for the faint of heart.

This is not your “whip-it-up-on-a-Saturday” situation. This is a full-body, emotional, seasonal experience.

To make her, you need to:

• Separate eggs like a high priestess of patience

• Whip the whites until your triceps scream for mercy

• Grate zest, sift flour, and chop 150 cranberries in half

• Cry a little. Swear a little. Light a candle.

• Wonder why you’re doing this…

• Then remember: Because it’s worth it

This cake is a metaphor. But it’s also really, really good.

Here’s what I remembered while making it:

Life looks too big when you try to hold it all at once.
The grief.
The to-do list.
The holidays.
The memories.
The people you’ve lost.
The ones who walked away.
The parts of you that ache in the quiet.

But if you stop trying to fix the whole thing—and just do the next thing in front of you—you start building something beautiful without even realizing it.

One step.
One cranberry.
One egg white.
One deep breath.

Suddenly? You’ve made something sacred.

So if you’re overwhelmed right now, if life feels like “too many ingredients”—

I love you.

You don’t have to fix it all.

Just separate the eggs.
Then zest the orange.
Then chop the damn cranberries.

The rest will come.

And when it does?

You’ll look down at what you created and whisper:
“Damn. Look what I made.”

This is the cake.
This is the lesson.
This is The Queen’s Path.