The Specter of Age

Sylvia's anticipation of the sweet treat in front of her was palpable. All that was left was to top her creation with a delicious cherry. Grabbing the jar from the fridge, she goes to open the lid as the door shuts. But something isn't right, the jar won't open. Surely she just needed to adjust her grip on the lid. After all she had opened this jar many times prior. This time it just wouldn't open.
     Whipping the eggs to stiff peaks was always a tedious task to do by hand, but Sylvia was used to it. Her mentor would always tell her machines could never replace human touch in the culinary arts. Today the task seemed a bit harder than usual. Her arm and wrist were getting tired. She must just be having an off day. She just needs to work through it, to get it done.
     The cake should be just about done, but why hasn't it risen? She did everything she normally does... Ah, she forgot the baking powder. How silly of her; she really is a space-case today. Too bad it can't be fixed now. Sylvia is just going to have to eat a dense cake and bake a new one for her friend's party. Thankfully the party isn't until tomorrow. As soon as the new cake is out of the oven, this time with baking powder, all that is left is to let it cool off before decorating.
      It's hard for Sylvia to tell her grandchildren she can't bake their favorite desert anymore. She can't remember all of the ingredients or what order they go into the mix. It hurts her to see the smile fade from their faces. Even now as she goes to make herself something to eat, she has to read through a recipe book to figure out the right way to do so. It's hard to read some of the instructions without her glasses, but she believes it's close enough. Dinner doesn't taste like it used to, nothing is what it used to be. Her body can't keep up with her spirit. Tonight she mourns for the girl she used to be.