Cookbook Memories

 My grandmother, meaning my Mom's Mom, died suddenly in the summer of 1995. I took her loss extremely hard. We had been close as I was growing up. I was fifteen when she passed. I was a frightfully rebellious teenager who was very preoccupied with sex and a bunch of other silly things that meant nearly nothing in the fullness of time. I got worse for a few years after she died. The term troubled youth likely applies. I didn't process her loss until my mid twenties when another in a long line of disappointing girlfriends got caught cheating on me. I cried for the first time in over a decade at that point as too many bottled emotions came crashing out all at one time. I missed my grandmother. I didn't really care a fig about the cheating. The girl and I are still friends. 

When I lost my Mom a few years ago I was forced through another big bout of emotional processing. That time required professional help and a fair amount of personal accountability. I didn't have the luxury of bottling up emotions to spill out at some inconsequential event. I am thankful I didn't wait. It makes memories a lot easier to enjoy. I have been in a perpetual state of cleaning and reorganizing my life since Mom died. 

Imagine my delight as I went through Mom's cookbook collection. A few years before she died she gave me a wonderful gift of a handwritten cookbook full of my favorite of her recipes. I cooked a bit at that point, but I didn't use that cookbook until well after she was gone. Finding her copy of her handwritten recipe book was really amazing. She held back on my recipes only including foods to my taste at that point in my life. I am sure she would be shocked to see the things I enjoy eating today are full of veggies I wouldn't touch a few years ago. 

I got a little sad that Mom isn't here with me to talk about her love of cooking. I contemplated making some of her favorites like fried squash to celebrate. Then, I stumbled across another treasure. Mom had saved her Mom's handwritten cookbook. It has been at least twenty years since I last laid eyes on my grandmother's handwriting. My eyes watered right up as I quickly thumbed through that book. I missed them both, and I found myself silently thanking them for leaving behind a tangible thing that was important to them. 

I started looking a little differently at my virtual cookbook and my move away from physical media. I don't know for sure that I will move back to something physical, but I can tell you that I am extremely tempted. Being able to put my hands on a book that was precious to my Mom and my Grandmother is powerful. Teagan and Taila can pick up lots of things that I love, but how many of those things are penned in my own hand? There is clearly some value in that. 

It is also a fine reason to keep writing. This blog may not be my finest legacy, but it is something that I spent time building in spite of the fact it is not well read. Stephen King compared the act of writing to telepathy. The reader is touching the mind of the author across the gulf of space and time. That is a pretty amazing magic trick. I just wish I had something more meaningful to say. 

It is time to work more on that. After all, a guy who can pull of home made orange chicken and Lo Mein noodles is very likely to be able to come up with something intelligent to say that might leave a lasting impression. It is something to aim for anyway. Something meaningful.... something lasting.