Rows of colorful Cookbooks.
I've browsed through most of them. There are a few I have yet to read. My Betty Crocker is falling apart in the spots I flip to week after week: Crepes. Chicken Pot Pie.
My cookbooks say a lot about me. I have six volumes on bread baking. Why do I need so many? Maybe I should throw some out, do you think? Most days when I need a recipe I pull it off of Recipezaar or my cookbook software. But I love my cookbooks.... and I realize, as I sit here and stare at them, that there aren't many I'd be willing to let go.
Not because I need the recipes. Most of my old favorites have been converted to digital format now. No, because they are my friends, they were given to me by friends, written by friends!
They are worth the shelf space they occupy. They remind me of who I am and where I came from. Memories of meals I cooked and shared with loved ones are wrapped up in the spines of my cookbooks. A glance at their titles as I pass by puts a smile on my face. Open one and let it's pages tell me a story.
I remember.
I cooked.
I loved.
Precious memories, I can touch them when I hold a cookbook in my hand.
Rows of Cookbooks.
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Great post! I loved all the thoughts that came into mind about mine... It's funny our shelves of cookbooks...I only really like using one. But there's something about inspiration and creativity that makes me hold on to all of mine. I also use them as diaries. Writing on them when I made it, what I liked or disliked, or who shared the meal with me. Someday they'll be found either by my daughters or someone at the 2nd handshop. I like leaving pieces of me behind.
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