Tattered and Torn Like a Beloved Stuffed Bear
Money was not abundant when I was young. Five kids and one income meant little left for discretionary spending. Used clothes adorned my closet. I had a soft vinyl doll with a wooden head. The 1900s vintage tricycle with skinny wheels, which remains responsible for many falls.
But what stands out the most loved was a 25-cent Mary Alden’s Cookbook for children that my sister sent one Christmas. I was 8. The pictures of ingredients, measuring cups, and spoons enhanced the instructions. Easy step-by-step pictures in full color for a fail proof recipe.
I loved scraping the remains from bowls after desserts were spooned into their pans to cook. Now I could create my own culinary bowl cleaning episodes. No one dared complain if they got something that charmed their tastebuds. I was in Heaven. The fact I could pop a few extra cookies in my mouth or leave more of the dough in the bowl became a huge reward.
The big challenge, the ingredients. No special requests for items not in the pantry.
I quickly set to work creating Eskimo cookies.
Cornbread was another favorite.
Because I lacked the necessary ingredients, I improvised recipes to create similar dishes.
A few years later, I received the Better Homes Junior Cookbook from my brother, much to my delight. This new book addition broadened my horizons of being a great chef.
Apple crisp, eggnog, panocha, and modified recipes were now on the menu. The book had a few colored photos, but that didn’t deter my mission.
Advancing in status from just the youngest to now being recognized for cooking skills. I graduated to being valued when I felt safe to remove stuff from the oven.
Cooking proved more enjoyable than gardening, yet it never got me a reprieve from weeding.
These 2 books still hold a top place in my 150-cookbook collection.
The first cookbook looks pathetic, tattered by 70 years of existence with its detached covers and a few more loose pages. It is now stored in a Ziplock bag, sitting on my shelf of favorite cookbooks.
I still make cornbread using that little book. Now that I can afford the ingredients, my favorite recipe list from that little book has expanded.
Thoughts of copying the recipes and forgo the book crossed my mind. But keeping that memory of when I first received the book and how it opened a brand-new world lingers every time, I carefully remove it from the Ziploc bag. Although I wonder each time will more pages become detached?
I think some memories need to be kept sacred and to toss the book would mean the end of an era. Something precious lies within those pages that no one can replace. The admiration I had when someone actually liked my child efforts in creating something edible. Opening the book jolts those special moments. The book, although falling apart, will keep them alive.