It all started when my kids complained when I created a new meal (that they liked), and they requested it for dinner again, I couldn’t remember exactly what I had done the first time. It was rare when all 3 of them wanted the same meal, so I began to write things down.
“I’ll write a cookbook!” I announce to my family.
My mission was to combine the recipes I had saved from newspapers, magazines, post-it’s, and stolen from friends and relatives. My recipe file box was so crammed, that I got rid of the box and transferred the mess into file folders.
Now I can’t find a damned thing.
That was 19 years ago. My kids are in their 30’s and live elsewhere. One of them will call me from time to time, asking how to make such and such, and I think about the cobwebs and dust on my cookbook. Do I give up and buy a bigger recipe box? Or do I get off my butt and get ‘er done?
Opportunity to work on various writing projects came about when I moved into my mom’s house last summer. I moved in my recipe files and draft cookbook. I now have access to mom’s recipe box – stuffed with recipes from her childhood. Old favorites both she and I forgotten about. Excited and motivated, I resurrected the project and began to experiment on my new victims. I would finally finish my cookbook and pass it down to my kids and grand-kids.
How naïve of me. My time is not my own here – mom needs a lot of attention, as does my telecommute agreement with work. And then I discovered the joys of blogging. I need more spare time!
This 3-day weekend I will attempt to make progress on my little cookbook. I’ll keep you posted (pun intended). I may even pass along a recipe or two…