I spend a majority of my life looking for things I have lost.
Hair clip, patience, phone number, social security card, a skirt, notes, language..
Ferdinand lost the leg of his 1 inch lego skeleton twice today and the mirror that the Sherlock version of the same height/weight carries. 15 minutes. Couldn’t find my yellow mixing bowl. 5 minutes active looking, 10 minutes thinking about it at breakfast. Where does a mixing bowl go?
I could use ropes to tie it all to me.
Or let it go.
A few years ago I lost all of my recipes and cookbooks. Everything. It wasn’t that I dropped them on my way to work or left them at an old address a half a lifetime away, it was a flood in the basement. And about a week ago I was thinking about the notecards that I had started to collect when I was small that I wrote recipes on. Recipes from my grandma, recipes from a
Bon Appetit at the orthodontists office, recipes that I heard passed over cake in the parish house, when I was still young and religious. I was missing those recipes. I used to carry them around in my pocketbook, just in case. Then day before yesterday on my way down to the basement, I saw them sitting on a single shelf. Alligator cake, 3 pepper turkey tortillas, 14 vegetable soup, and cheese twirls. I couldn’t believe it. Aside from the twirls from my grandma, there wasn’t one I wanted.
It was like bumping into an old boyfriend. Cute, but clear you don’t cook like that anymore.