So I have this little kitchen journal of sorts that I keep on hand throughout the week. I am not the greatest at keeping up consistently with a book, a journal, a photo album, ::ehem, a blog:: …but this little journal has stuck with me since before we got married. It’s a good homemaking constant that I thoroughly enjoy…and need.
It came to me as a simple writing journal, given to me by a dear, dear friend, Laura Carlson, for my birthday last year while I was living in Kansas City, far from home and all things familiar. She coordinated a beautiful, quaint birthday party for my 23rd, complete with tea, glorious food, dessert, and about a dozen fabulous female friends with gifts in hand. She had each girl pick out a gift from a box of lovely things she had found that reminded her of me. As each girl gave me their perfectly picked-out gift, they spoke over me and to me something about myself that they love. I’ll never forget this night. It has gone down in my own history book as one of the most revolutionary times in my life so far.
This little journal was one of those things. My lovingly fierce red-headed friend, Wendy Andrews, picked the journal from the box to give to me. She encouraged me to write, and she prayed for grace to journal in this new season of my life. Journaling graces.
I already owned a journal, and the grace has come to use it. However, I never would have known how this little butterfly-embellished journal would serve me in this season. Inspired by my friend, Lindsay Ellyson, I turned it into a kitchen journal. As it is about 1/4 of the way used, I look back at about a billion recipes I’ve gotten to find and explore. So many have allowed me to do what I love doing most: feeding people. So many of these recipes serve as more than just fun recipes; they represent wonderful memories in this season. Brian’s complete birthday party menu from back in April is sketched out over a couple of pages. A surprise stay-in date planned for Brian after he had taken care of me for a week that I was sick in February. The yummy pork sirloin recipe that roasted in the oven for hours, and afterwards was gobbled up by some dear sweet friends over conversation and a movie. Several memorable nights of fun friends over food around our table or in our living room are blueprinted here in this journal. I can look throughout the recipes and remember the foods we really loved and also the ones that could use some work….and the ones we could probably throw out completely.
Scrumptious soups and hardy breakfasts. Heavenly desserts and fresh lunches. There’s just nothing like it.
I like to think that one day, our kids and/or grandkids will argue over who gets this little treasure after we’re long gone to Heaven. Maybe they’ll each pick out their favorite recipes and divide it up amongst themselves, or maybe they’ll start a tradition of choosing recipes from grandma’s journal for all holiday dinners. Or maybe this conglomeration of cut and pasted recipes will at least serve them some laughs as they remember many tried and failed attempts Grandma made while trying to broil just about anything…yes, anything. I am useless if I use a broiler. It’s funny: every time, I forget all about that toast, pizza crust, biscuits, or taco shells, and every time, they come out black. It’s pitiful. I need a better kitchen timer. Or just a better memory. Anyone?
So, until my grandchildren are fighting to the death over my recipe journal, I think I’ll just stick with being 23 and grandchildless, cooking away all my olive oil and baking through all the pastry dough I can get my little hands on, in hopes that some lovely, hungry people will cross paths with me somewhere and I can feed them.