The Recipe Box



As I pulled the old metal box from the cabinet,  I once again chided myself for the disorganized mess of recipes stuffed inside.  In thinking about our retirement and downsizing, I have had the best intention to sort, re-type and get them all in a file on the computer.   I’ve meant to do that *for years* but it just never seems to happen.

As I looked through the box today, I finally understood why.

My life is in there.  The little green metal box that probably cost less than one dollar all those years ago now holds precious memories and friendly ghosts.

There are recipes printed in my teenage handwriting. When I hold them, I can see that idealistic young girl, carefully writing, making sure she gets everything copied correctly.  There are recipes from Dave’s grandmother, in her handwriting and from my mother in hers. I can see them both so clearly in the kitchen. There are recipes from people I met on our many moves, friends for a time but lost in the transition. There are water stained well-used recipes; the family favorites my now grown children ask for when they visit.


These are the recipes I have been making for over forty years. I know them by heart, but I still get the recipe from the box when I cook. More, I think, for the memories than the list of ingredients.

I don’t think there will be any sorting, retyping or putting the contents of this box on the computer.   The memories and the feelings I get when I hold each recipe are precious. There is no way to transfer those to a computer file.

The little metal box stuffed so full of my life will go where I go, just as it is.







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1 Response to The Recipe Box

  1. I have recipes written by my teenage self in mine too!

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