Storm of Thoughts

Stacks of This and Piles of That

As you may have noticed, I like recipes. In fact, I LOVE them. Whether or not I intend to actually make them (although, let’s face it, recipes are always clipped and saved with the best of intentions), I can’t get enough. I long for new cookbooks, subscribe to more cooking magazines than I have time to read, and search the internet for new ideas. I collect my favorite recipes and (eventually, after months and months of trying to organize piles) get them safely tucked away into labeled binders. And, of course, I cook with them. I remember where they came from (those that originated in our family being especially memorable: “My mom’s meatloaf is famous,” “my grandma got this recipe years ago,” “Irene made this for Christmas,” etc.) and lovingly dirty their edges with marinara sauce drippings, potato soup spills, or, my favorite, buttery fingers from cookie dough.

I subscribe to the same school of thought as my mom and Irene (her cousin): whoever has the most recipes when they die wins. (Of course, Irene may have been talking about shoes, this part is unclear). And, really, recipes are not the only collection I delight in. I also love my purses. Big, small, totes, over-the-shoulder, black, or summery pinks and blues and greens. I’m not sure when this started, but my love affair with purses has been going on for years and years. Walking through a department store any time of year often results in a new purse for a special occasion - or no occasion at all. (I have, in fact, many that were bought as a “welcome spring/summer/winter/fall” purse. Any excuse, as you can see.) And while I may not use them all everyday, it makes me happy when I have the perfect purse to take on the spontaneous road trip, to match my flip flops exactly, or to lend to a friend, all things that I will remember the next time I use it. (”This is the purse I took shopping on the trip to L.A, and this to my senior prom.”) In fact, after not using a purse for awhile, I’m always surprised by the slips of paper, the movie tickets, and the little souvenirs I find inside. For that alone, the big collection is worth it.

The last thing I (lovingly) horde? Books of all kinds. Not just cookbooks, although I have more of those than I have room for. Novels, classic fiction, used books from library sales, books I read in high school or college and could never part with, nonfiction, even favorite children’s books. (Even one small book written by my dad, “Captain Jack,” the subject of which is sharks.) I love books, and I love them all. And I may not read them all right away; some I may pick up and put down again countless times over several months or years. But one day, when I turn to one of the many bookshelves in need, there it will be. The book I didn’t know I was looking for.

My mom occasionally tells me that I’m a pack rat like my dad. And yet, she would agree with all three of these collections (being as they are all so practical). They are just things, but it gives me joy to find them, to use them, to share them, and to remember the memories that came with them.

What things are in your stacks and piles?

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