Old Recipes

I have a vast collection of old recipes. The hand-written recipes on 3x5 cards are my favorite. My grandmother gave me many of hers, which contained some of her mother's; who died when my grandmother was only a girl of 15. Wow! That's a long time ago! It's wonderful to have something of my great-grandmother's, written by her own hand, and was valued greatly by her.

My appreciation for these old recipes began when I was in junior high. I was extremely shy as a child. My mom had a unique idea. On Saturdays, we would rise early, stop at Dunkin' Donuts, and head straight for an estate auction somewhere nearby. She would give me $20 and encourage me to bid on whatever I wanted.

I made some great buys. Once I bought an old army trunk full of antique hats and purses. When we got home, I pulled everything out and matched the hats and purses together. My bed was completely covered. I tried on my favorite hat. I grabbed the "matching" purse, and put my Bonne Bell lip gloss in, and pranced around the house for awhile. Soon, I reached in to retrieve the lip gloss. I couldn't feel it. I opened the purse wide, and saw that there was a hole in the lining at the bottom corner.

I fished out the gloss, thereby making the hole even bigger. But I could also feel something else. I fished it out. It was an old $5 bill. I was so excited, I started checking all the purses. From them, I found over $200 in old bills. It was a wonderful lesson, and the people behind their old belongings became fodder for my imagination and appreciation. I spent hours thinking about the previous owners of my finds.

One time, we attended an auction at a beautiful old home. Everything was so fancy, I could not bid, having only $20. One of the last things to be auctioned was an old box full of newspaper clippings, stationary and - that's right - 3x5 cards. I bid on it just because I didn't want to leave empty handed. I got the whole box for $1, as nobody else wanted it.

When I got home, I emptied the box on my bed, as usual. I organized the papers. The recipes stood out to me. Firstly, some of the dishes seemed tasty. Secondly, I thought it an awful large amount of work for a person to print out each of these cards, dozens, maybe over 100 of them. I gathered them up and ran down to the kitchen, where my mom was preparing some Saturday sloppy joes. I showed her the cards with amazement. She laughed, and pulled out her own box. "Here are my favorite recipes. Someday you will have your own box. It makes life easier."

I saw my mother's familiar, neat cursive, patiently instructing the reader how to prepare some of my personal favorite things to eat, such as "Special Occasion Chili Dip" and "Roast Beef Stew." I asked her if I could have her recipes when she dies. "Of course, you can have them any time you want them." I went back to my room to put everything back in the box.


I thought about the lady who had loved those recipes. I wondered how in the world someone could forget about their mother's prized recipes, which were prepared for the health and enjoyment of her family.

Ever since that day, I have never passed up an opportunity to get my hands on hand-written recipes. Somehow, I believe that someone should appreciate them, and I do. I have probably fifty recipes for chocolate cake, but it's not only the recipe that endears it to me. It is the handwriting, the stains from use, the comments added later like "good!" and especially the love that went into the preparation of the food each and every time the card was used.