A few years ago I made a cross country move, transplanting myself from sunny California to gorgeous Boston. Instead of moving a bunch of stuff, I took only what I could fit in my car. A lot of wonderful things were given away, donated and left behind. I was on an adventure and there wasn’t room for too much stuff.
You know what didn’t get left behind? My cookbooks.
In my own defense I gave several away and donated others. Still, there was a lot. Probably too many. I snuck them under car seats and in boxes. My sister in law Angel got a few more next to the spare tire. She got a lot of stuff in that little car that I didn’t think would fit. She’s scrappy like that and I love her for it. In Boston, my introverted soul discovered it was a lot harder to make friends and meet people than I realized. I turned to my books, faithful and steady friends.
I got brave and ventured out into the city where I discovered the grand Boston Public Library in the heart of Boston on Boylston Street. I spent hours searching the shelves, looking through cookbooks and biographies, walking through the art filled hallways (and stairwells and rooms- so much to see!) and discovering more about the cooks I loved and others I grew to love.
I migrated back to California, more than a year ago. I’ve made it a purpose to stay light. No furniture (except for a bookcase) and not a lot of stuff. Who knows when another adventure may call my name! I’ve got to be prepared for what could be right around the corner.
I thought I was light until I moved a few weeks ago. Reality hit me like a loaf of over baked bread. The new place is on the third floor. With no elevator. So this means lots of walking and climbing. Do you know how heavy a box of books is? Multiple that by several boxes of books (one of the few things I have trouble parting with in life- and my trunk can handle quite a few boxes of books!) and I started counting how many cookbooks I actually have.
Well, I didn’t count. I stacked. It was a big stack, almost as big as my bookcase. Sheesh.
I thought to myself, I should really lighten up. I don’t need all these cookbooks! But I found myself browsing through them instead of eliminating them. They’re friends in a way. I don’t know about you but I go through baking phases. Certain recipes I’ll make over and over at a particular season. Certain cookbooks I drool over at different seasons. Some books feel like friends I’ve bonded with over coffee and thoughtful conversation.
So they’re here to stay. At least until the next move.
Do you feel the same way about some inanimate objects in your life? Are your books your friend (please tell me I’m not the only weird one!)