Today's subject is outside the realm of my normal blogging material, but I'm going to share it anyway.
Do I ever have normal blogging material?
I think not.
In which case … it doesn't really matter, does it?
I'm in the midst of an emotional two weeks right now.
We put my son on a plane for college last Saturday. I bawled, and bawled, and bawled.
This is his second year in college. You'd think I'd be used to saying good-bye, but if you're a parent who has ever sent your kid to live 3,000 miles away, you know there is no such thing as getting used to it. My son stored most of his belongings with college friends prior to summer break so he didn't need us to fly back with him and help him get settled this year.
My daughter, however, will be departing this week to ALSO live 3,000 miles away for school. Of course, she's going to be in an entirely different state than my son because they have to make things as difficult and as expensive for their parents as possible. I will be taking my youngest son (still at home) back east later this week to help get her moved into her apartment. I will do the supervising and my fifteen year old son will do the lifting.
I only have one working arm.
Having two kids move to the other side of the country within a ten day time span has been emotional chaos, plain and simple.
Two years ago, with the best of intentions, I bought a family recipe book for my daughter. She was in her first college apartment and the timing seemed appropriate for a gift related to cooking.
It's a beautiful book. You're supposed to fill it up with family recipes to share with those you love.
This particular book came with beautiful recipe cards, lined pages, and tab dividers to make it easy to compile.
My only complaint about the book I chose, is there are simply not enough pages in it. Yesterday, I ordered a few sets of page refills so I'll be able to add more recipes in the future.
Many years ago, my mom gave me a similar book and I treasure it to this day. I love that the recipes are in her handwriting. I love the time she took to put the book together for me. The book itself, makes me feel cherished. I also use it more than any other cookbook I've ever owned. The recipes are full of comfort and familiarity, warmth and love.
And yet …
The book I bought for my own daughter has sat here, untouched, for two years.
Once I purchased the book, I quickly realized the amount of writing that would be involved. I wanted to write the recipes in my own handwriting, as my mother did for me, not type them. It's hard to explain, but seeing the recipes in my mom's handwriting is almost like hearing her speak. I wanted to give the same gift to my daughter.
I quickly realized the project would involve more than my injured arm was capable of at the time. I've learned to do many things left-handed since my accident, but writing is not one of them. Although my right hand is not damaged, it takes arm-power to move my hand for any length of time. I'm in very short supply of arm power.
In fact, I think it would be accurate to say I have NO arm power.
My daughter's cookbook has been left abandoned, filling me with the guilt of unfulfilled promises.
She leaves this week.
I decided I would get the book done prior to her departure come hell or high water. I set a goal to work on the book every day until she leaves. I even bought an archival quality, waterproof, fade proof, non-bleeding (all that!!) pen and I'm working diligently on her recipe book. I'm slowly making progress, despite taking frequent breaks whenever my arm rebels.
I hope someday this cookbook will mean as much to her as the one from my mother now means to me.
This book is truly a labor of love.
© Twenty Four At Heart