Drawing Conclusions

Give me a three-hole punch and a binder. Scissors, stapler, and a stack of my subscriptions … I am good to go. Among winter’s many graces are snowy nights stuck inside. I have been organizing the dickens out of my home. The promise of having a place for everything requires removal. I have shed two years worth of Sunset magazine by clipping and filing into binders to match their mission: travel, home & garden, food. I am transferring notes from my monthly Cooking Light into their annual cookbook. This is my ninth year of loyalty. In fact, I am donating three cookbooks other’s have gifted me because I simply won’t use them.

This year-end scrub up and filing fantasia is even more delightful as I completed today both a sketchbook and a diary. I watercolored the last page of my Moleskine notebook bought in San Francisco in ‘06. The first painting was on Labor Day ’08 and I have consistently painted an impromptu picture each holiday since. I also finished a wood-covered journal bought in New York last year. First entry was the day after Thanksgiving ’09. It brings great pleasure to crack open a new Moleskine (scheduled for Martin Luther King Day) and a new journal I bought last month in San Francisco.

In truth, I spoke to soon. I have yet to tackle the filing cabinet. I just don’t think I can do it without a paper shredder. My organizational armory is incomplete.

Cookbook as Journal

For the past decade I have been recording notes in my cookbooks. By now they are a journal of sorts; a gustatory camera.

     Bullets in the index rank my achievements. Scrawls throughout the chapters denote changes made, mistakes to avoid, and a surprising amount of recollections: the Antipasto Italian Roll-Ups were not only great for camping, but just the words Tony Grove July '04 bring a rush of memories: the toy turtle on the rocks I mistook for a real baby, and cycling for only the second time since college.

     Cookbooks also are a great way to use of many of my favorite paper products. I use Russel and Hazel sticky-notes at the back of the books to remind me "best lunches" or "worth a repeat" categories. By now, they also boast a bevy of yet-to-try dishes I'd need three more lives of cooking to catch up to. I also use Chronicle Book's fancy labels on the inside front covers to remember entire menu's. A great way to retain what would otherwise have been transient treasures, such as Jill Bliss and Lotta Jansdotter's inspired work. I even use Bob's Your Uncle page markers when cooking from multiple pages in one book. Basically, my cookbooks have transcended their utility as food resource. Sometimes they feel like napoleons of paper delights!