When I visited my mum the other day I asked if I could borrow my favourite of her recipe books, which is a blank book she used at school for home economics and has added to ever since.
I love to peruse it, and not just because it has some of my favourite recipes in (my grandmother's doughnut recipe is faithfully recorded, as is my ouma's pannekoek recipe, designed to serve up to a hundred hungry people at a church bazaar). I love to see my mum's handwriting develop, from the straight up and down cursive she used at school to transcribe recipes for things like kidney soup, to the sloppier cursive she used when I was little to write down recipes for funny face cakes, and rice krispie treats. Later the handwriting is more brusque, in capital letters. And now, now it has computer printouts stuffed in the front, recipes googled for and then forgotten.
I love this book, and I have only borrowed it (I'll return it Mum, I promise!). But one day, a horrible day in the future I really don't want to think about, I'd like to say to my sister, you keep Mum's wedding ring and eternity ring. I want her recipe book.