When I was about 11 years old, I got my mother a recipe box for Christmas. I’m not sure how I got the idea, but I knew exactly what I wanted: a metal file box to hold three-by-five index cards.
Most such boxes in those days were a dark army green, but at our local Ben Franklin five-and-dime I found the perfect one -- red plaid with white trim. In addition, I was able to get a packet of dividers with food categories already printed on the tabs, along with a pack of blank cards to make the package complete.
My mother loved it and used that recipe box for the rest of her life. I still have it, of course. The outside is a bit yellowed, but it is not dented or rusted, and the lid's hinge still works smoothly. Most of the tabs on the dividers are dog-eared. One card has a bit of cake batter on it, a couple show splashes of liquid, and one is splattered with grease.
A few of the cards were provided by others, but most of them are in my mother's own hand, or typed by her (I recognize the type face of that old Remington portable). She put a notation in the upper right corner of every card indicating the source of the recipe: a person's name, a product, a newspaper. On several, the notation in the upper right corner is "My Own," underlined.
I keep my recipes in Word documents in a file called “Cookbook” on my computer. I copied all the recipes from her file box into my computer documents long ago, but I still can't bring myself to get rid of that box or its contents. I probably never will.
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