My grandmother was raised in a time of hats and pearls and finger sandwiches and high heels with rhinestone buckles and skirts that twirled.
At the risk of stating the obvious—she was amazing.
She could plan a dinner party for 35 and float across the dance floor in my grandfather’s arms and wear a fur stoll like it was made for her and keep an entire room entertained with her laugh.
But the most incredible thing about her?
The thing that would have made you love her even more?
Underneath all that glitz and glamor and sparkle….
….beat the heart of an artist.
I wanted to be just like her when I grew up.
She was a source of inspiration to me.
I wanted to entertain and create and rescue furniture and paint rooms on step ladders and splatter paint floors and wear bandanas with rolled up jeans and walk along the ocean and find the treasure in the ordinary and look at the world through the eyes of an artist.
And live life with abandon.
And live life to the fullest.
And make every moment count.
I spent this weekend covering books.
I know it’s a little random. You probably had a much more exciting weekend than me. But there’s something about taking a book that isn’t really cute. That has a perfect shape and size and message and a bright orange cover.
And making it look a little mysterious.
(total aside: Just in case you were worried I might forget what each book is—these books are waiting for labels like these.)
After I finished filling a couple of bookcases I was all about myself.
I stood back and look at my stacks of cute books and my bookcases and my heart smiled.
The books were so cute.
The books were incredible.
The books were amazing.
And so I did the only thing a person can do when you discover a little amazing and you have to share.
I called my mother.
And my mother?
She shared a little amazing right back.
Doesn’t it look like I covered it?
Doesn’t it look like the books stacked on my kitchen counter?
IT’S A COOKBOOK MY GRANDMOTHER COVERED.
Years and years and years ago, my fancy grandmother took brick contact paper and scotch tape and taped up her cookbook.
Can you even?
I couldn’t believe it.
And as I stood there in my kitchen surrounded by stacks of covered books holding a cookbook in my hand that my grandmother had covered in almost the same way years before, I felt so close to her. If I closed my eyes I could hear her laugh and see her dancing around the kitchen in Keds and cut off jeans.
And then? These random thoughts swirled around inside my brain.
1. I need to recreate that contact paper pattern on my wall.
2. This cookbook is so all business on the front, party on the inside.
3. I’m not sure if there’s a new idea on the planet.
4. My grandmother wasn’t just amazing—she was years ahead of her time.
5. She made every book cover (and every moment) count.
And maybe. Just maybe.
I was was lucky enough to be a little like her. 🙂
PS In hilarious news. This was the scale she created for her recipes.
I wouldn’t want to be a one star. Ouch. 🙂
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