Two months ago my mother-in-law, Phyllis, moved into our house with her cat, Sabrina. Naturally, when a move such as this occurs, it is not without some trepidation on the part of all parties involved. There are new routines to make and settle into. There is also that icky feeling of things not being comfortable in the way they’ve always been. The first few weeks were not the easiest Steve, Mom and I have ever lived through. In fact, piles of “stuff” are still decorating floor space until we figure out where they can go. All these things are personal treasures with which we are each loathe to part, but have no idea where to put just yet. We’ll get to it eventually, and it will be just fine. Fortunately, the transition has been easier than any of us could have imagined, although not without some rough spots. We are human, after all.

Over the weeks Mom has taken on some of the cooking chores. For the first time in my life, I have an understanding of why some men insist on dinner being on the table when they come home from a long day’s work. To come into a house redolent with the aromas of wonderfully seasoned roasting meats & vegetables and fresh baked biscuits or rolls is a luxurious, even decadent experience. I’m thinking, too, that it’s a very good thing room fresheners do not come in aromas such as spaghetti and meatballs, baked macaroni & cheese and roast chicken or I would be the size of an 18-wheeler. At least my “trailer” would be.

It is a treat when Mom’s time-tested Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook comes off the shelf with its faded red & white checkered cover and its vintage look and feel as well as its wonderfully worn pages that provide a map to Mom’s favorite recipes. I have no idea when this volume was published. The pages that usually supply this information are missing, although the photos appear to be circa 1950 or even earlier. This book was given to her at her bridal shower. Other pages are missing, and the index stops at S-St; from there to Z is gone. I love to look at it, love imagining myself in shirtwaists and apron, wearing hose, heels and pearls while cooking like the models in the pictures. They make me laugh, so strange does that concept seem, reminding me of the television mothers of my childhood. When this book appears I just know we are in for an adventure. Steve is treated to meals he remembers with great fondness from his childhood, and I am treated to bits of family history that I may never have heard otherwise. I get to hear memories while enjoying these savory and comforting suppers that go back to Mom’s days as a young Navy wife living on thin government pay. These tales are such an extraordinary gift that sometimes dinner has a particularly festive feel to it. Mom’s cooking, her stories and the time we share as we learn to live with one other is already creating memories to be cherished when I reach her age, while at the same time providing new and comfortable routines with which we can be at ease.

Mom enjoys what I make from my collection of cookbooks and relishes no longer having to cook every meal for herself. She finds enormous pleasure in having someone else with whom to break bread. Every now and again, Steve turns into the Grill Meister and treats us to one of his barbecued specialties. But he doesn’t use our cookbooks; he just enjoys “creating.”

I know that neither Mom nor I ever imagined our old cookbooks would be the key to a peaceful and easy transition of two separate families into one family unit. But they have. It is magical the way the chemistry of food and people have mixed together to create new beginnings and splendid repasts.  



Anne Michael is a passionate reader, unusual thinker, humorist extraordinaire and exquisite writer who has graciously agreed to share her insights on books, reading and life when she can pull her head out of her current book. She can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it