RIP my handwritten cookbook.

You lasted me 33 years. You were begun with recipes from my grandma*, and I just wrote the latest in you two days ago.

You have no organization, but I always knew where to find something.

I'll miss your stains, your additions, and your random page of non-food recipes. You have been a record of my changing handwriting through adulthood.

Farewell, my friend.

* terrible recipes, she was a bad cook (ok, the kugel is good)