Divorce can be ridiculous.

My mother is a terrific cook, as was her mother

before her, as they both taught my brother and me.

My father’s mother could not cook to save a dog’s life.

In leaving my mom, my dad knew what he was he was losing.

To that end, he had his lawyer add a stipulation into the divorce

agreement: He requested half of my mom’s recipes!

He made this request in writing.

 

This request quickly became a family joke.

How on earth was he entitled to even one of her recipes?

Between gales of laughter, Mom would ask, “Which half

of my recipes should I give him? He didn’t specify.

Does he want the ingredients or the directions?

Or does he want me to rip them all in half? If I do that,

does he want all the right side halves because I’m a lefty?”

The jokes were relentless.

 

Dad would feed the comedy with his own actions.

Unable to get Mom to cooperate with his recipe request,

the only time he had to copy recipes was when he stayed

with us when Mom was out of town. He would sit hunched

over Mom’s recipe books and boxes while sitting on the high

bar stools with the uncomfortable bars in the back of the seat.

 

Dad didn’t know the names of the recipes, so his list featured

items like “Mom’s chocolate pie,” “Grandma’s Meatloaf,” and

“easy chicken and rice.” These recipes would not be easy to find

by description within Mom’s labyrinthine recipe organizing system.

No one offered to help him. If we had cell phones at the time,

I am certain we would have taken and posted pictures of him

sitting on a bar stool in a sea of recipes.

 

We know my grandmother was laughing with us.