My cookbooks have rather uneasily resided on an IKEA bookcase for several years. We had the Shakespeare graffiti one. We actually had three of these. Now we have two. You see, two weekends ago, I walked past the sagging under the weight bookcase into the kitchen. Suddenly a loud crashing noise shook the house. The bookcase had crumbled. Hundreds of cookbooks met the floor. Glass from a picture frame sprinkled everything. Sigh.
So, we went off to Ikea again. We pondered the “get the Billy that matches the floor to ceiling Billys in the office.” Thrifty won out. We got the one that was 20.00 cheaper and white. Plain white.
Denise assembled it. The cookbooks were shelved uneasily again. Hush. I know. Real bookcase/fewer cookbooks/more bookcases. None of those is currently in the cards.
And then there was white. It sits in the living room against the wall to our bedroom-so I pass it all the time. I’d never really liked the graffiti quote one. But I missed it. I kept coaxing the girls to take up Sharpie and graffiti the new one.
They didn’t believe me really. (She’s saying to write on her new bookshelf? She doesn’t mean that.) I finally shoved Sharpies in their hands and set them to work. They enjoyed it. There are a number of oddities though. My girls don’t seem to understand graffiti. There’s a sonnet, an ode, and various quotes. (after I suggested that since the last one had Shakespeare quotes-there could be quotes of things we say around our house.) The quotes all get attributed to me.
One sums up my cooking style “Why do I need to know what I’m making?”