(no subject)
Flylady says:
" Last year in one kitchen mission Kelly and I asked you to get rid of just one cookbook. As a result we were slammed with emails complaining. The rebellion had nothing to do with cookbooks! It is just a symptom of a much great problem.
Your identity is manifested in your belongings. As a result of this, you feel that getting rid of even one book is in some why giving part of yourself away. Now hear me out. I know this is very hard for you. "
No, Flylady, dear. It isn't a matter of "even one book." I could certainly go into my home right now and find at least one book that I really don't need, don't like, don't care for, and I could gladly pass that book on to another person.
It's a matter of a cookbook. A useful tool for a fair number of your target audience. Walk into a law office and ask every attorney in there to dispose of a legal treatise. Walk into a mechanic's garage and ask every mechanic in there to get rid of a Chilton manual. Tell every pastor, priest, rabbi, etc. to get rid of a holy book. And now tell your audience to get rid of a cookbook.
Why not a knick-knack? Does anyone really need a porcelain creamer shaped like a cow? Does anyone really need Precious Moments tchotchkies gathering dust? But you're okay with these things, as long as they're dusted and they're "the things we really love." Well, okay. I don't love tchotchkies or knick-knacks. I love books, specifically cookbooks. When you dust your knick-knacks, I'll read my cookbooks. Fair?
I'd love to invite you into my kitchen, Flylady. No, really. I'd show you an organized shelf of wonderful cookbooks, and I'd show you my favorite recipes in each and every one of them. There's not a single paperback cookbook, no brand-based "Kraft specialties" or "Jello desserts" books. There's not a single school fundraiser or church fundraiser cookbook. No impulse purchases. Every book has been carefully selected for its multi-function contribution to my kitchen and my life, as cookbooks are as much a source of pleasure-reading for me as trashy romance novels to other women.
I'd show you that I enjoy every one of those cookbooks, that every single one of them has been used this year. I'd show you the one cookbook of my grandmother's, one of the few pieces of her handwriting that I have left beyond "Love, Grandma" on birthday cards. You say that hoarding clutter is a sign that I don't have faith in God, and perhaps you're right if you limit the definition of "God" to the one to whom you speak. Yet I fail to see how keeping a treasure of one of the most inspirational women in my life is any less valid than you keeping a Bible on your nightstand.
But I'd show you something else, too. I'd show you that, to a woman who can't be happy with "Rubber Chicken" and "Velveeta and Tater Tot Surprise," asking her to part with one of her cookbooks as "useless clutter" is insulting. These are the manuals that make my life better, they give me ideas and inspiration that you can never manage, as your only source of inspiration is a God I don't worship. I demand more of my cooking, Flylady, and for that I need cookbooks. Why? Because I Love Myself.
:P
P.S. One piece of clutter I really think would benefit you is a freakin' copy of Strunk and White's style manual. But I'm not one to preach.
" Last year in one kitchen mission Kelly and I asked you to get rid of just one cookbook. As a result we were slammed with emails complaining. The rebellion had nothing to do with cookbooks! It is just a symptom of a much great problem.
Your identity is manifested in your belongings. As a result of this, you feel that getting rid of even one book is in some why giving part of yourself away. Now hear me out. I know this is very hard for you. "
No, Flylady, dear. It isn't a matter of "even one book." I could certainly go into my home right now and find at least one book that I really don't need, don't like, don't care for, and I could gladly pass that book on to another person.
It's a matter of a cookbook. A useful tool for a fair number of your target audience. Walk into a law office and ask every attorney in there to dispose of a legal treatise. Walk into a mechanic's garage and ask every mechanic in there to get rid of a Chilton manual. Tell every pastor, priest, rabbi, etc. to get rid of a holy book. And now tell your audience to get rid of a cookbook.
Why not a knick-knack? Does anyone really need a porcelain creamer shaped like a cow? Does anyone really need Precious Moments tchotchkies gathering dust? But you're okay with these things, as long as they're dusted and they're "the things we really love." Well, okay. I don't love tchotchkies or knick-knacks. I love books, specifically cookbooks. When you dust your knick-knacks, I'll read my cookbooks. Fair?
I'd love to invite you into my kitchen, Flylady. No, really. I'd show you an organized shelf of wonderful cookbooks, and I'd show you my favorite recipes in each and every one of them. There's not a single paperback cookbook, no brand-based "Kraft specialties" or "Jello desserts" books. There's not a single school fundraiser or church fundraiser cookbook. No impulse purchases. Every book has been carefully selected for its multi-function contribution to my kitchen and my life, as cookbooks are as much a source of pleasure-reading for me as trashy romance novels to other women.
I'd show you that I enjoy every one of those cookbooks, that every single one of them has been used this year. I'd show you the one cookbook of my grandmother's, one of the few pieces of her handwriting that I have left beyond "Love, Grandma" on birthday cards. You say that hoarding clutter is a sign that I don't have faith in God, and perhaps you're right if you limit the definition of "God" to the one to whom you speak. Yet I fail to see how keeping a treasure of one of the most inspirational women in my life is any less valid than you keeping a Bible on your nightstand.
But I'd show you something else, too. I'd show you that, to a woman who can't be happy with "Rubber Chicken" and "Velveeta and Tater Tot Surprise," asking her to part with one of her cookbooks as "useless clutter" is insulting. These are the manuals that make my life better, they give me ideas and inspiration that you can never manage, as your only source of inspiration is a God I don't worship. I demand more of my cooking, Flylady, and for that I need cookbooks. Why? Because I Love Myself.
:P
P.S. One piece of clutter I really think would benefit you is a freakin' copy of Strunk and White's style manual. But I'm not one to preach.