She said she didn’t know what made her do it.  But making her way to the garage with the bulging trash bag she hefted from the kitchen, she lifted her head and looked up.   There was a moment’s hesitation, then the shock of seeing plain empty air on the upper shelf where her vintage clarinet had been nestled next to her most favorite wedding dress, (she has three), made her gasp.  The trash bag never made its way to its destination instead she simply set it down and walked back into the house.  Dazed, yet eyes wide open, she began opening drawers, searching through closets, peering behind boxes.  Though breathing normally she now felt a sick feeling that wound its way through her body as she reached into, what she had always presumed, the well hidden envelope that held her rings. It was empty.   Her coveted rainbow collection of gemstones, handed down to her from great grandmothers and great aunties, was no longer in its proper place.  Family heirlooms, passed on to her, with the intention of being passed on to her own children and grandchildren.  While the stones that sat in their varied metal settings are considered precious, it is the emotional value that mattered to her.   In that way they were priceless. 

     As my friend wept her story into my ear over the phone I could only offer the support and understanding that comes with knowing similar loss.  Echoing her words of sadness and anger, ranging from how could they? – why did they? – and, how clever to take things we don’t notice or look at daily.  After sharing in her sobs and promising to help in any way I could, I hung up and began thinking.  I am certainly aware of the many reasons people steal from others; jealousy, drugs, retaliation, drugs, adrenaline charged excitement simply because the opportunity presents itself, drugs, I began to wonder.  What is at the heart of our suffering when confronted with the loss of our treasured things? 

     Obviously there’s the sense of violation and hurt, but it’s deeper.  We have memories attached to those things.  They are symbols of loved ones.  They hold stories and pictures within their sparkle and shine. 

     Still deep in thought and without realizing it, I had ventured into the kitchen, not to take out my trash, though it needed taking out, but to cook.  Cooking and on occasion baking is my own personal best medicine.  I perused through cupboards, simultaneously checking to ensure everything was still in its place.  The cinnamon, cardamom, my Madagascar vanilla, baking powder and my fine granulated baker’s sugar.  In another cupboard my chinois, the set of eight glass nesting bowls you can’t find anymore, (now they only do six), two foaming spritzers and my pineapple corer, (a must have). 

     Suddenly it came to me.  There is one thing no thief can steal from us, our treasured recipes.  Those passed down to us and prepared so many times by so many relatives we may not even need to write them down.  We learned these recipes by first inhaling, tasting, then watching and helping, then finally doing.  I felt inspired and decided right then and there to prepare my dad’s pineapple upside-down cake.  A recipe I learned from him before I had even heard of Betty Crocker’s  New  Boys and Girls Cook Book.  I pretty much had everything I needed, except a fresh pineapple.  I drove straight to the nearest market and purchased one.  I also needed maraschino cherries I don’t keep those on hand.  Once home I rummaged through my Caphalon,  All-Clad and Pampered Chef cookware.  There it was!  In the very back!  My ten-inch cast iron skillet.  I had to be true to my treasured memory. 

     In approximately one hour, I was finished.  Best when served warm, I sampled a piece.  Oh my God, it was just as I remembered it!  (Actually, I can’t remember the last time I ate pineapple upside-down cake!).   The weight and texture of the cake was perfect.  The pinch of cinnamon and hit of rum added a dimension of earthiness, we don’t usually experience with sweet desserts.  I am a devout chocolate lover, but the mixture of butter and brown sugar is a pinnacle among tasty combinations and this topping has it.  Dad would be proud, he taught me the recipe.  Mother would be proud she purchased that very first cook book for me.  I was proud, I did it from memory!

     It was still early evening, so I called my friend and told her I was coming right over.    As we sat at on the floor eating and sipping chai tea, carefully pressing our fingers to those small crumbs that failed to adhere to our forks we talked and tried to figure it all out.  We couldn’t but we did decide that while clarinets and rings don’t take up much room in our lives, should they come up missing there is a vast emptiness left behind.  An emptiness that can only be filled with friendship and pineapple upside-down cake.