When I saw the carnage, I could hear my Mom’s voice so clearly: “Don’t walk away when you’re cooking.”
I wasn’t exactly cooking. I was just boiling lemon slices for tea, but I did walk away, and got preoccupied with something else. There was no smoke, no alarm, and no sizzling noise. It just got noticeably warmer in here. That’s when I headed toward the kitchen.
I really wanted that tea, and lamented it when I saw the poor, charred lemons.
Just as I was about to say sayonara to the little, old, tried-but-true, handle-less sauce pan, that had been my Mother’s, I heard her voice again. “Don’t throw that pot away. You can clean it.”
It was kind of the way I heard my Dad’s voice, yesterday, when I scooped the last of the Sweetfire Donna’s collard greens out of another pot. “Whatchu about to do with that potlikker? Don’t pour that down the drain! Put it in a glass!”
Mom was right, but hadn’t she always been? An overnight soak, a lot of elbow grease, some baking soda, Dawn, and a scouring pad did the trick…and wore me out…lol.
Thanks, Mom.
I miss her.
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