The Stock Pot

"Put away the stock," Mom said. "Put it away? ...now?" said I.

Internally, I am thinking to myself, "That pot is full of boiling hot stock, and she wants me to put a steaming pot of stock into the freezer? Why??" I vocalized my question to Mom as she rushed around to make stew for dinner. "Just do it," said Mom.

I shrug my shoulders and think "Well, Mother usually knows best, but THIS I don't understand!"

So I carefully heave this steaming pot of bones, fat, and liquid, and attempt to shove it into the freezer. I shove, and it does not go in. I shove harder, and only succeeded in burning myself. I tried to close the door with the pot still hanging off the shelf..."Ha," I said, "There's no way this pot is going into the freezer." So I just stand there, trying to find logical conclusion as to why this pot needed to go into the freezer, and how do I go about completing the task.

After attempting at least 10 different maneuvers, and succeeding in burning three of my fingers, Mom finally notices that I had disappeared. It must have been the pot clanging and my grunting that clued her in. Or perhaps her feet got cold from the freezer being open so long.Whatever the reason was, she finally noticed me!

"Dear, why are you putting the pot in the freezer?" "Because you told me too, Mom!" "No dear, I wanted you to put the container full of the strained broth into the refrigerator." "You're kidding," I said, "You told me to take this boiling hot stock pot and put it into the freezer!" "Did I?" said Mom. "Oh my, well I am so sorry! I meant for you to take the smaller container..."

Cooking with my Mom can be a very interesting experience. I have learned so much from her, and constantly ask questions whenever the need arises. So today, I am typing with three burned fingers, a pot of stew on the stove, and breath rising on the counter, and I am content.