I LOVE my stove. It is Golden Harvest Yellow. That means … it is probably original to my house.
The oven heats evenly. The stove top is easy to clean. The knobs are almost impossible to read
…. but that doesn’t fit very well with this blog post.
It’s not a fancy-schmancy new stainless steel appliance,
but I love its antique vintage goodness …
it has one consistent flaw:
there isn’t an eye on the stove that will go LOW enough
to cook rice perfectly.
I don’t consistently burn other foods … but I always burn rice.
Ok. That’s an exaggeration.
I have cooked rice without burning it
at least three times
since we moved into this home
….. in 2005.
I’m pretty sure, I stood by the stove
and held the pot handle for good measure
for the entire 20 minutes that the rice required heat.
The other night, Joy was begging for rice. She has never been diagnosed
but surely she’s somewhere on the autistic spectrum
when she is focused on something,
there is nothing that doesn’t first go through that filter.
Her largest sieve is the Johnny Depp/Robert Downey, Jr./Russell Brand filter.
(And yes, the filter works in that particular order ^ )
Another thing that remains within sight and is often a topic of conversation is
VW wagons. She has wanted one since she was about eight. She already knows
how she wants it decorated
and which style she wants to purchase
when she turns 16.
So, one day last week, she had her heart set on rice. Only time will tell
if asian food has become a true focal point,
but last week, I was pretty convinced it was a new incorporation into her narrow focus.
She asked for it, until I finally gave in ….
it probably wouldn’t turn out well
knowing my stove.
And I was right. But, as usual, I scraped the good rice off the top
and threw the pot into the sink
to soak overnight.
As it turned out, the rice on top didn’t taste scorched.
And I made a good bit so I was able to serve her rice
and use the remainder for a huge pot of
homemade Beefy Mushroom and Rice soup the next evening.
After straining away at least two cups of burned rice the next morn,
I found this.
Isn’t it beautiful? I let the pot dry
and sat it on the counter
so that I could admire the pattern
a few days almost a week.
Being the child that humors me best,
(probably because I reciprocate the same so well for her)
I finally became brave enough to show Glory,
I was surprised that I got a scrunched-up “whatever” face from her.
She didn’t get it.
Silly me!! *facepalm* I should have shown it to the OTHER two children
who carry the strong creative gene.
Having been misunderstood on the first try,
I decided not to open myself up again rightaway.
But, later, I decided to take some photos
so I could forever remember that
random, organic, striking pattern.
I’ve gone back to look at the photos several times.
They fascinate me.
I know it might be silly,
but that scorched pot made me smile.
I was able to see so much in that charred pot.
I saw balance and chaos.
I saw a delicious meal and burned rice remnants.
I saw deep, black scorched bits of grain beside little rice imprints that lifted clean off the pot.
I saw craters and valleys, ups and downs …. I saw dark and light.
And I am thankful. I’m thankful that God has ever-so-gently taught me
how to see beauty in the seared remains of messes.
So, this morning, I’m happy for a stock pot that carries a gorgeous pattern.
What makes you happy this marvelous Monday morning?