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Pop’s Pot
Pop’s Pot
By
Cognitive Dissonance
While rummaging around in my computer files this afternoon I came across this little piece that I had written more than two years ago and never posted, probably because I didn’t think it was relevant to what was going on at the time. Either way I dragged it out, dusted it off and now serve it up with a smile and warm memories.
By the way, the friend I mention in the piece below soon became Mrs. Cog.
After loading up the SUV with nearly a dozen boxes of cloths, knick knacks and other household items and then traveling several miles, only then did I first hear it rattling behind me. When I asked, my friend informed me in a matter-of-fact tone of voice that it was just Pop’s Pot making all that racket back there. After promising her the rattle would drive me to distraction if it wasn’t silenced, she assured me she would properly secure it when we stopped at the next light, a promise that was quickly kept and the noise soon forgotten.
While driving the remaining half hour to our destination my friend delivered up a primer on the genealogy of Pop’s Pot, with all the really interesting details filled in the next day. ‘Pop’ was Grandpa on her father’s side, one of four Baden, Germany heritage boys (no girls). Born a US citizen in 1887 (because his parents emigrated to America several years earlier) Pop was a World War I veteran who served with honor as a quartermaster before returning home to the States to work as a carpenter, back when homes were hand built by skilled craftsmen who toiled all their lives to better their honorable tradecraft.
My friend told me of delicious childhood memories from more than 40 years ago of Pop spending countless hours in the kitchen cooking Sauerbraten, essentially beef marinated for days on end before the process of low heat slow cooking in Pop’s kettle could even begin. The finished product, the most tender and delectable beef she had ever eaten was then served up with potato dumplings (Kartoffelklösse) and other traditional German side dishes to the gathered friends and family. If Pop was cooking, most likely (extended) family was near. The only casualty when Pop cooked up a storm was the kitchen itself, which always took heavy collateral damage and was rarely cleaned up by Pop himself. Such is the privilege of age.
During Pop’s later retirement years (he lived a long and full life of 93 years) he rotated through three of his four children’s homes to live, stopping at one for three to five years before moving on to the next. This enabled him to spend many summers on the Jersey shore, a place he dearly loved to visit right up to his passing. While Pop always packed light and had only a few worldly possessions other than his clothes and personal property, his kettle always traveled with him from home to temporary home, ready to be pulled out and fired up in order to prepare any number of favorite dishes. The old quartermaster always made sure he came equipped to fend for himself as well as for those who crossed the threshold to visit.
When we reached our destination the big aluminum kettle was scooped up with the rest of the load and dumped on the living room floor for sorting and disposition as soon as everything else was in. There perched on top of three large boxes of clothes was Pop’s Pot, its lid askew and severely misshapen and several medium to large dents clearly visible in the side of the kettle itself. It was obvious that the old war horse had been damaged through the decades, though I had seen worse in my own kitchen a couple of times during my lifetime. But despite its battered appearance I did not look closely because I’d been assured that the pot was capable of cooking tomorrow’s meal, my friend’s special recipe chili.
However when examined more closely in the light of the day ten hours later, my friend was no longer certain that the pot was serviceable or even salvageable for that matter. The lid was distorted and would not sit flat on its perch, leaving a half inch opening on one side and a quarter inch gap on the other. Worse, something heavy had either been dropped on or smashed into the lid, with the impact deeply denting the soft aluminum in two spots opposite of each other. This rough handling left the impression that the lid was snarling at the world, angry at its poor treatment since Pop passed away more than 30 years ago.
The kettle itself was about 11 or 12 quarts in capacity and of substantial thickness, but still very light precisely because it was made of a high quality yet soft aluminum. The good news was that the kettle was in slightly better condition than the lid, but still pretty beaten up. Thankfully the thickest surface, the bottom of the pot itself, was not significantly damaged or dented. This turned out to be a blessing because if the base is not flat the pot won’t properly conduct heat on today’s modern ceramic flattop cook surfaces.
But the sides showed evidence of several hard knocks and years of rough handling. In fairness to the present caretaker, the aluminum is very soft and prone to dents and dings, especially in the hands of an athletic and active family. I imagine that at times the kettle stood in as a substitute play toy for the younger members of her now nearly grown family. We all know how pets and young children like to climb into boxes and small spaces, psychological protection from a sometimes cold and capricious world. My mother tells me that way back when, one of her big pots served as a winter sled for the youngest and smallest in my own family.
I asked if I could check out Pop’s Pot more closely after I was told it most certainly wasn’t going to be used to prepare the afternoon meal and was probably beyond repair as well. Examined more closely, I was immediately struck by how the pot and lid looked like an old craggy face, one we would immediately associate as filled with character; extremely weather beaten, deeply wrinkled and almost wise looking.
Testing a small flat surface of the lid for flexibility I was immediately surprised how malleable the old aluminum was in my hands. With some effort I could bend it with my fingers. Instantly I thought to myself that they had better use a stronger aluminum alloy when they build those jet airplanes or I would never fly again.
My inspection of Pop’s Pot was interrupted when my friend showed me an old cake dish and matching interlocking cover, one of those quality pieces that’s heavy in hand and made to last, a favorite of hers that had also been rescued from storage the day before. Unfortunately the flange on the bottom of the cover only locked into two of the three raised lips on the base. Looking more closely I saw that one of the lid flanges had been bent out of position, probably when it was dropped while being cleaned or transported.
Realizing that this piece was constructed from far stronger material than Pop’s Pot, but that it was definitely fixable, I cast about in the tool bin in search of a hammer and something to pound on, finally fishing out a hefty flat crow bar and framing hammer. Enlisting my friend’s help to hold the cake pan cover steady on the kitchen table with the damaged section hanging off the edge (the table surface was carefully protected by a folded towel) I placed the flat bar under the bent flange to act as an anvil and then slowly pounded down the upturned edge.
In just a few minutes we had transported the damaged cake pan and cover back to near perfect condition. And best of all, my friend was immediately pleased and delighted by the repair and resurrection. What seemed so simple and obvious to me, the ability to use simple metal working tools, was magic to her.
Seeing her delight from witnessing a form of cold forging brought me new perspective on how my life experience and understanding colors my world view when compared to others of like mind but different experience. At times we think things are impossible simply because we have little experience with what is possible. Immediately my mind flashed back to Pop’s Pot. Maybe we could restore the old war horse as well?
I returned to the old kettle to finish my examination and to ponder restoration while my friend filled me in on the finer details of its long journey to her custody nearly eighteen years ago. While the modern on-the-run family is less prone to cook long and involved meals in a kettle these days (today the electric crock-pot reigns supreme as the new all purpose cook kettle) my friend has used Pop’s Pot to prepare many stews, soups, batches of chili and even the occasional pot roast for her family. So the kettle has suffered the normal, and not so normal, wear and tear of the modern kitchen used by several (not-so-careful) cooks during its stay in her home.
Seeing the concern on her face and the distress in her voice that she would be the one to retire such a wonderful family heirloom only served to double my determination to do what I could to breathe new life into Pop’s Pot. Once again working as a team, with her holding the lid while I reshaped the soft aluminum with both the hammer and my hands and fingers, we were quickly able to flatten the lid so that it would now properly seat. We were also able to greatly diminish the scars left behind by the heavy impacts previously described.
Setting aside the lid and taking up the kettle I could see that decades of heating and cooling had baked on a rough uneven patina of grease and grime that was deeply embedded under the rolled rim and into the creases created by the manufacturing process. Looking even closer I could see discoloration in the very pores of the aluminum itself which had become subtly pitted and scared over the years by God knows what chemical combinations, natural or otherwise.
I decided to tackle the biggest dents first and to the distress of my friend I placed the pot on the folded towel on the table and picked up the hammer to begin taping out the first dent. This approach was rapidly vetoed by my friend out of fear for the kitchen table underneath and rather than explain that the blows applied would be gentler than those applied to the cake pan, I immediately looked for another solution.
I quickly realized that the top of my thigh would serve the same purpose, with the softer muscle tissue acting to cushion the hammer impacts while affording some give to allow the metal to gently deform back into place with the underlying bone acting as ultimate support. My friend looked dubious but didn’t object, though I suspect she thought an emergency room visit was just around the corner. This method quickly proved effective and within 10 minutes the kettle was looking as good as I could get it considering the crude tools and working conditions.
The final act of restoration was a good hard scrub with pre-soaped steel wool pads and plenty of elbow grease, a task we shifted back and forth to each other as we tired and took a break. An old beat up kitchen knife, sharp edge pointed away to protect the foolish, was employed to dig out some of the more stubborn grime lodged under the rim and in the various cracks and crevasses. After thirty minutes of scrub-a-dub-dub we were both very surprised how nice both pot and lid looked. I couldn’t believe it was the same beat up old wreck we had started with just an hour earlier.
Best of all, while working together we were able to discuss what it was we were actually doing, which was far more than simple metal repair. Pop’s Pot represented so much more than just an object imbued with the family history. It carried within it a collage of memories that ran much deeper than just my friend’s. Her children and extended family have also seen, and used, the kettle during family gatherings. Everyone in the extended family knows about Pop’s Pot, if only by sight and/or legend.
Not only were we repairing the old damage inflicted over the decades, but we were beginning a new chapter in Pop’s Long Conversation with his extended family. By repairing the damage, then using the newly refurbished kettle to prepare yet another family meal, we were continuing the Long Conversation begun more than half a century ago, only this time with new commitment and resolve.
While Pop’s Pot had served her well over the last two decades, my friend was now giving back in order to continue carrying it all forward through her branch of the family tree. What had just an hour earlier been seen as a Broken Connection was now not only repaired, but renewed and reinvigorated with her mind and spirit. And soon enough with the minds of those who remember Pop and everything Pop and his generation represented.
Above all else, for my dear friend and me, this magical metamorphosis was a confirmation that Remembering to Remember involves more than just Remembering what has been and can still be, but that we must be proactive in creating our own reality. Life is meant to be created and then lived, not served up by others. If we don’t construct our own reality, a decidedly less appetizing and distorted reality will be served up for us. Thus the lesson delivered and received by Pop’s Pot that fine fall afternoon.
01-18-2014
Cognitive Dissonance
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Not sure which article you are referring to. Here is my ZH blog roll with all the work I posted here on ZH. Take a look and see if it is there.
http://www.zerohedge.com/blogs/cognitive-dissonance
Fine job, it looks almost new now...a little dent here & there around the top allows the steam get out so it don't blow anyways...just adjust cook times to compensate with older pots.
Could be a metaphor in there ;-)
"just adjust cook times to compensate with older pots"
I change bongs
Smart move by a wise man. :)
Could be? <G> me thinks I will try it out this aftrnoon with a few other dinasours.
nice prose
reminds me of the spanish clay tiles being formed on the thigh
our home should be part of us and part of our past
not the remains of some contractor's trash
What I love most about the (log cabin) homestead Mrs. Cog and I bought is the fact that it was built almost entirely by hand by the previous owner. So it has so much to say to us if only we look beyond the surface.
Best of all the prior owner, whom we feel specifically selected us to posses his creation since he passed up two other slightly higher offers to take ours, has become a friend who stops by fairly regularly. Inevitably he has two, three, ten little stories to tell us about this or that, thus passing down his legacy directly to us. We then incorporate his with ours, creating a mix of past and present as we carry the legacy forward....just as I described above with Pop's Pot.
CD I gotta chime in here....and feel free to correct me where I am wrong...because I am sure I will be..and I mean no offense. You truly must be a hell of a good guy because you get a lot of love on here for someone that...truth be told...I would not expect to. I see you as an enigma on here, and these discussions lead me in a different path sometimes. I wonder what your take is on this viewpoint on reality....
As far as constructing our own reality goes....From what little I know...you have spent a pretty substantial amount of time working in the "financial world", no? Whether it was real estate, or equities/fixed income I am not sure. Am I wrong there? I am going to continue assuming I am not and if I am you have my apologies....
Anyway it would seem to me that if what I said is true, then a pretty substantial portion of your wealth that you are now using to fund your lifestyle was accumulated thanks to the paper markets and the central planners behind them. So you, like me...have made a nice living in markets that are built off the backs of other people's creativity and hard work. You know what I mean i'm sure.... It is what it is, I am just stating the obvious, because I think about that a lot.
You have now bought a house that was built by hand....by someone else.. I am not implying that you are unable to appreciate it, or assume proper care for it, or anything like that. You seem like you have every intention of doing so. But again I find it interesting.
Here is why I bring all this up. It is not an ass backward attack on you. It's to your point about reality. Since you put yourself out there, I am just going with it. I have often thought of following in your path. I would very much like to take whatever wealth I have a accumulated in the financial markets and get myself (and family) a nice place away (somewhat) from this crazy world, and spend my time on the land and enjoying the little things in life that most of us either take for granted or completely miss out on.
So lets say I do, let's say I am fortunate enough to parlay my wealth into a new lifestyle and a nice house custom built by someone with more skill and imagination that I could ever have. You know who I have to thank for it? The Bernak and his buddies. They have created a system that I used to not only build wealth for myself, but amazingly they created a system that is so powerful that the person who busted his ass building that house from scratch was willing to accept a bunch of paper FRN's from me (or in this case you) in exchange for it.
I am not sure if you agree with any of this, but if you see where I am coming from at all....that is some shit eh? How about that for reality?
"..you have spent a pretty substantial amount of time working in the "financial world", no?"
Yes, many years......but I was terrible at my job when measured by the expectations of those who work the financial world. I am now out and done with that world as of 12-31-2013.
"....then a pretty substantial portion of your wealth that you are now using to fund your lifestyle..."
I wish that were true. But the fact is that I got into the field in 1990 in order to give me time and work flexibility while I was raising my son alone. My first priority was my son and the second was my job. My job suffered. There was no and is no wealth. When my son finally left the house for good I went independent back in mid 2008 with the hope of finally devoting some time to the business.
But then Bernie Madoff happened and many clients I was trying to sign up decided that going with a small one man shop was not a good idea. I never recovered from the debt I piled up making the leap to my own practice at the wrong time.
Worse....I had a bad habit of putting my clients interest first rather than my commission and often told people who were not suitable for my investments to either go to a bank or stay at the bank they were presently with. I understood the market was not the place for the average Joe to be. Once again my business suffered.
"So you, like me...have made a nice living in markets that are built off the backs of other people's creativity and hard work."
I wish that were so. My taxable income in 2012 was less than $30k and it looks like 2013 will be less than $15K. I should have taken a job at WalMart.
"You have now bought a house that was built by hand....by someone else."
Before I got into the financial field in 1990 I was a small residential contractor. I could have built my own house by hand if I had wanted to and seriously considered doing so if we could not find something we liked. Then we lucked into this place.
"They (edit: Bernanke and company) have created a system that I used to not only build wealth for myself...."
But not for me. I am coming out of this basically even. Mrs. Cog has brought more to the table in this relationship than I have and I am grateful for that.
"I am not sure if you agree with any of this, but if you see where I am
coming from at all....that is some shit eh? How about that for reality?"
I have spoken many times in the threads and in some of my longer pieces about my own hypocrisy. This was precisely why I sucked at my job. I could not do what I felt was wrong and thus I did not. It finally got to the point where I could no longer even send a (prospective) client to a bank with their money since I feel that the bank will just collapse, or be bailed in, as well.
I plan on discussing this subject in great detail over the coming months, both on my new website and here on Zero Hedge.
Thank you for asking the difficult questions.
I already had a large amount of respect for you. My profession brings men into my office with sons and selves in deep trouble, deep addiction, and deep deep depression. Funny, the depth of their wallet is never a shield or substitute. On the other side of the table, putting the same men and their sons away, their worst enemy was too oten their own "zeaous advocate." Now I watch the most powerful people in the world put every "criminal," every addict, and every excuse for a parent to shame with lies and theft and destruction. I don;t know CD, do you ever think you were blessed by this fate. Life is so very short, but destruction can live through generations
"Life is so very short, but destruction can live through generations."
My mother grew up dirt poor. And then my large family grew up dirt poor with a short period of about 3 years in between when my father made some decent money in business. But it turned out he was playing games with inventory and living the better life on someone else's dime. So it was back to dirt poor soon afterward. This among other things in my early years left indelible impressions and fundamentally formed me in ways I'm still sorting out.
Sometimes Mrs. Cog will ask me why I think or do something. I don't really have an answer other than to point back 50 plus years to try to explain.
To your point above.....the weak are always fleeced first, last and in between. I saw it happen to me and the family simply because we were available for the fleecing and more desperate than others for a leg up. Which sometimes drove us to being stupid enough to be fleeced.
I really don't regret my life to this point. It is the sum total of everything I experienced and I would not be what I am without that sum total. I went through some bad times during my early 20's making terrible decisions, several that should have been the death of me. But I survived and learned and wobbled forward some more to get where I am today.
So yes, I am blessed.
Thanks for the reply and it's an admirable thing you are doing by putting yourself out there the way you are. Shows a lot of inner strength and confidence. Good stuff CD.
Mrs. Cog is looking at me with one of those looks reserved for the wayward husband. It seems she thinks I should not have put my income numbers out there. While it isn't exactly my tax returns on display it does say that I was not very successful in the financial business.
Yup...all true. My heart was not in it and I should have bailed a year or two after I started. Instead I stuck around for way more pain than was needed. I was always one to learn life's lessons the hard way. Why change now? :)
I put you in a rough spot. I ran with an assumption and it would have been hard for you to properly respond without getting a bit specific. Then I put you in an even rougher spot by replying and locking in your post,lol.
The reality is I am an asshole, first on purpose, and if that was not enough...by accident...
In all honestly none of it matters if you are happy where you are at. I posted this movie once before. If you have never seen it, check it out with the Mrs. Tell me these people are not happy....then let's guess what his tax return looked like...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1pOjj49d9Y
many thanks for sharing that clip again fonz. forgot to watch last time you linked it. gonna watch it today. don't watch many movies anymore (actually none), but for a Herzog piece, i'll make the exception.
No problem. All is well here. I really do try to practice total personal responsibility and sovereignty which means I must be ready and able to accept the consequences of all my actions, either intentional or not.
In the Matrix you do not discuss your income in polite company. Old habits die hard. Fuck em. In a sick twisted kind of way I'm proud that I sucked at the business. I never really was good at anything that required a killer instinct.
If you remember my article "Slave Nation" I disclosed in that piece that I sucked at another job as well. :)
fwiw I think it is less about killer instinct and moar about creating the perception that you are needed. As it is with most "professions". There are very few out there that actually beat the market. Everyone else just tries to create the image. In essence the Bernak is doing to the financial industry what automation is doing everywhere else. Weeding it out, bigtime. Anyway this is for another thread i'm sure. Take it easy man.
On turning on to reality and dropping out.
“To be truly challenging, a voyage,like a life,must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise you are doomed to a routine traverse.”
Sterling Hayden
Cog, I just wrote a two page essay on "Why I Hunt" and it is a tribute to dad who will be 89 this November. It is a tribute to life and dad and the time I spent with him as a kid while hunting. Dad and mom are in search of a nursing home and are in another chapter of their lives. I wish I had access to posting it but I will pass it on to dad to read. We all write stories of our lives every day. How our lives impact others is a story we need to be concerned with as well. I enjoy your writing skills. God bless.
My new website, still a few weeks away from unveiling, will have a section titled "Your Turn" where I will encourage members to submit articles on ANY subject they wish to publish.
Send it to me and let's take a look. zhcognitivedissonance at gmail dot com
Total fiction.
Nope Stanley, this is my life. Pop, his kettle, and everything he cooked in it, all true. I can still remember my mother scrubbing the cabinets, the floor and all the appliances after Pop cooked his wonderful meals for us.
The best part about this story is this is really the way Cog actually talks about things as we navigate through life. I am most fortunate he does indeed try to find inspiration wherever he looks. :-)
The best part about this story is that it doesn't matter if it is fiction, if you ask me.
We can find inspiration wherever we look.
It is the act or process of actually looking for inspiration that uncovers life's significance to us and not necessarily what it is that we are looking at.
Funny, I left my comment above citing "inspiration" and now you've confirmed it as a stout fiber between you.
Inspiration indeed.
Thank you for sharing, CD. Your contributions are a wonderful break from the doom porn and incitement to class warfare served up by the Tylers every day now.
Hopefully, more than a few will make a personal attempt at your: "If we don’t construct our own reality, a decidedly less appetizing and distorted reality will be served up for us."
."doom porn and incitement to class warfare"
You say that like it's a bad thing.
Thank you.
But in all fairness to "the Tylers" he runs no interference, makes no editorial demands nor restricts the subjects I may comment on or discuss. He gives me a blank canvas and lets me hang myself if that is my wish. I can post what I want, when I want with no delay or quarantine to vet before posting. That speaks volumes in my book and something that should be vigorously applauded.
Thank you Tyler for the chance to speak my mind and the venue in which to speak my mind to others.
If ANYONE has earned - or should be entrusted with - literary 'carte blanche'...
Thanks for the great essay, CD.
That bottom picture is the object? It doesn't look like it was ever in such poor condition as the description ... if it ever gets a hole in it, you can repair that with a tinker's dam. :-)
If you look closely at the rim of the cover, right front and left rear, you can still see some damage. Like I said it was surprisingly soft aluminum and easily worked both with the metal tools and somewhat with my fingers.
Mrs. Cog made some great salsa a few months back, then canned it all up. We just dined on some of it with tacos last week. Mrs. Cog is a canning machine, putting up soups, chili, stews, jams and jellies etc. If she goes a few weeks without her canning fix she starts to get a little wild eyed. Then she starts searching for something, anything, to can. That is when I hide the cat.......though she claims she can stop at any time. :)
Below is her Salsa in Pop's Pot all ready to be canned.
That was hilarious, CD! And congrats on having landed a partner of such grace and continuing inspiration.
Damn, them fixins sho do look tasty!
And, of course, damn nice job on the pan and story.
That wasn't my point, CD. I also appreciate the venue, but I have had a number of posts deleted by Tyler recently (and once in the past) when I got too specific on a subject that NO limited hangout site will touch. You don't touch that subject (and probably don't even know what I'm talking about).
My point is that once upon a time, ZH was the first to break stories and provide cynical analysis to provoke rational discussion, whether on finance or politics. Now it just pastes stuff (and hosts guest posts) from other sites a day late and a dollar short.
"You don't touch that subject (and probably wouldn't even agree with me on it)."
I'm honestly not sure what it is you are talking about i-dog. What subject won't I touch (and probably wouldn't even agree with you on it).
Whoops, I see you edited your response. It now reads "You don't touch that subject (and probably don't even know what I'm talking about).
Yes, you are correct. I don't know what you are talking about. Sorry. Please explain.
I've no desire to sidetrack your thread onto that topic, CD. You provide a philosophy of how to deal with our present circumstances; Tyler and GW provide the daily overwhelming dose of what those circumstances are; while I join the dots to who is behind those circumstances (and I don't mean the puppets paraded before the public and lampooned by Banzai7).
Maybe another day.
CD the guy above is talkign about the jews. or the zionists or the cryptojews or some other group of jews or something.
tyler has censored anti-jew posts because over the years the comment board began to be dominated by scape-goat artists that now resent the fact aht tyler was not interested in hosting their forum. so now they can go back to their irc chat boards or other websites and take their scape-goat spewing shit elsewhere.
the fact that they believe that being 'right' entitles them to dominate every public forum for debate tells you something about them. They are a lot like the global warming fanatics in that respect. as if there was no climate issues before industrializaiton, and no financial corruption before their scapegoats even existed.
Why do you hate Jews? And why did you have to drag them into this thread?