17 springs ago… I officially inherited a bain-marie (a.k.a. double boiler), which, from c1968 onward, had simmered to perfection, many a piping hot, tasty bowlful of oatmeal, cornmeal and cream of wheat for my father, mother, sister and me.
I also inherited the buildup of accumulated minerals, which had lined the bottom section. Each time I’d look at that sickly shade of tan, approximately 2mm / 0.125inch thick layer, I wished I could remove it… yet… without fail… would conclude…
“That’ll NEVER happen!”
Why I warmly welcomed “Ms. Marie” in my kitchen was, mainly, for sentimental reasons. Each time “she” helped me prepare breakfast, there was that sense of continuity / linkage to fond memories of my gathered around the breakfast table family. There was a pragmatic reason, too. This double boiler’s appearance, otherwise, was still presentable.
3 mornings ago… while preparing a new batch of oatmeal, I heard this short series of loud banging noises… and soon afterwards a bunch of clunking sounds. Well, seeing how this odd racket had come towards the end of the preparation cycle, anyway, my suspense was short-lived.
Within seconds of lifting off the top section, I realized my 17 year-old-wish had been granted. That entire eons old, built-up layer had miraculously broken free and into chunks.
Granted… that lower section still doesn’t look brand-shiny-new, but at least its more presentable.
Admittedly… not all of life’s oft complex problems are as insignificant as the cruddy insides of a double boiler.
Even so… I’ve still got to wonder… how many times, in our day-to-day lives, do we hastily, erroneously conclude…
“That’ll NEVER happen?”