Mama's Cookpot

I recently moved out of the apartment I’ve shared with two of my best friends for three years. It was a bittersweet moment, as I am excited to move into a new chapter in my life, but I’m going to miss the living room where the girls and I spent many late nights having life-chats and movie-thons. I’m also going to miss my little kitchen.
Much like my mother, I express my love for others by feeding them. Meals, baked goods, all that. If you get food from me, it means I love you.
I cooked lots of meals for the girls in that little kitchen using a cookpot that belonged to Riley. When she moved into her own place, she got new cookware, and told Kyra and I we could have the few frying pans and such that’d she’d left behind.
I’m fixin to (that’s a southern saying, y’all, sorry) put together a wedding registry, so I left most of the pans to Kyra, except for that one little cookpot. I was suddenly very sentimental about it as I thought about leaving it behind.
It’s just the perfect size for cooking for 3-6 people, or 1-2 of you if you don’t mind having a lot of leftovers.
As my brother was helping me pack, I showed him the cookpot.
“This is my favorite one.” I told him.
He laughed, and said, “It doesn’t have quite as much...character... as mom’s favorite pot.”
I laughed too.
Mom’s favorite pot is an old gray and brown metal thing (I think the brown is what’s left of the original finish) with a slightly banged up rim and one missing handle.
I don’t remember a time when that pot had both handles, honestly. I keep expecting the other handle to fall off and cause the pot’s retirement, but it has continued to stubbornly hang on.
It is literally “the” pot at our house. Mom cooks everything in it, spaghetti, goulash, stew, chili, potato soup, beef and noodles, mashed potatoes, mac n cheese...those are just my favorite dishes.
Dad even tried to buy her a new one, a nice ceramic red one with a pyrex lid...but it’s just not the same.
A large portion of my childhood was spent peeling potatoes into that pot, washing it, or lazily leaving the leftovers in it and then just sticking it in the fridge, which causes Mom to frantically search for it and then exasperatedly throw the food in a tupperware (*cough cough* old butter tub) and hurriedly wash it as she needs to cook tonight’s supper in it like, right now.
I cracked my coffee pot carafe yesterday because I accidentally left it on the warmer for two days. I was epically disappointed and wanted to cuss about how “Things don’t last as long as they used to!” but I guess it’s unrealistic to ask pyrex to defy the laws of physics…
However, I hope that pot of mom’s never cracks or breaks- I swear I’m going to bury her with it...along with a bag of Resins and a Diet Coke.
I’ve never considered myself to be an overly material person, but it’s funny how much that stupid little one-handled pot means to me, simply because it holds so many memories.
Maybe my little college-days cookpot will last through the years and star in our family dinners and cooking lessons.
What “family heirlooms” leave a warm fuzzy feeling in your stomach?  

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