Ode to My Old Crockpot: A Sentimental Journey through Slow Cooking

Dirty, stained crock potYesterday, I bid a bittersweet farewell to an old friend, my trusty crockpot. It may have been hideous, discolored, and sporting one broken leg, but it had served me faithfully through countless busy times. As I reluctantly consigned it to the trash, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia, prompting me to capture its final moments with a photo. It was a vessel of comfort, a source of convenience, and a constant companion in my culinary journey.

Who ever knew that once we became adults, we’d be responsible for deciding what our family would eat for dinner every day for the rest of our lives?  I used to be more creative in the kitchen, but now, if I can put together a meal with a protein, starch, and vegetable, I consider it a success. (And, sometimes, I admit, I skip the vegetable.  My family is not a fan of green things.)

I recall a TikTok meme where kids expressed their disappointment upon walking in and seeing a crockpot on the counter. They were dreading dinner. Little did they know that crockpot meals require just as much planning and strategy as any other dish. The real beauty lies in the fact that it can be ready the moment a starving mom (or dad) gets home.

I remember those days when I would return home after work, ravenous due to perpetual dieting, and try to brown hamburger meat for tacos while munching on potato chips. Yet if I had used my crockpot and prepped everything before heading off to work, a delicious, nutritious meal would have awaited my family the moment they walked in the door – hearty beef stew, succulent pulled pork, or savory chicken tacos.

Crockpots are versatile kitchen warriors. They can bake potatoes to perfection and transform simple ingredients into a myriad of mouthwatering meals. Creamy chicken noodle, zesty chicken tortilla, or hearty cheeseburger soup – the possibilities are endless.

We don’t use crockpots because we’re lazy; we use them because we’re hungry.

My old crockpot may be gone, but its memories linger on. It was a humble yet invaluable kitchen companion that made the chaotic days of adulting a little more manageable. So, here’s to the unsung hero of our kitchens – the crockpot, a reliable friend for those who crave comfort and convenience in their culinary adventures.

Creativity Knows No Bounds: A Toddler’s Masterpiece

Quiggle by Falcon
Art by Falcon L.A. Stanfield

My 3-year-old grandson drew some squiggles on the sidewalk with orange chalk and proclaimed, “I make a rocket.”  More squiggles were a “racecar.” Another loopy line was a “banana.” Kids have an incredible knack for creativity.

I’ve hung this masterpiece in my office, not only because it’s a work of art, but also because it captures my grandson’s current obsession—total resistance to potty-training.

“Oh, that’s cool!  What is it?” his mom asked.

“Poop in a potty!” he answered matter-of-factly.

I mean, who needs realism when you’ve got creativity like that?

Cross Stitch

I know I don’t do it the right way.  The back side of my cross stitch is always a tangled mess, with long unattached threads stretching across the canvas this way and that.  I get knots in my thread sometimes, and if I can’t get them out easily, I’ll take my thread and put it through another place in the back so the knot won’t show on the good side, but that leaves a lot of bumpy knots on the back. 

The front looks great, but never look at the back side of my work.

That is kind of how I do everything.  I like all of my work to seem all organized, but my methods of getting to a nice, organized piece are kind of chaotic.  I don’t plan much. I just try things out to see what works, and I keep at it until I am completely done. 

I finish things. 

It may take me months to finish something, but I do finish things.  I always have unfinished projects in the back of my mind.  Right now, I have a wolf cross-stitch I need to restart.  One of my cats threw up on it, and I wasn’t very far along, so I thought I would just start over rather than think about the vomit that might still be in my threads even after I wash it.  Yuck.