When I was first married, I was the proud owner of new pots and pans, among them, one cast iron pan. Having gone from single life - on the go, not much time spent cooking - to attemping to be more domestic, I would take that pan out from time to time. It was soooo heavy, and so hard to clean. I did not know it was "different" from my other pans. Eventually, it and its rust were put out in the shed, to be used when the children make their mud pies.
Today, I was cleaning my new cast iron pan, one I procurred a few months ago, after having researched the dangers of ingesting the chips I was finding flaking off my non-stick cook-ware. I was marveling over the change in me as I cleaned the last remnants of sauce from my pan. I did not mind the cleaning of the pan. I did not flinch when I remembered I had to get to the cleaning before resting, or run the risk of rust. I took pleasure in the meal I had just made, with the better cast iron material, avoiding having toxic materials served as a course alongside the lasagna. I was actually admiring the way the skillet has already aged a bit, how it cleans so easily because I have learned to care for it, to properly dry it, to ready it for its next use.
The deliberateness in caring for that pan is something I have grown into, something that did not fit me in my younger years. I was too busy, too distractable, too unwilling. Now, I want to tend to the pan, and the children, and any other things in my life that need care, and attention, and time with more than an obligatory passing swipe of the sponge. Things worth caring about take deliberateness. Oh that I had a cast iron pan earlier in my life, and was taught how to properly tend to it. Perhaps I would have loosened the shackels of selfishness and want even sooner.
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