The man from Dublin

(Originally published by The Beatnik Cowboy)

there was a man from Dublin

he celebrated St. Patrick’s Day

with boatloads of Guinness

he was a catholic who dressed in

scary costumes to ward off

spirits during the festival of Samhain

he listened to music heavy

in fiddle, piano, and acoustic guitar

combined with instruments like Irish

bouzoukis, uilleann pipes, and

celtic harps known as clairseach

he danced in Irish jigs, reels, and step

he wore wooden shoes and dresses based

on designs found in the Book of Kells

he believed in the banshee

the tales of Fionn Mac Cumhaill

and leprechauns

he only read literature by

Swift, Yeats, Wilde, Shaw, and Stoker

he was the town weirdo

an outcast

because the man was from

Dublin, Georgia

Seasoned Pots

My wife said that we needed the large cast iron pot washed to sear some steaks. I told her that I would handle that. I confessed to her of my relatively newfound joy from hand washing, hand drying, and seasoning cast iron pots with some type of oil. I told her that it was actually more of a slow burn of interest, growing gradually over time, as I was taught to respect the cast iron, if only subconsciously.

She gave me an awkward glance, but quickly said, “Okay.” As if to say, whatever, just wash the damn thing. 

I inherited multiple cast iron pots that went to my mom after her mom passed, then to my dad after she passed, then to me after he passed.

That may sound like quite a long time, but it was all of 6 years. 

I’m not exactly sure when or where the pots were bought, made, or where the lineage begins.

However, the thought of a pot being handed down from generation to generation is admirable and fascinating to me. The fact that is looks almost as good today, as is did upon it’s production day, is a true testament to hard work and care that is few and far between in todays society and current work ethic. Generally speaking of course. But…

I guarantee, a goddamned t-fal set will never last over 200 years.