The Boiling Point


I learned recently that adding salt raises the boiling point of water.  So if you want it to boil quickly, wait and add the flavor later.  (Hmm: I guess with people, the converse would be true: to keep from boiling, a lot of salt is required!  But I digress.)

Boiling points are yet another thing like belly buttons: everybody’s got one.  But unlike belly buttons, they can be raised or lowered.

A dear one and I were talking about this.  She and I are a lot alike: we both have a high heat tolerance.  Then, off the top of our heads we thought of at least five other individuals (most of whom don’t even know each other) that are like us in that regard:  given much grace to persevere amidst difficult people—for a very long time: 10, 20, even 50 years.

These same seven, however, had another common thread:  there is but one ingredient that, if tossed into the pot, brings it to a boil.  Here it is:  Don’t Mess with Momma’s Kids. 

Short of that, we can take a lot:

—Take advantage of me.
—Torture me.
—Be rude to me.
—Relegate me.
—Disappoint me.
—Injure me.
—Hurt me.
—Steal from me.
—Power-trip me.
—Blame me.
—Lie to me.
—Lie about me.
—Lust after me.
—Use me.
—Spurn me.

We can survive all of the above (and more), and probably still greet you kindly, even meet you at birthdays and holidays.

But that common denominator has a strange physical property.  If such ongoing behavior (through which we have heretofore persevered) shifts to our offspring, yeah: about that.  [Oh, Snap!]

Harry S Truman said, “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.”  It’s a strange phenomenon:  the maximum temperature is evidently much higher for a hen, than for hens and chicks.

Seven:  Yes, still strong.  Still gracious.  Still persevering.  But each of us, when our time came, gathered up our gaggle and got out of the kitchen.

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