February 1, 2026

By Arthur H. Gunther III

thecolumnrule.com

You would not think that looking into a pot of boiled potatoes would invite you to a portal leading to a memory. But why not? Ordinary things, places and moments – kitchenware, a photo album, your dad’s old pen, a comfy family chair, the walk you took for years, the village where you grew up – can dial the right number, open the door and let you into the memory library.

For me, the moment was a relatively newer pot holding boiled potatoes so I could mash them, a task that seems to have been assigned to me, or assumed by me, since I was quite small.

As I put in milk, pepper, butter and began to mash with an old kitchen tool, pressing down on the potatoes, then turning right and left and back again, then mashing anew, all to get rid of the lumps and make the final result creamy, I suddenly saw another pot, not my stainless steel, copper-bottomed one but a heavy cast aluminum pot from the early 1950s when that metal became popular for both kitchenware and storm doors. And later for house siding.

It was my mother’s aluminum pot, with a sturdy Bakelite, heat-resistant handle, and this time I had the strength to hold onto it as I mashed and twisted potatoes. I did not ask for this memory – it’s not like I am particularly nostalgic though I constantly write of things past to restate life themes of any age.

Of course, the creamy potatoes, a favorite anyway, especially with a side of carrots, tasted better this time. Perhaps my Mom was looking over my shoulder, which actually she never did. I was the trusted potato masher.

For me, an unexpected memory. I am certain the portals open for you too.

The writer is a retired newspaperman.

-30-