So the soldiers dragged out a big kettle, filled it with water, and put it on a fire to boil. They rolled a clean round stone into the pot, while the villagers peered through their curtains in amazement. Everybody can have some when it's done. But it'd be better if you threw this in. And so on, of course, a vegetable at a time, until the whole suspicious village managed to feed itself grandly.
Any family is a big empty pot, save for what gets thrown in.
Each stew turns out different. Name-calling and suspicion will not. My soup contains a rock or two of hard times, and maybe yours does too. I expect it's a heck of a bouillabaise. In Tucson , published by HarperCollins.