Grandaddy’s Cucumber Salad

I hope you will go along with me over the next few weeks as I reminisce about my grandparents, their home on the Outer Banks of North Carolina and ask for your prayers as I prepare for a few upcoming events. This summer my family has been blessed to have an extended vacation in North Carolina.  It has been nothing short of wonderful. We have played, relaxed, explored and just enjoyed a slower pace of life. Therefore, you will likely see glimmers of our vacay on the blog!

Like… these amazing transferware plates I got at a local thrift store…19 pieces…for $20. Including the platter you will see below. The pattern is called Sunday Morning to top it off!  Yay!

The prayer request is one for peace, time and discernment as I prepare to go to two blogging conferences in the upcoming weeks. I am so excited about these opportunities! I am going to learn, grow and meet some amazing people. I have a lot to get ready for one of the events, so I am prayerful all will get accomplished in the midst of summer break. Any prayers you are willing to say on my behalf are more than welcome! I hope to fill you in more in the near future! And now, about my grandparents…

Today is my Grandaddy’s birthday. He would be 100 years old if he were still with us. Unfortunately he has been gone for 25 years now. I decided to let you in on a few things that anyone who shared a meal with him would know.

First off he mumbled the same prayer before every single meal. I have no idea what he said, but I loved it. He was a pretty soft spoken man who was kind and funny. His squinty eyes and mischievous smile were priceless.

Second, my Granny had a bowl of cucumber salad on the table for him every single supper I have ever known the man to have.  It was fixed in the same bowl each night.  A shallow dish really.  She would peel and slice cucumbers then bath them in a mixture of red vinegar and water sprinkled with salt and pepper. So simple. Just like him.

Grandaddy was a skilled carpenter and had a passion for cars. He would drive his little S10 pickup up and down Beach Road. I rode in the back on a bench he built. Seatbelts? He never heard of them. He wore a white t-shirt and khaki slacks like a uniform. I’ll never forget him making fun of the music I liked because, “all they do is say the same thing over and over again.” He was right.

When we would visit North Carolina from Texas we always drove. Twenty Four hours of windshield time that I laid out flat in the back of our van, reading books, coloring and sleeping. No seatbelt again, no movies or Nintendo. We would eat Waffle House for breakfast AND dinner.

We invaded my grandparents tiny bayside home and the fun began. My parents would stay up late at night playing cards, drinking and smoking with my grandparents around the little kitchen table. I grew up under the shadow of that table learning how to shuffle cards, soaking up stories and laughter. I always wanted to be part of the fun, reluctant to go to bed in fear I might miss something. Now I miss the conversations that used to happen. The friends that would stop by and chat with their thick Carolina accents. I miss grandaddy sitting in his recliner with his little dogs up in his lap.

I know he would love that we are here celebrating his life with his favorite part of a meal, missing him and introducing our kids to his quieter, calmer way of life. I wish he could meet them. Soon enough.

 

 

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