Summer of 85’ I lived in a single wide, 1968 aqua and white trimmed trailer and there was not enough room for everything we needed; like a wash room. My granddaddy offered to help build a closed in shed onto the back of our trailer. He was in his late sixty’s, but had the build and stamina of a fifty year old, still strong as an ox; and a wonderful carpenter. It was the first time I would cook (and I use that term loosely) for my grandparents. I opened three large cans of Dinty Moore beef stew, “doctored” it up with seasoning and served it with baked “wop” biscuits. They both very graciously said it was the best beef stew they had eaten in a very long time.
Fast forward to summer of 2002; my grandfather is visiting me and my children, my grandmother has since passed. By now my cooking skills have improved by miles and I have once again prepared him a meal; this time by hand and not a can. He eats as if he enjoys it, we spend a large part of the evening on the front porch, sitting in the swing and talking.
There’s a 29 year span, it’s spring of 2014; my parents are visiting the Saturday before Easter and their grandson is grilling the main course for the meal. Their nineteen year old grandson is barbecuing chicken wings and legs as he has become the grill master of our house. I prepare the rest of the menu inside, we all eat, everyone enjoys themselves; the meal and the day is a success.
Tonight as I laid in bed, my mind began to race through the day’s conversations. Better than an hour was spent discussing both of my grandfather’s today and they were fresh on my mind; which is why I find myself back of bed, reciting this chain of memories to you now.
I wonder just how surreal it was for my grandparents when their granddaughter cooked a meal for them all those years ago. Just as I wonder right now, how surreal that was for my parents today, when their grandson was cooking a meal for them. I mean it has taken some getting used to for my husband and I; him especially, relinquishing his title of grill master to the next generation. For years and years, my children and I, gathered `round their table and were served meal after delicious meal. I wonder if ever in that time, they thought about the one day’s, and the what if’s that are happening now.
This isn't a story about food; it’s a story about the cycles of life. Watching the wheels as they turn, keeping your memory greased for the safe keeping of precious times you’ll want to re-live later; better yet, thinking about the value of these times when they’re happening. But I believe, the biggest, most interesting question of all is; what my son, their grandson, was thinking about today. I’m sure gonna ask him.