I spent a good part of this past week traveling down memory lane, and by Sunday afternoon, Mabel had carried us all the way back home from Texas. Between the stories I’ve been sharing for my 30 Days to 60 countdown and our trip to celebrate Grandma Delcie’s 95th birthday, I’ve had plenty to think about.
And wouldn’t you know it, somewhere between a childhood kitchen table in Louisiana and a porch in Texas, I found myself thinking about the conversations we carry with us long after everybody has gone home.
Pull Up a Chair
Growing up on Tauzin Street, weekends sometimes meant visiting Daddy’s grandparents, Pop Abby and Mom Angelle. Pop spoke Cajun French, and if you wanted something to eat or drink, you were supposed to ask him in French.
Well, that was a problem for yours truly. 😂
I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Thankfully, Mom Angelle knew exactly what was going on. She’d wave me toward the cellar door, and somehow my snack and drink would be waiting.
As I got older, I graduated from coffee milk to coffee with sugar and creamer, and I was allowed to sit at the kitchen table with the grown-ups when company came visiting. Now, I couldn’t understand most of what they were saying in Cajun French, but that didn’t stop me from listening.
I’d catch an English word here and there, make a few assumptions, and piece together whatever story I thought they were telling. Of course, I managed to pick up on some of the bad words pretty quickly. Funny how those didn’t need much translation. 😂
At the time, I probably thought I was just getting to sit with the adults and drink coffee. Looking back, I realize I was getting something much more valuable. I was listening to the people who made up my world, hearing their laughter, their stories, and the rhythm of a language that had been spoken around those tables for generations.
Pop Abby passed away while I was serving in the Air Force. I didn’t really begin understanding more of our Cajun language until after he was gone. I still don’t speak it fluently, but I know enough to recognize pieces of it and occasionally find a little common ground with customers whose own language sounds familiar.
And if I could have another afternoon on that porch with Pop Abby, I wouldn’t care whether I managed to ask for a snack in French.
I’d just like to sit and visit.
A Birthday Worth Traveling For
This weekend, Bubba and I traveled to Texas to celebrate Grandma Delcie’s 95th birthday. The family gathered, the food came together, and Grandma got the lemon pound cake she wanted for her birthday.
There was plenty of visiting, laughing, and catching up. Little Chloe was there, walking and talking now, adding her own giggles to the conversations. It’s something to watch a family gathered around someone who has lived 95 years, especially when the youngest generation is just beginning to make memories of her own.
And naturally, there was a kitchen involved.
After all, somebody has to deal with the leftovers, and y’all know the Queen of Leftovers isn’t about to let good food go to waste. 😂
I cleaned up the kitchen, bagged up what needed saving, and even put aside pizza crusts for the furry children. Just the ordinary little things I tend to do without thinking much about them.
But once those things were handled, I decided to leave Grandma Delcie to enjoy visiting with her children and grandchildren.
I stepped outside onto her porch.
From where I sat, I could still hear the conversations going on inside. Every so often, Chloe’s giggles would float out with them. Nobody was asking me to fix anything, organize anything, or figure out what came next.
I could just sit there and listen.
And somewhere in that quiet moment, my thoughts wandered back to those childhood visits with Pop Abby and Mom Angelle.
The Part We Don’t Always Notice
It’s funny how much of our lives happens around food without the food necessarily being what we remember.
I couldn’t tell you every snack Mom Angelle handed me from that cellar, but I remember how she knew what I needed without my having to say a word.
I couldn’t repeat those Cajun French conversations from the kitchen table, but I remember the voices, the laughter, and how special it felt to be included among the grown-ups.
And years from now, I imagine the details of this Texas weekend will settle into memories of their own. Grandma Delcie’s lemon pound cake, the family gathered together, Chloe’s giggles, and the conversations drifting through the house.
Maybe Chloe will remember bits and pieces of these gatherings someday. Maybe she’ll hear stories about them from the people who were there. Either way, another little piece of family history happened while we were all together.
I’ve spent so much of my life being the person who handles things. Between working, family responsibilities, the kitchen, and all those everyday details that seem to multiply when nobody’s looking, it’s easy to stay busy doing what needs to be done.
And I don’t mind being useful. I rather enjoy knowing I’ve helped make something easier for somebody else.
But sitting on that porch reminded me that being useful isn’t the only way to be part of something.
Sometimes being there is enough.
Bringing It Home
By Sunday, Mabel was pointed toward Louisiana, Bubba and I were carrying on our usual road-trip conversations, and the Who Dat boys were giving us plenty to talk about, too. Apparently a good halftime ass-chewing can still work wonders. 😂
We made it home, unloaded everything, and got ourselves settled. I brought leftovers back with us, so Monday’s lunch was already handled, and I had a spaghetti casserole to assemble for another meal. Sunday supper was leftover pizza, which suited me just fine after all that traveling.
Nothing fancy. No grand production. Just food we already had and a little less to think about before the workweek started.
That’s one thing I’ve come to appreciate about the way our kitchen works. When we save what we can, use what we have, and make a few practical decisions along the way, there’s a little more room for everything else life brings.
And this weekend, that everything else included a 95th birthday, a porch full of family history, and conversations worth carrying home.
Off the Apron
I’ve been sharing pieces of my life through 30 Days to 60, and those childhood memories have reminded me how many of our family stories live in ordinary places. A kitchen table, a gravel road, a front porch, or a conversation that nobody thought to write down.
If there’s somebody in your family whose stories you love hearing, maybe the next visit doesn’t need a special occasion. Sometimes another cup of coffee and a little time together are plenty.
And if the kitchen is one of the things making it harder to find that time, that’s part of why I built Your Bowl Connection. Not to create a perfect kitchen, but to find practical ways for the everyday work of feeding people to fit around the life we’re actually living.
You’re always welcome to explore The Porch and find whatever kind of kitchen help fits your season.
From the Porch
I don’t know how many conversations I’ve forgotten over nearly sixty years, but I’m thankful for the ones that stayed with me. Some are funny, some are tender, and some didn’t seem particularly important until much later.
This weekend gave me a few more to carry home.
And as I sit here thinking about Grandma Delcie, Pop Abby, Mom Angelle, and all those voices around the tables and porches of my life, I’m glad I took the time to listen.
Coffee’s always better with company, anyway. ☕
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