Barefoot and Pregnant
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My granddad died on Friday night, so we packed in hurry and flew to Texas yesterday to be at the funeral tomorrow. We’ll be here for a week and posting will likely be light. I’d really appreciate your prayers for the repose of my grandfather’s soul, and for my dad, my mom and my aunt, who have all the funeral arrangements to make and a very old house filled with lots of stuff to get into shape.
My granddad was quite the character. The phrase “good ol’ boy” was probably invented to describe him. He was a Texan through and through, even getting a great Texas country nickname when he got stuck up a mesquite tree for several hours at the age of nine. When they finally found him his brothers and sisters thought it was so funny that they started calling him “Skeet” and the name stuck. He might have been Walton Taylor on official documents, but he was Skeet to everyone who ever knew him, except us of course, to whom he was Grandaddy. Grandaddy who had the magical ability to whittle anything you could imagine out of a hunk of wood, Grandaddy who told the best bedtime version of the Goldilocks and the Three Bears ever, and Grandaddy who gave us Coke and ice cream over the loud and and ultimately futile objections of our parents. We’ll miss him.
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