Salt

My (grand)daddy died almost two years ago–the one thing I wanted of his was his salt shaker. Those close to me know how much it means–I’ve written a whole creative nonfiction piece about it.

Alas, others decided it was not to be mine.

The other day, my son expressed frustration–he said he thought he had found a business that makes them. After months of trying to communicate with them, though, he still hadn’t gotten anywhere.

And my heart about burst.

My son has apparently been trying to find a new salt shaker–one that will still remind me of daddy, but one I will be able to hold and to pass down myself.

And that’s exactly what my daddy would be doing right now.

Happy Valentine’s Day, dear readers.

Love each other, like the meat loves the salt.

Update: May 2019

My beloved friend Vanessa found a shaker like Daddy’s on the day she read the original blog. She sent it to my son, who presented it to me as my mother’s day present, which coincided almost exactly with Daddy’s death anniversary.

It’s an antique (like Daddy’s)–I know now it’s a teak Dansk shaker–the “Rosie.”

When I showed it to book group, I explained that I was having trouble figuring out how to refill it. Much Googling later, we discovered that one has to remove the pegs, which were unmovable.

Within moments, an expert friend of book group was found.

And so this shaker is full, in a home far from my original one. With the best family one could ever have.