As the one year anniversary of my grandfather Sheldon Hovis's death approaches, I would like to pay tribute to a man who truly personified the word pioneer and the significance of the years he spent here on this home we call earth.
My grandfather lived to be over 100 years old. Think about that.....100 years. He was born in March of 1908. He was alive when the Titanic sank; when the last great train robbery took place in 1912; and could have been friends with Wyatt Earp, who died in 1929. He lived to see transportation morph from horse and buggy to astronauts landing on the moon and regular launches of the space shuttle. He was was a young man during the Roaring Twenties, and survived the Great Depression. He was a cattle rancher, an oil man, and a well driller. He grew up in El Dorado, Kansas and worked his way through Texas, Oklahoma and other parts of the midwest.
I will never forget my grandfather telling me how the fire brigade would respond to calls wh
en he was a boy. He described the fire bells clanging at the building that housed both the firemen and their livestock, and how the double doors would open and out would come the fire wagon, drawn by horses that were as black as coal...firemen hanging on to the reins for dear life and the clatter of the horses hooves as they stormed down the main thoroughfare towards the location of the blaze. He described how people would come running out of their homes carrying buckets and would follow the fire wagon to provide assistance as they could. If I closed my eyes while listening to him, I could literally see the sparks flying up from the horses hooves and the whites of their eyes as they would pass by those on the street, It truly must have been a sight to behold.
My grandfather moved to Arizona permanently in 1935 with my grandmother Ella and my uncle Johnny in tow. They lived on a cattle ranch in a tent and cooked meals over an open fire. My mom came along in 1943 and helped my grandfather round up cattle and ensure they were fed and safe from danger. In the process she become an accomplished horsewoman and although she won't admit it, was a prolific barrel racing champion in her younger years.
My grandfather began losing his sight when he was still in his early fifties. By the time I was born, he was legally blind, but you would never guess that by the work he did and how hard he pushed himself to complete any task. He lived simply and took pleasure in listening to old 45 records and watching episodes of Hee Haw on television (Salute!). I spent many a day at his place going through his collection of old books and records...imagining what it must have been like to live in the days when those things were popular. He had an ancient typewriter and I would regularly pound out nonsensical letters to various people and he always promised to make sure they got delivered. My grandfather also authored a local book called "An Arizona Cowboy's Memoirs". He recited his recollections about his childhood and the early days of cattle ranching in the Arizona desert. His memory was photographic and he recalled details that most people would have long forgotten at his age
My grandfather lived on his own in Tombstone until only a couple of months before his death. I always thought it was fitting that he chose to settle in a location where the motto was "Tombstone: A Town Too Tough To Die". He attended his 100th birthday party with relish and while it was apparent that his energy was failing him, his spirits were always high. Ironically, two years previously, he spent his birthday dancing until almost midnight.....he sure did love to dance. One of the few pleasures he could still enjoy despite not having his eyesight.
My mom and step dad Ken took such good care of my grandfather. They ensured his finances were in order and took every possible measure to preserve his independence for as long as possible. My grandfather never wanted to be a burden and I know that fear must have weighed heavy on his mind as he grew older. He lived in the same little house in Tombstone for many, many years. And while it was not a palace, it was simple and plain and met his needs.
I think I still have a lot to learn about life by observing how my grandfather lived. He lived in the moment and appreciated the simple things in life. He was loved by many and made an indelible heart shaped footprint on a large number on people's lives. While he was not one to express his emotions very openly, I knew he was proud of me and my mother, and the things we had accomplished in our lives. I cherish those moments where he let me play on his tractor as a child; where he set up a mini-welding work space for me in his workshop; how he knew how much I liked marbles and was always on the look out for any additions to add to my collection.
So Gramps, this post is dedicated to you and all you accomplished in your time on earth. You are dearly missed, but I know one day we will all see each other again.
I think everyone remembers their first time. It is burned in your memory like a brand from an iron and elicits a deep emotional response when you think about it. Everyone does it for different reasons, but once the deed is done, it becomes a permanent part of your physical and spiritual being.
But I still secretly wanted one. I wanted something that was mine; that meant something without being just a part of a trend. Six years ago I came THISCLOSE to getting one, but at the last moment opted for a piercing instead. I have always known what I wanted - two heart shaped cherries on stems. In my mind they symbolize life, love and a rebelliousness that has always simmered underneath my surface.
