Karl Turner: January 28, 1930 - January 9, 2011

He was the ringleader.

He was brilliant.

He was a service station owner, insurance salesman, gambler, casino floor boss, and state employee, among other things.

His last visit to Colorado was for my wedding.

He challenged me to know what I was talking about.

He was a cheater at every game we played.

Grandma was the light of his life, and his high school sweetheart.

Once, when his underground poker ring was doing much better than the one run by the mafia, Grandpa found himself beaten to within an inch of his life, missing his clothes, and tossed out of a car onto his front porch. 

And, even when illness and disease ravaged his body,  his mind was still sharp. 

This is the last photo I have of my Grandpa.

A moment, frozen in time.

I can still hear his amazing voice, his contagious laugh.

I can still see the ornery look in his eye.  And the love for his family.

I miss you already Grandpa.

Gwaat Papa Bawoom!

And in case you don't speak fluent Violet, I will provide the translation:

Great Grandpa Blume!

Yes, that's right.  Jerome's 90-year-old grandpa drove with a friend all the way from Indiana to come see us.  He rocks like that.

We are, just now, starting to see him age.  His mind is still as sharp as ever, but his body moves just a bit slower.  Mind you, he still keeps up and runs circles around guys half his age, but he is slowing down a bit - for him.

We didn't tell the girls until Monday evening that he was coming.  That way, the nanny only had one day of insanity.  Oh, by the way, the nanny is starting her own blog!  She and her husband are beginning the process of adopting from Uganda.  You can read her blog here.  She also has an Etsy page here where she is raising money by selling her beautiful hand made children's hats and women's jewelry.  Yes, my children are her models.  I can speak from personal experience that the hats are wonderful for kids, and her jewelry is exquisite.  She doesn't have the jewelry up yet, but she will soon.  It is stunning, and so unique.  I have a few pieces...

Anywho, back to Grandpa.  Last night we went downtown for dinner with him.  The girls were so excited.  Violet kept hugging and snuggling him all night.  Katrina told him every last detail about school (even though he didn't hear much of it - darn hearing aids), and Madi just giggled.  Kat is the only one who really remembers Grandpa.  The last time we saw him was for this wedding in Indiana right before Violet's first birthday.  But, nonetheless, our girls were giddy to show Great Papa all their new tricks.

I just noticed we have one kid in long sleeves, one in short sleeves, and one in a tank.  Gotta love Colorado fall!

I love my granddaddy-in-love.  He is such a sweet man.  Ornery, for sure, like most of his generation.  But such a gentle sweetheart.  We talked about my parents' ranch (he used to be a vet), about our fruit trees (he has a massive orchard), and about the girls.  I think he reminds me of my granddaddy.  I am so grateful to have him.  And so is Violet.

We aren't sure how long Grandpa will be staying here.  It all depends on his friend's schedule.  But, while we have him, we are going to enjoy him. 

St Daddy's Day

St. Patrick's day took on a whole new meaning for my family a few years ago. It was on this day that my grandpa, Carl Tucker, went to be with Jesus. He was an amazing man. He homesteaded from Oklahoma to Monticello, UT when he and my grandmother were newlyweds. They raised their children while Grandpa worked as a farm hand, miner, rancher, and other assorted jobs. He mined most of the major mines from here to Denver, and was a shrewd businessman. He saved his money and slowly purchased land across southwest Colorado, making sure to purchase the mineral rights along with the land. One of his mines, a uranium mine, actually produced ore that was used in the Manhattan Project.

My dad tells many stories of growing up under this man. Stories of owning the first television in the Paradox Valley (never heard of it - not surprised!). Hunting stories, ranching stories, stories of his love and devotion to his wife and children. He didn't actually say much, but what he did say, he meant. All the grandkids understood that "un-uh" meant "no thank you" in Grandpa-speak. He was never without his felt cowboy hat, button-down shirt, and boots. He taught us about ranching and life by involving us in the ranch, not just telling us stories. He taught me how to shoot, ride, irrigate, birth animals, farm crops, track wildlife, and truly live in nature.

As he aged, and the years of working in mines caught up to him, he was forced to sit more. He could no longer physically perform the tasks he had done all his life. And so, we sat and talked, and shared life. My most treasured memory was the Christmas before he passed away. It was Christmas Day, and we were all down at their house preparing dinner. Katrina, about 1 1/2, was dressed in her fancy dress, and Grandpa was in his "party" duds. They sat next to each other at the table, waiting for the meal. Grandpa reached over and patted her hand, then left it there. Katrina looked at Old Papa, put her other hand on top of his, and stared into his eyes. They stayed that way for a few moments, long enough for the rest of us to realize what was happening. Grandpa was teaching a new generation of Tuckers. He didn't have to use words.

And so, March 17th is no longer St. Patrick's Day for the Tucker's. It is St. Daddy's Day, in honor of our amazing Papa. I love you, Grandpa. I miss you every day. I wish you could have met Madison and Violet, but I know that someday, you will. I will get to feel your strong bear hug, your rough whiskers on my cheek. And we will get to worship Jesus together, in a way we were never able to do together on this earth. And that makes this day ok.