Prescott, AZ.
A week ago I flew to a dusty old town north of Phoenix by about two hours. My grandfather had passed away the weekend before Thanksgiving, falling asleep on Saturday and never waking up. He had succumbed to, among other ailments, a long-standing bout with Alzheimer’s. The family held a beautiful memorial service, and a loverly, languid dinner later in the evening, over the weekend honoring the cowboy that he was. He had lived in Prescott as a teenager, working on a ranch long before the casinos, the Wal-Mart, and the faux honky tonk bars that litter the downtown square. It was around that time, actually, that he purchased a 1940 Gibson ES-150, a guitar that was given to me a few years ago. In transitional times, you shed superfluous weight and run with what you need. I brought the guitar home the other day for whatever lies ahead.
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screwthis- reblogged this from sixtyeightinches
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tomwehrle said:
I lost my grandma this year, she was a few months shy of being married to my grandpa for 75 years…the holidays only make it that much more difficult. Hope you’re well. My prayers are with you and your family.
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the12thfret reblogged this from sixtyeightinches and added:
Wow…this is just great.
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katipants91 said:
Sorry to hear about your loss. You are in my thoughts.
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