Preface or Introduction
It’s 3:30AM on October 31, 2008 at our Thunderbird Farms home on Esch Trail, outside of Maricopa, Az.
I spent yesterday traveling home from San Carlos, Sonora, Mexico. The travel was another of my mini-adventures, or it’s possible to some of the less adventurous and more sane people, that it may have been referred to in terms less endearing. Maybe even words like wild, crazy, foolhardy, risky, could come to mind, and a portion of some of these words could apply.
In a tired and an often, haphazard, mind of the early morning, half awake, condition I often contemplate the reason’s each of us are what we are, and how we became these, off times, slightly twisted or bent mortals.
This morning was no exception. With the events of the past week, it gave me cause for deeper reflection.
It started on Monday, Oct. 27th, with Clinton Greer’s funeral, Deborah’s birthday, the untimely death of Shane Figueroa ( young LDS cop, return missionary, father, from our old Maricopa Ward) and then finding out Uncle Verl has been put on life support in the hospital. These are but a few of the things weighing on my mind.
My mind bounced to the death of my own Mother and Father a few short miles from our Maricopa desert home. And how that event, in an instant, forever changed the lives of so many people.
There were three good, young, happy, healthy, industrious LDS couples. My Father, Gleason was driving and the horrific carnage resulted from the eternal law of nature that says when a massive train strikes a relatively light passenger car, the occupants of the car stand little chance of surviving, or many times, even being identified….enough of that.
Back to the wandering contemplation of life’s complexities.
Lincoln Robin Sherwood is truly the first born of Gleason R Sherwood and Alma Heap Sherwood. Link (as everyone calls him), in every way looked and has lived the first born part. He was a cute, round cheeked, in every way the All American, freckle faced, ranch/farm boy, from St. Johns, Arizona. Gramps (Byron Heap) loved the little cowboy from birth and tried to make him into the best little cowboy in the world. Link was a natural at ranch related things. He raced his first horse race on a wonderful mare named Falla. I think Link was 6 years old at the time. Grandad, (L. P. Sherwood) had other plans for this firstborn son. These were much different than Gramps’ dreams. Little Link liked the cowboys’ (Gramps) dreams much better than the intellectual leanings of Grandad. This lead to a serious division between the two Grandfathers trying to raise this young grandson.
Child number 2 was little Kathy. She was a beautiful baby, same round cheeks, lot’s of freckles, and perfect in every way. Gramp loved his Little Angel Kathy, and it was so apparent. Kathy loved horses, cattle, pickups, and anything related to the ranch, at the expense of the girl things of house, dolls, etc. This caused considerable friction between Kathy and Nanny (Anona Crosby Heap), her maternal grandmother who she lived with, and lots of contention between Gramp and Nanny.
Then there was Little Kim, he being the 3rd and relatively a lot younger (about 18 months), when his Mommy died, and was a lot like a doggie calf. Literally skinny, sickly, pale, wouldn’t eat, had ear infections, often passed out. The family thought he might die as doggie calves often do, even when they get extra care. A wise old doctor told the family a few things like, give the kid some pineapple juice, he needs some sugar, he hasn’t had any nutrition, he is likely to die. Little Kim (me) didn’t die, but may have developed some lifelong medical problems.
These maybe aren’t limited to physical health problems. It may be like Waylon and Willie’s song, “I might be a little bit crazy, but it keeps me from going insane”. My whole life has been spent trying to prove myself. Athletically, I wasn’t quite as blessed as some of the relatives, but I did have the guts to make up for the lack in physical ability. The taking of the State Wrestling Championship was one of the few highpoints in my youth.
On in life, my career was spent trying to excel. I did in a few areas like tracking, artifact investigations, white collar crime investigations, cattle theft investigations, to name a few.
My bosses saw these abilities and guts to follow them through and gave me free rein of major investigations.
This has or had a cause and effect.
Cause- there are only 24 hours in the day, you can’t spend them all on the job. My family often were without a father in the home. When he was there, he was still on the job, in his mind. My loving wife, Debbie, took on the role of father and mother, the older girls became little Mothers (ShimMa Yazzie, Navajo for little mother).
That job took its’ toll on my mental and physical health. My children, now adults, ask why I never hugged and showed the kind of love some of their friends dad’s did. I can blame the job and the type of investigations I did for that.
Enough said on that one, this little get up and jot down a few thought has evolved into a mini life story. What I started out as a few lines about my firstborn older brother, my beautiful sister, and me, the little sickly doggie calf, went other directions, but it may help my understanding of life to put down on paper my early morning philosophical ponderings. KRS
It’s 3:30AM on October 31, 2008 at our Thunderbird Farms home on Esch Trail, outside of Maricopa, Az.
I spent yesterday traveling home from San Carlos, Sonora, Mexico. The travel was another of my mini-adventures, or it’s possible to some of the less adventurous and more sane people, that it may have been referred to in terms less endearing. Maybe even words like wild, crazy, foolhardy, risky, could come to mind, and a portion of some of these words could apply.
In a tired and an often, haphazard, mind of the early morning, half awake, condition I often contemplate the reason’s each of us are what we are, and how we became these, off times, slightly twisted or bent mortals.
This morning was no exception. With the events of the past week, it gave me cause for deeper reflection.
It started on Monday, Oct. 27th, with Clinton Greer’s funeral, Deborah’s birthday, the untimely death of Shane Figueroa ( young LDS cop, return missionary, father, from our old Maricopa Ward) and then finding out Uncle Verl has been put on life support in the hospital. These are but a few of the things weighing on my mind.
My mind bounced to the death of my own Mother and Father a few short miles from our Maricopa desert home. And how that event, in an instant, forever changed the lives of so many people.
There were three good, young, happy, healthy, industrious LDS couples. My Father, Gleason was driving and the horrific carnage resulted from the eternal law of nature that says when a massive train strikes a relatively light passenger car, the occupants of the car stand little chance of surviving, or many times, even being identified….enough of that.
Back to the wandering contemplation of life’s complexities.
Lincoln Robin Sherwood is truly the first born of Gleason R Sherwood and Alma Heap Sherwood. Link (as everyone calls him), in every way looked and has lived the first born part. He was a cute, round cheeked, in every way the All American, freckle faced, ranch/farm boy, from St. Johns, Arizona. Gramps (Byron Heap) loved the little cowboy from birth and tried to make him into the best little cowboy in the world. Link was a natural at ranch related things. He raced his first horse race on a wonderful mare named Falla. I think Link was 6 years old at the time. Grandad, (L. P. Sherwood) had other plans for this firstborn son. These were much different than Gramps’ dreams. Little Link liked the cowboys’ (Gramps) dreams much better than the intellectual leanings of Grandad. This lead to a serious division between the two Grandfathers trying to raise this young grandson.
Child number 2 was little Kathy. She was a beautiful baby, same round cheeks, lot’s of freckles, and perfect in every way. Gramp loved his Little Angel Kathy, and it was so apparent. Kathy loved horses, cattle, pickups, and anything related to the ranch, at the expense of the girl things of house, dolls, etc. This caused considerable friction between Kathy and Nanny (Anona Crosby Heap), her maternal grandmother who she lived with, and lots of contention between Gramp and Nanny.
Then there was Little Kim, he being the 3rd and relatively a lot younger (about 18 months), when his Mommy died, and was a lot like a doggie calf. Literally skinny, sickly, pale, wouldn’t eat, had ear infections, often passed out. The family thought he might die as doggie calves often do, even when they get extra care. A wise old doctor told the family a few things like, give the kid some pineapple juice, he needs some sugar, he hasn’t had any nutrition, he is likely to die. Little Kim (me) didn’t die, but may have developed some lifelong medical problems.
These maybe aren’t limited to physical health problems. It may be like Waylon and Willie’s song, “I might be a little bit crazy, but it keeps me from going insane”. My whole life has been spent trying to prove myself. Athletically, I wasn’t quite as blessed as some of the relatives, but I did have the guts to make up for the lack in physical ability. The taking of the State Wrestling Championship was one of the few highpoints in my youth.
On in life, my career was spent trying to excel. I did in a few areas like tracking, artifact investigations, white collar crime investigations, cattle theft investigations, to name a few.
My bosses saw these abilities and guts to follow them through and gave me free rein of major investigations.
This has or had a cause and effect.
Cause- there are only 24 hours in the day, you can’t spend them all on the job. My family often were without a father in the home. When he was there, he was still on the job, in his mind. My loving wife, Debbie, took on the role of father and mother, the older girls became little Mothers (ShimMa Yazzie, Navajo for little mother).
That job took its’ toll on my mental and physical health. My children, now adults, ask why I never hugged and showed the kind of love some of their friends dad’s did. I can blame the job and the type of investigations I did for that.
Enough said on that one, this little get up and jot down a few thought has evolved into a mini life story. What I started out as a few lines about my firstborn older brother, my beautiful sister, and me, the little sickly doggie calf, went other directions, but it may help my understanding of life to put down on paper my early morning philosophical ponderings. KRS
2 comments:
Testing....I love the fact that you are doing this!!!!
Kim-- (I prefer that name to the one you gave yourself). You have a real gift for writing. It is colorful, interesting, and tells me that you have things to say that are meaningful. Please keep it up! I don't often respond to what I read on the internet. Actually, I don't read much on the internet. I'm still trying to find my way around the computer. I use it mostly for family history, which I am enjoying. I know only a little, but I have found satisfaction in being able to help a person or two. That is my calling--Family History Consultant.
Are you still writing? I may not know how to navigate this blog. I'd like to see more.
Aunt Nin
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