Remembrances of Dad
My Dad was born in Great Falls, Montana as his father was working on the Northern railroad there. They moved back to Arkansas and eventually made their way to California, I imagine, sometime around the dust bowl years.

Dad attended school through the 8th grade nevertheless, he was very well-read, curious, knowledgeable, and had sound and practical judgment - common sense

He worked hard

Was faithful to God and country

Loyal

A great Dad

As close to perfect as you could get in a Dad

During his residence at Brookdale Memory Care facility, we visited him last October for his birthday. I asked him, Dad, today is your birthday, how old are you?  He thought a minute and I said You're 94 dad. Naw, man... that's old!

I'm thankful that his godly temperament, solid character traits, and his humor guided his life even as he approached the end of his days. How are you doing today? He would typically say, I'm suffering satisfaction!

In the Army, during the war, he was stationed in the northern most part of the Pacific - the Aleutians, on an island called Attu. The island was the site of the only World War II land battle fought on an incorporated territory of the United States.He was a part of the signal corps. All he remembered was the cold snow ,no wonder he settled in So Cal.

When stationed stateside he went to Army cooks school.  He literally could cook for an army! When Dad was home with us on Saturdays there was always a feast for breakfast  He was a master on the grill and the BBQ. Our clan's holiday feasts were amazing.  Including hand cranked homemade plain vanilla ice cream. I would stand at the kitchen counter and watch him prep food. From him I learned the versatility, the beauty, and the art of the French knife.

Dad did special things at special times, Walking home from elementary school one day he met me just outside the gate riding his bike one-handed, with my bike in tow in his other hand. I thought we would ride home together. He'd say.

At the San Luis pier, Avila Beach, the small baitfish were running in the bay. He told my brother Steve to drop his fish line down through a knot hole in the pier and see what happened.  Every feathered jig on the line had a fish

At the Smith River, Steve and I did the same thing - we came home with a bucket of fish, too many to use. He suggested we go around the campground and sell them for bait,  Eureka - spending cash for the rest of the vacation.

Family vacations were an adventure - many times we just headed north - with fishing gear of course. Dad loved stream fishing. He would catch his limit and leave,  and as he exited there would be a mad dash by other fishermen to get to his hot spot.

He was quite the fishing guide, he'd say watch this son, and dip his pole in just the right place - bam - trout.  Now you try it son - not a thing.  Belly laugh. He'd eventually let me fish first, after he caught his limit. After all he was a meat fisherman

Dad loved traveling in his RV's because they were his projects. he bought them in the Fall, used and a bit tired, and by the next Spring he and Mom would completely refurbish them inside and out, ready for the next adventure. Eventually he'd sell it for a profit and buy another gently-used one to fix, camp in, and sell.

He did the same thing with cars in my teen years. In the Spring he'd buy a car in need of mechanical repairs, restore it and sell it. He said son, if you help me work on this, I'll split the profit with you.

1.   I had a summer job!

2.   Father/ son time

3.   And a life skill

The first project was 46 Willy's military Jeep followed by too many VW's to count.

Steve and I blew up our mini-bike engine and I, being the newly trained master mechanic, replaced it with an engine from dad's new edger. What happened next?  He replaced it with a better mini bike, and eventually a Honda Trail 90, which we rode the wheels off.

My brother would have just as many stories.

Dad was generous with his love, kindness, friendship, in serving and with his possessions. He was the kindest man you'd ever meet. I pray that I display half of the wonderful character attributes that were evident in this great man.

I grew up in a family of faith - not religious tradition - faith. We re believers and followers of the ways of Jesus. This was, and remains the core, the foundation of who we are-it drives our life. Dad was our family's beloved patriarch.

My parents, grandparents on both sides, aunts and uncles, cousins, experienced amazing times together in worship, in choirs and orchestras, at home, singing gospel songs around the piano.Our family's citizenship is not of this world, ours is in Christ's kingdom in eternity, a goal that we all look forward to.

Scripture tells us that To be absent from the body, is to be present with the Lord.  Dad has entered into the place that is promised to all believers. He's heard the words" Well done my good and faithful servant, enter in..."

Memories from Jamie
For the past 3 days I've been racking my brain trying to come up with the perfect memory to share, equal parts witty and sentimental, but instead of it being that one epic story I began to reminisce on the small things; picking oranges and lemons in the backyard, Grandpas homemade applesauce that tasted all the more delicious because it was pink, his amazing and oft requested biscuits and gravy, the swiss army knife he always carried, the glasses case he kept in his shirt pocket, but most of all his hugs. Grandpa gave the BEST hugs, a tight squeeze followed by pats. I miss those hugs.

He was a quiet man but my favorite was listening to him talk to my dad. He always addressed him as "son". Hello son, here you go son, I love you son. Every time he said it, I could hear the love and pride infused in that one word. He loved his family.

That is the legacy you leave behind Grandpa, love. Even though you are gone, we will never forget how much you loved us. You might have been a quiet man but you loved loudly.

Memorial Day
Monday morning started off like any other national holiday.  I rolled out of bed, brewed TWO cups of coffee, stumbled through my morning routine and packed up to head out the door to Disney.  My phone buzzed.  "It's really early for someone to be texting me", I thought... It was from my Dad. "Call me when you can, it's about Grandpa".  I got a sinking feeling in my stomach and I knew.

The day went by in a sort of weird pixie dust fog. People came in and out of the gallery, but I was mentally separated from their holiday celebration. Social Media posts showed loved ones in military uniforms with dedicated sentiments, but my Memorial Day was different.  The meaning had changed.

My brain was flooded with memories of Grandpa.  Memories stemming from early Christmases at the Rendalia house all the way to the night we taught Grandpa about SnapChat. We used a video filter and turned him into a cat. Grandma nicknamed him "Tom Cat"

Grandpa was quiet and gentle.  He would sit with the family and just simply BE. His eyes twinkled and every once in a while he would grin and shake his head at something someone said.  Grandpa never minded that the cat never forgot the taste of his hair gel and, without fail, every visit she would sneak up behind him on the couch to groom the back of his head.  He would just grin while the rest of us cracked up.

Grandpa was patient and kind. He taught me how to draw horse heads. I would bring him a little memo pad and a pencil, "Grandpa, draw me your horse!" He always tried to convince me that they were no good but still obliged.  I'd watch every stroke his pencil made and then would sit for hours trying to copy each section of it.  It never quite measured up to his and poor Grandma would end up with 20 different discarded horse heads scattered around the living room.

Grandpa was the BEST cook.  He was a BBQ master on his custom-built patio grill, BUT nothing ever came close to his famous Biscuits and Gravy! We all knew a trip to see Grandma and Grandpa meant happy tummys the next morning! We would wake up to the sizzle of sausage and the smell of gravy as it wafted its way into the bedroom. We'd crowd around the table and delight in the spread.  Inevitably, Uncle Steve always swiped the last biscuit. Grandpa would smile, pick up the giant pot of gravy dregs and heave it over the table "Here Son.." I always dreamed of the day I'd get that last biscuit for Grandpa's pot.



The brain is a funny thing.  It can hold great memories of the past and be a comfort in time of need.  But sometimes even those fade away.

Grandpa taught us a lot about life....

-   Delight in your Legacy

-  Look to your Future

-  LIVE in Today

To the family of Tommie, I am terribly sorry for your loss. Please except my condolences. Notice this scripture in the Bible. At Acts 24 : 15 it says " And I have hope toward God, which hope these men also look forward to, that there will be a resurrection of both the righteous and unrighteous." Isn't this a wonderful thought? One day we will be able to see all of our loved ones that have passed. Although this can not bring back your loved one, I hope this brought you some comfort. If you wish to receive more information or have any questions feel free to contact me at Athaliawooten@gmail.com.

My condolences to the family and friends of Tommie Hobbs. May you all find comfort in the true God Jehovah, 2 Corinthians 1:3, 4 and in His promise at Revelation 21:4.

OBITUARY

Tommie Walter Hobbs

October 16, 1923 – May 28, 2018

Miller Jones Mortuary and Crematory

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