Here's what has to say about Asa Buchanan...
It's safe to say there was no one like my grandfather. He was larger than life, bigger and badder, smarter and tougher ... the list goes on. I've been thinking a lot about him the last few days. Not specific memories, but random things like the flash of his blue eyes when he taught us how to play poker, or whenever he needled Nigel or sang "Chantilly Lace."
Summers spent at the Buchanan Ranch were the bedrock of my childhood. I definitely will bring Bree there, but it won't be the same without Grandpa, bossing the staff around, teaching the young ones how to ride... This morning I woke up with the memory of Grandpa asleep on the ranch sunporch, his cowboy hat askew on his head. In his later years, he wasn't as strong physically, but he was just as vibrant.
Todd offered to me the chance to write a longer tribute piece to Grandpa in The Sun. He had Clyde write the obituary. It's a fine piece; Clyde did his research and it was well written. I'm having a hard time getting anything down on paper... everything I loved and knew about Grandpa are in bits and pieces... as if they need to be strung together like pearls on a necklace, no end, no beginning, each pearl as luminescent as the next.
I loved my grandpa with the fiercest devotion. When I learned I wasn't a Buchanan by blood, I was devastated. But Grandpa didn't blink an eye. It didn't matter to him, I was still his "Jessie," his blond, blue-eyed girl.
He wasn't a perfect man. Sometimes he wasn't a good man. But he was my grandfather ... and for that I will always be grateful.
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