Sunday mornin coming down...
Some of my best memories happened Sunday morning.
Like the Sunday in 2002 sitting with my Mom in her Toledo home reading
The Blade (“one of America’s Great Newspapers”) with her dog hanging out with my two dogs and two Maine Coon cats as we visited Mom for the first of three times in 2002 and 2003. Those three nationwide road trips gave me a true sense of being American and remembering certain moments of sleeping a couple hours in my car at a truck stop always brings a smile to my face.
Thoughts of Emma,Teddy,Ned and Lulu on those trips make me wonder what the hell I was thinking to believe that those cats could peacefully co-exist with me and my Clumber Spaniel and Shit-tsu inside my leased Jeep Cherokee for over 5,000 miles. And then do it again six months later. I did my third and final Toledo road trip from LA in April, 2003 after wrapping up my job as PR guy for the Oscar show producer following Mom’s news she had esophageal cancer. Once again, I moved into Mom’s home with my dogs and cats and stayed there through the Fourth of July. I started taking Mom to her chemo treatments everyday and we spent more time together than we had since she divorced my Dad when I was 13. Now I was her only child doing my best to be there for her despite my ingrained uncomfortableness with daily human interaction of most kinds as evidenced by my three divorces absent her fondest wish of a grandchild.
Mom’s cancer was nasty, putting her regularly in the ER then a nursing home then hospice after her last hospital visit. That last Sunday morning with her in the hospital before she was transported to NW Ohio Hospice in Perrysburg was peaceful as we again performed our Sunday morning ritual of The Blade with coffee and something sweet.
In the hospice, I spent many hours with her going over decades of family photos and sharing our memories. I pushed her wheelchair over the grounds and still have a picture I took of Mom in front of a giant butterfly metal sculpture so that it looks like she has angels wings. She liked that.
The throat cancer took her ability to swallow but she asked me to bring her an order of her beloved egg foo yung so she could chew it and spit it out. Sounds gross, huh, but who am I to question my mother’s wishes?
Like the time she insisted I go buy a power washer from Target because it was a good deal. I gently reminded her that she would be unlikely to be able to use the power washer at her next destination but she ignored my entreaties. Also, she opened a new account at Lowe’s to purchase other “good deals”
Mom never passed up a good deal, to the end.
The last week of June I spent parts of four days walking around Inverness at the U.S.Senior Open
before visiting Mom. It was an opportunity to be appropriately reflective regarding, mortality, roots, road trips, women, golf, animals and Chinese food.
The last time I saw my Mom was a Sunday morning when I stopped to say goodbye at her hospice on my way out of town back to Los Angeles. I was antsy after these months of nursing duties and restrained mobility and Mom knew it right away. “Did I do something,Chuck,” she asked. I reassured her but we both knew I was lying. After more mutual reassurances, I left.
That was my all-time fastest drive to LA from Toledo, rolling up to my Sherman Oaks house after midnight Monday starting at noon Sunday.
Thanks Mom for naming me after your favorite brother Charles Ayres, killed by Nazis as a POW in 1942. That is true brotherly love!
Happy Sunday and Happy Memorial Day Mom!
I love you and I miss you.
RIP
Sunday, May 24, 2020
Saturday, May 23, 2020
2020 Memorial DayWeekend-Part Two
Saturday is my favorite day of our three day weekends.
Particularly now, Saturday offers the beginning of the “break” with a seemingly endless promise of “more” until it all ends on Tuesday.
This Memorial Day weekend finds me reflective about my past Memorial Days.
Thinking about my Dad, Virgil Benjamin Warn.
He was born February 25, 1922 in Toledo then died November 7, 2005 in Ann Arbor.
I was with him when he stopped breathing about 5pm then I flew home to Los Angeles, only to repeat the trip four days later for his burial on 11/11/05.
Virgil did not learn his real name until 1942 when his Mom got a letter for some guy named Virgil Warn from the government that started “Greetings”
Until then, he was always “Richard Walker” and his buddies called him Dick or Richard.
Drafted into the U.S. Army after Pearl Harbor, the newly minted “Virgil” left Toledo for the first time in his life.
Basic training prepared Virgil and his new colleagues to be infantry soldiers and he no longer remembered Richard Walker. They fought as part of the 82nd Airborne glider force that entered France on D-Day. Dad fought Nazis for three days before mortar shrapnel wounded him for the third time in the war. This time he was placed with a pile of dead guys and might have remained there if not for the miraculous discovery that he was still breathing by another GI from Toledo who happened by and recognized his homeboy then raised Holy Hell until the medics took care of him. My own mortality beginning five years later seemed very much in doubt at that point.
As a D-Day vet, my Dad remained proud of his service until his death many decades later. He advised me to pass on going to Vietnam because our family debt had been paid to Old Glory. My namesake Uncle Chuck had been killed as a POW by Nazis and Dad was 80 percent disabled after the war.
So this Memorial Day, I propose a toast to honor my Dad Virgil, a real American hero!
RIP Dad
Particularly now, Saturday offers the beginning of the “break” with a seemingly endless promise of “more” until it all ends on Tuesday.
This Memorial Day weekend finds me reflective about my past Memorial Days.
Thinking about my Dad, Virgil Benjamin Warn.
He was born February 25, 1922 in Toledo then died November 7, 2005 in Ann Arbor.
I was with him when he stopped breathing about 5pm then I flew home to Los Angeles, only to repeat the trip four days later for his burial on 11/11/05.
Virgil did not learn his real name until 1942 when his Mom got a letter for some guy named Virgil Warn from the government that started “Greetings”
Until then, he was always “Richard Walker” and his buddies called him Dick or Richard.
Drafted into the U.S. Army after Pearl Harbor, the newly minted “Virgil” left Toledo for the first time in his life.
Basic training prepared Virgil and his new colleagues to be infantry soldiers and he no longer remembered Richard Walker. They fought as part of the 82nd Airborne glider force that entered France on D-Day. Dad fought Nazis for three days before mortar shrapnel wounded him for the third time in the war. This time he was placed with a pile of dead guys and might have remained there if not for the miraculous discovery that he was still breathing by another GI from Toledo who happened by and recognized his homeboy then raised Holy Hell until the medics took care of him. My own mortality beginning five years later seemed very much in doubt at that point.
As a D-Day vet, my Dad remained proud of his service until his death many decades later. He advised me to pass on going to Vietnam because our family debt had been paid to Old Glory. My namesake Uncle Chuck had been killed as a POW by Nazis and Dad was 80 percent disabled after the war.
So this Memorial Day, I propose a toast to honor my Dad Virgil, a real American hero!
RIP Dad
Friday, May 22, 2020
MemorialDay2020-PartOne
And so today kicks off the summer of 2020...
Actually, this is the first day of Memorial Day Weekend which has always been a touchstone in my life. Summertime is triangular, with Memorial Day and Labor Day as bookends around the Fourth of July. Memories flood my mind as I recall past summers from the 1950s at our rented farmhouse with an outhouse and a pump for water. Party line telephone calls meant several others eavesdropping on every call. The living room carpet would rise up whenever the wind blew. We took baths on Sunday nights in a galvanized steel bathtub filled with water we pumped and then heated with a magic gizmo we plugged into the wall. I remember sitting in the tub listening to radio programs like Fibber McGee & Molly, Amos n Andy, Gunsmoke etc...
I was not yet ten so I accepted it all as normal because it was what I knew. My best friend was named Ernie and he lived across Hellwig Road from our farmhouse in Genoa, outside Toledo. Ernie’s Dad was a farmer so I got to join them throughout the year in 1955 through 1958 doing farm chores like planting tomatoes, harvesting hay, milking cows, plowing land, feeding chickens and cows and horses and dogs and cats and more like goats and ducks and rabbits.
Mom and Dad taught me to love all animals, especially dogs and our farm became like the Underground Railroad for stray dogs, including some of the best dogs I ever knew. Like the boxer with one eye who stopped by for awhile to join our dogs So-So and Ringy as a part of our family. One day, he moved on somewhere else but his intelligence and bravery have stayed with me decades later.
I cried for a week when our sweet little mongrel named Brownie was killed by a hay baler on the road in front of our house.
Those winters were cold and when it snowed the outhouse required a full measure of fortitude. The fields surrounding our farm were muddy a lot and more than once I lost my shoe to the mud in those years.
Dad worked as a lumber handler at Rossford Army Depot until JFK got elected in 1960 and cut defense spending at places like Dad’s job. I never connected those dots until many years later. I loved JFK and still remember volunteering my ten year old services to Kennedy because Nixon was evil.
Mom sold Avon then Kirby vacuums. I got to go with her to pitch Kirbys to a series of wide-eyed young couples seeking truly superior vacuum assistance. She also took me to her sales meetings where they all sang songs and pumped each other up. Those experiences came in handy when I later joined the workforce selling magazines, shoes, diamonds, watches, sporting goods then Democrats.
My parents used to host their Toledo friends at summer bbq cookouts. Lots of laughs and beer and fried chicken, burgers, hot dogs, baked beans, potato salad, chocolate cake
The dogs always loved all the people sharing food.
Sweet, sweet memories...
Actually, this is the first day of Memorial Day Weekend which has always been a touchstone in my life. Summertime is triangular, with Memorial Day and Labor Day as bookends around the Fourth of July. Memories flood my mind as I recall past summers from the 1950s at our rented farmhouse with an outhouse and a pump for water. Party line telephone calls meant several others eavesdropping on every call. The living room carpet would rise up whenever the wind blew. We took baths on Sunday nights in a galvanized steel bathtub filled with water we pumped and then heated with a magic gizmo we plugged into the wall. I remember sitting in the tub listening to radio programs like Fibber McGee & Molly, Amos n Andy, Gunsmoke etc...
I was not yet ten so I accepted it all as normal because it was what I knew. My best friend was named Ernie and he lived across Hellwig Road from our farmhouse in Genoa, outside Toledo. Ernie’s Dad was a farmer so I got to join them throughout the year in 1955 through 1958 doing farm chores like planting tomatoes, harvesting hay, milking cows, plowing land, feeding chickens and cows and horses and dogs and cats and more like goats and ducks and rabbits.
Mom and Dad taught me to love all animals, especially dogs and our farm became like the Underground Railroad for stray dogs, including some of the best dogs I ever knew. Like the boxer with one eye who stopped by for awhile to join our dogs So-So and Ringy as a part of our family. One day, he moved on somewhere else but his intelligence and bravery have stayed with me decades later.
I cried for a week when our sweet little mongrel named Brownie was killed by a hay baler on the road in front of our house.
Those winters were cold and when it snowed the outhouse required a full measure of fortitude. The fields surrounding our farm were muddy a lot and more than once I lost my shoe to the mud in those years.
Dad worked as a lumber handler at Rossford Army Depot until JFK got elected in 1960 and cut defense spending at places like Dad’s job. I never connected those dots until many years later. I loved JFK and still remember volunteering my ten year old services to Kennedy because Nixon was evil.
Mom sold Avon then Kirby vacuums. I got to go with her to pitch Kirbys to a series of wide-eyed young couples seeking truly superior vacuum assistance. She also took me to her sales meetings where they all sang songs and pumped each other up. Those experiences came in handy when I later joined the workforce selling magazines, shoes, diamonds, watches, sporting goods then Democrats.
My parents used to host their Toledo friends at summer bbq cookouts. Lots of laughs and beer and fried chicken, burgers, hot dogs, baked beans, potato salad, chocolate cake
The dogs always loved all the people sharing food.
Sweet, sweet memories...
Thursday, May 21, 2020
TV takes down Trump! Film at eleven!
TV has always been my lifeline.
I watch television everyday, from morning til night.
All kinds of TV really, but I am consistently drawn to personable talk show hosts, news, sports, movies and all manner of episodic programming, especially cop shows, medical shows and legal dramas.
Watching Donald Trump since 2015 is like observing the co-option of my lifelong comfort tool. His use and misuse of television to secure his own political objectives is astounding, outrageous and impressive.
The impact he has wrought on American life as a result has created the swamp he campaigned to drain. And he has filled his swamp with a Motley Crue of creatures cloned to resemble his son in law Jared, Trump’s Lead Swamp Thing.
Now, it is true that television taught me decades ago not to trust most things. Trump just confirmed those instincts in spades.
My point here is that we are all now witnessing in real time a genuine three card Monty of distraction unequaled by any other public figure. Trump is selling snake oil on TV everyday and so far his customers have loved it.
Why then is Joe Biden beating Donald Trump by eleven points?
I submit it has a lot to do with the avoidable deaths of 100,000 Americans over the past few weeks.
TV gives and TV takes away.
ByeBye Trump!
I watch television everyday, from morning til night.
All kinds of TV really, but I am consistently drawn to personable talk show hosts, news, sports, movies and all manner of episodic programming, especially cop shows, medical shows and legal dramas.
Watching Donald Trump since 2015 is like observing the co-option of my lifelong comfort tool. His use and misuse of television to secure his own political objectives is astounding, outrageous and impressive.
The impact he has wrought on American life as a result has created the swamp he campaigned to drain. And he has filled his swamp with a Motley Crue of creatures cloned to resemble his son in law Jared, Trump’s Lead Swamp Thing.
Now, it is true that television taught me decades ago not to trust most things. Trump just confirmed those instincts in spades.
My point here is that we are all now witnessing in real time a genuine three card Monty of distraction unequaled by any other public figure. Trump is selling snake oil on TV everyday and so far his customers have loved it.
Why then is Joe Biden beating Donald Trump by eleven points?
I submit it has a lot to do with the avoidable deaths of 100,000 Americans over the past few weeks.
TV gives and TV takes away.
ByeBye Trump!
Wednesday, May 20, 2020
92,712 dead from Covid-19, including Annie Glenn RIP
John Glenn was an American hero.
When I was in 7th grade, we listened to the spaceman from Ohio prove to us a man could blast off, circle the world and come home safe. Our young Ohio chests were inflated with buckeye pride.
I close my eyes today and my mind takes me back to that day of “Godspeed John Glenn” in 1962.
Of course, he went on to serve our country in space and the U.S.Senate for decades after then before his death three years ago. He met his wife Annie when they were toddlers and they remained devoted to each other until she buried him in 2017. This week, Annie returned to his side after passing away from Covid-19. Godspeed Annie Glenn!
RIP Annie Glenn (1920-2020)
When I was in 7th grade, we listened to the spaceman from Ohio prove to us a man could blast off, circle the world and come home safe. Our young Ohio chests were inflated with buckeye pride.
I close my eyes today and my mind takes me back to that day of “Godspeed John Glenn” in 1962.
Of course, he went on to serve our country in space and the U.S.Senate for decades after then before his death three years ago. He met his wife Annie when they were toddlers and they remained devoted to each other until she buried him in 2017. This week, Annie returned to his side after passing away from Covid-19. Godspeed Annie Glenn!
RIP Annie Glenn (1920-2020)
Wednesday, May 13, 2020
82,548 American Covid-19 deaths
Every day brings us more death and more Covid cases.
By now, it is a familiar routine: TV brings updates and talking heads on Zoom.
Morning becomes afternoon becomes night.
Social distancing gives it a name; before this, my life was solitary by choice.
After three 20th Century wives, the last twenty years have been blessedly free from female influence.
Nonetheless, I miss human touch and interaction.
A sense exacerbated by this current circumstance.
Well, at least it offers us something different from the killings, earthquakes, fires, racism,crashes, accidents,Trumpisms,petty bullshit and more.
Change is always mostly for the good or better, except when it is not.
Like now.
Feels like being stuck in a scary blockbuster summer movie that we cannot walk out on.
Never even thought about living this long. Now I am 70 years old.
Add this to my list of life experiences along with The Beatles, JFK, MLK, Bobby Kennedy, Allard Lowenstein, Vietnam, Watergate, Nixon Resigns, Jonestown, Harvey Milk, George Moscone, ThreeMileIsland, Reagan, Springsteen, Marriages in Alexandria Virginia, Las Vegas and Palm Springs and much more...
Life is short, and then you die.
Amen.
By now, it is a familiar routine: TV brings updates and talking heads on Zoom.
Morning becomes afternoon becomes night.
Social distancing gives it a name; before this, my life was solitary by choice.
After three 20th Century wives, the last twenty years have been blessedly free from female influence.
Nonetheless, I miss human touch and interaction.
A sense exacerbated by this current circumstance.
Well, at least it offers us something different from the killings, earthquakes, fires, racism,crashes, accidents,Trumpisms,petty bullshit and more.
Change is always mostly for the good or better, except when it is not.
Like now.
Feels like being stuck in a scary blockbuster summer movie that we cannot walk out on.
Never even thought about living this long. Now I am 70 years old.
Add this to my list of life experiences along with The Beatles, JFK, MLK, Bobby Kennedy, Allard Lowenstein, Vietnam, Watergate, Nixon Resigns, Jonestown, Harvey Milk, George Moscone, ThreeMileIsland, Reagan, Springsteen, Marriages in Alexandria Virginia, Las Vegas and Palm Springs and much more...
Life is short, and then you die.
Amen.
Sunday, May 3, 2020
67,674 dead Americans: “success story?”
CoronaVirus2020 is proceeding apace.
As crazy radicals protest stay at home around the country, the virus numbers show no sign of plateau much less decline;thus, a second wave of death is coming just in time to take down antsy citizens yearning to shop and play golf and get tattoos.
On May 3,2020 life no longer resembles the life I knew for 70 years before.
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