Happy 80th Birthday mom! I can turn right around in this rolling computer chair which used to be hers
and announce this to all that remains of her inside a plastic bag sealed with a silver metal tag #3117 inside a decorative wooden box sitting on the blue powered
reclining chair which Sister Palmettia bought for her. And that's what I would say to Mrs Xylia Couch if she were alive today. But Xylia Couch, my mother, is still dead.
The last time I took the time out of my busy life to celebrate the day of my mother's birth with her was in 2007 when she turned 75 years old. My young wife Miracle Tinker and I took a flight from San Diego and joined my two sisters in wishing her well on her special day. Brother Church was in Iraq at that time and was unable to attend but Xylia ensured we set a place for a framed 8x11 picture of him anyway at the fancy Mexican restaurant table. We video taped the whole event to capture every moment of our adoration for this woman. In other words we made her wear silly hats and tied balloons around her like a clown for our own amusement. She seemed to enjoy it though.
And believe it or not, I was often hard pressed to know exactly
how old my own mother actually was from year to year. There was a
private joke we shared ever since her 45th birthday or so where she
would ask me how old she was and I would reply, "Aren't you about 42?"
This little fabrication seemed to give her a smile, but after awhile it ensured that I had NO idea how old she actually was without resort to a calendar and a calculator. I found a Rocky Hats ball cap once with the year 1932 emblazoned on it which I wore when we came to see her in 2007. I would refer to it quite often when asked how old my mother was, but not that day. That day I knew the magic number was "75."
Her husband Dillon Couch was also still alive at that time. We all did our very best to help him enjoy the day as well, which with his advanced years was certainly no easy task. I wish I knew more about Dillon Couch but I honestly don't. If I did know more I probably would have written yesterday about his service in World War II, but I only read his obituary today out of morbid curiosity. There's probably research I could do about the man my mother married in their twilight years....but I'm too lazy to do it. Suffice it to say that Dillon would not see Xylia's 79th birthday.
It is a matter of record that Dillon Couch passed away in a nursing home on MY birthday just 16 days after his own 90th birthday in March of 2011. As an accomplished musician he left this world with perfect timing, just before his benefits ran out, without which Xylia would have been hard pressed to afford his care. Sister Grace was there when he passed so it is a small comfort to know that he was not alone. Before he married my mother he was a widower of a 43 year marriage but did not have any children from that union to mourn his passing. I heard the news of it at the time but was unable or probably unwilling to do much about it. It seems to me from that day Xylia Couch's health began to deteriorate ever rapidly culminating in her passing in November of the same year.
Today would be Mrs Xylia Couch's 80th birthday but Xylia Couch, my mother, is dead. Long live Xylia Couch!
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
It's Memorial Day 2012 and my mother Xylia Couch is still dead. My mother did not serve in the United States Armed Forces, but while she was the wife of Stormy Tinker, she no doubt supported the cold war effort. When Stormy went to Vietnam, Xylia kept the home fires burning. It's hard to remember how many Uncles I had back then. Let's just say I had less of them when Stormy got back from overseas.
Xylia Couch also retired from the Army & Air Force exchange services after a long and supportive career. So I will still honor her memory this day, despite its rightfully sanctioned observance for those men and women who died while serving in the United States Armed Forces. She and Stormy Tinker certainly motivated myself and my siblings to serve our country. All of us did, or still do. Luckily none of us have died doing it, yet. Stormy was an Air Policeman with the United States Air Force and went to Vietnam but he didn't die. Or maybe some part of him did, because he came back different. That I do remember.
Brother Church carries some physical and mental scars from his exemplary service in Iraq with the U.S. Army Reserves. Sister Palmettia survived a cancer which may or may not have been caused by exposure to carcinogens while serving her country in the United States Air Force. Sister Grace has a little diabetes now and a whole lot of very funny stories from her stint in the United States Air Force. I retired from the United States Air Force after a colorful courts martial then a long fought and hard won appeal. No scars though.
Did you notice that Brother Church is the black sheep of the family? As the youngest he was the most spoiled, next to Sister Grace. He always had to do things his way which usually meant different. Like using a summer vacation at 17 years old to join the U.S. Army Reserves. Since he and his family are probably the most negatively affected by the "Tinker" military career track, I think it only right to give them all a long, slow, salute. (I did it, honest I did.)
Since Memorial Day is about "remembering" I find myself trying to. My earliest memories of my mother Xylia Couch are of her bright red lipstick and strong perfume. She would drop me, my Brother Church and Sister Palmettia off at a babysitter on her way to work or wherever. Sometimes the babysitters were fun. Sometimes they were evil. It's hard to remember on Memorial Day. It's hard to remember any day sometimes. But that's because I've always been too heartless to pay attention to the details. I only remember things in the broad strokes of how they affected ME.
Since I'm self-centered and heartless I would probably have neglected to travel to any cemetery where my mother might have been interred. It is quite fortuitous for me then that her ashes are still in that plastic bag sealed with a silver metal tag #3117 in the decorative box sitting nearby on the powered reclining chair Sister Palmettia bought for her. I can just turn in this computer chair that used to be hers and wish her a Happy Memorial Day. But she can't hear me because she's dead.
And I remember all the times I should have called her or written her or took the time to at least let her know that I was thinking of her. But I've always been too heartless in a way that makes me ignore the ones I love and the few who love me. She was one of the few who loved me I'm certain of that and since I'm so selfish it does pain me to know that number is dwindling. It was reduced by one on 15 November 2011 which was the day Xylia Couch was carried away on that sweet chariot.
It's Memorial Day 2012 and my mother Xylia Couch is still dead. Long live Xylia Couch!
Xylia Couch also retired from the Army & Air Force exchange services after a long and supportive career. So I will still honor her memory this day, despite its rightfully sanctioned observance for those men and women who died while serving in the United States Armed Forces. She and Stormy Tinker certainly motivated myself and my siblings to serve our country. All of us did, or still do. Luckily none of us have died doing it, yet. Stormy was an Air Policeman with the United States Air Force and went to Vietnam but he didn't die. Or maybe some part of him did, because he came back different. That I do remember.
Brother Church carries some physical and mental scars from his exemplary service in Iraq with the U.S. Army Reserves. Sister Palmettia survived a cancer which may or may not have been caused by exposure to carcinogens while serving her country in the United States Air Force. Sister Grace has a little diabetes now and a whole lot of very funny stories from her stint in the United States Air Force. I retired from the United States Air Force after a colorful courts martial then a long fought and hard won appeal. No scars though.
Did you notice that Brother Church is the black sheep of the family? As the youngest he was the most spoiled, next to Sister Grace. He always had to do things his way which usually meant different. Like using a summer vacation at 17 years old to join the U.S. Army Reserves. Since he and his family are probably the most negatively affected by the "Tinker" military career track, I think it only right to give them all a long, slow, salute. (I did it, honest I did.)
Since Memorial Day is about "remembering" I find myself trying to. My earliest memories of my mother Xylia Couch are of her bright red lipstick and strong perfume. She would drop me, my Brother Church and Sister Palmettia off at a babysitter on her way to work or wherever. Sometimes the babysitters were fun. Sometimes they were evil. It's hard to remember on Memorial Day. It's hard to remember any day sometimes. But that's because I've always been too heartless to pay attention to the details. I only remember things in the broad strokes of how they affected ME.
Since I'm self-centered and heartless I would probably have neglected to travel to any cemetery where my mother might have been interred. It is quite fortuitous for me then that her ashes are still in that plastic bag sealed with a silver metal tag #3117 in the decorative box sitting nearby on the powered reclining chair Sister Palmettia bought for her. I can just turn in this computer chair that used to be hers and wish her a Happy Memorial Day. But she can't hear me because she's dead.
And I remember all the times I should have called her or written her or took the time to at least let her know that I was thinking of her. But I've always been too heartless in a way that makes me ignore the ones I love and the few who love me. She was one of the few who loved me I'm certain of that and since I'm so selfish it does pain me to know that number is dwindling. It was reduced by one on 15 November 2011 which was the day Xylia Couch was carried away on that sweet chariot.
It's Memorial Day 2012 and my mother Xylia Couch is still dead. Long live Xylia Couch!
Sunday, May 13, 2012
The stories in this blog you may or may not ever read may or may not be true. Some of the names and places have been changed to protect the guilty and because I truly just like to make stuff up. IMHO, there are no innocents in this world with the possible exception of children under the age of accountability and most herbivores. There are reasons for everything and if you stumbled upon this blog by accident there's probably a reason for that and I would take the time to figure out what that is if I was you. But I'm not. I'm me. And I'm heartless to you.
Happy Mother's Day 2012! Unfortunately this day does not bring me as much joy as it should. You see I have at this very moment an extremely itchy infection in my right eye AND my mother Mrs Xylia Couch is dead. She died just last November in this very room at 1371 Butterfly Way in San Diego, CA, where I'm typing this. Her ashes are hidden in a decorative wooden box that rests comfortably upon a blue powered reclining chair that my Sister Palmettia bought for her. We don't have a mantle for her just yet and probably never will.
Inside a small window on the lid of her box is "An Irish Prayer For You: May your days be filled with laughter and the joy of many friends; May God bless you with His grace and peace that never ends." Inside the box is a plastic bag sealed with a silver metal tag #3117 in which is all that remains of my mother. "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust" is very real to me now. It pains me to no end that of all the Mother's Days in the past where I might have felt too busy to share a kind word with this woman; today I don't have the actual ability to ignore her physical existence. All that is left of her is with me.
Of course my mother Mrs Couch did not ever go by that name. Her maiden name was Lopez and even after marrying an age-old family friend Mr. Dillon Couch in a Las Vegas wedding chapel she kept the last name of her first husband who was a Tinker. Stormy Tinker was ONE of the love's of her life and the only man besides Dillon that she had married. Many men over the years of her life it seems were mesmerized by her exotic beauty, lilting laugh and disarming smile.
The name of Xylia's "first" love is known to my eldest sister, who I'll call Sister Grace, because he is her biological father. Sister Grace was firstborn to Xylia while our mother was a struggling lounge singer in Shreveport, Louisiana. Sister Palmettia's father, whose name is known to her also, didn't come along till Sister Grace was good and spoiled. Whether Sister Grace resented the birth of Sister Palmettia or not I do not know, but I do know that Xylia depended upon Sister Grace to help rear our Sister Palmettia as well as her subsequent offspring.
From what I gather, my biological father Stormy Tinker came along in the early 1960's. He was a skinny, corn-fed military man about 10 years Xylia's junior, although he allegedly was blissfully ignorant to that fact. By the time I came along in 1962 Stormy & Xylia were married and he had legally adopted both of my sisters. Their marital relationship was filled with violence and lengthy separations caused by the Vietnam war and Stormy's various unaccompanied military assignments. Our Brother Church, who is about three years my junior, was born to them while on an accompanied tour in the Aleutian Islands.
Their marriage ended with a painful whimper in the late 1970's not long before Stormy was able to retire. When I was a child I found some forgotten love letters written in Spanish that Stormy had sent to Xylia during one of their separations. No matter what Stormy claims about that relationship today, IMHO the word "Amor" seemed to be repeated more times in those letters than was poetically necessary. I will call Stormy today and wish him a Happy Mother's day.....for reasons that may be obvious to only those who know him. Today is Mother's Day but my mother is dead. Long live Xylia Couch!
Happy Mother's Day 2012! Unfortunately this day does not bring me as much joy as it should. You see I have at this very moment an extremely itchy infection in my right eye AND my mother Mrs Xylia Couch is dead. She died just last November in this very room at 1371 Butterfly Way in San Diego, CA, where I'm typing this. Her ashes are hidden in a decorative wooden box that rests comfortably upon a blue powered reclining chair that my Sister Palmettia bought for her. We don't have a mantle for her just yet and probably never will.
Inside a small window on the lid of her box is "An Irish Prayer For You: May your days be filled with laughter and the joy of many friends; May God bless you with His grace and peace that never ends." Inside the box is a plastic bag sealed with a silver metal tag #3117 in which is all that remains of my mother. "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust" is very real to me now. It pains me to no end that of all the Mother's Days in the past where I might have felt too busy to share a kind word with this woman; today I don't have the actual ability to ignore her physical existence. All that is left of her is with me.
Of course my mother Mrs Couch did not ever go by that name. Her maiden name was Lopez and even after marrying an age-old family friend Mr. Dillon Couch in a Las Vegas wedding chapel she kept the last name of her first husband who was a Tinker. Stormy Tinker was ONE of the love's of her life and the only man besides Dillon that she had married. Many men over the years of her life it seems were mesmerized by her exotic beauty, lilting laugh and disarming smile.
The name of Xylia's "first" love is known to my eldest sister, who I'll call Sister Grace, because he is her biological father. Sister Grace was firstborn to Xylia while our mother was a struggling lounge singer in Shreveport, Louisiana. Sister Palmettia's father, whose name is known to her also, didn't come along till Sister Grace was good and spoiled. Whether Sister Grace resented the birth of Sister Palmettia or not I do not know, but I do know that Xylia depended upon Sister Grace to help rear our Sister Palmettia as well as her subsequent offspring.
From what I gather, my biological father Stormy Tinker came along in the early 1960's. He was a skinny, corn-fed military man about 10 years Xylia's junior, although he allegedly was blissfully ignorant to that fact. By the time I came along in 1962 Stormy & Xylia were married and he had legally adopted both of my sisters. Their marital relationship was filled with violence and lengthy separations caused by the Vietnam war and Stormy's various unaccompanied military assignments. Our Brother Church, who is about three years my junior, was born to them while on an accompanied tour in the Aleutian Islands.
Their marriage ended with a painful whimper in the late 1970's not long before Stormy was able to retire. When I was a child I found some forgotten love letters written in Spanish that Stormy had sent to Xylia during one of their separations. No matter what Stormy claims about that relationship today, IMHO the word "Amor" seemed to be repeated more times in those letters than was poetically necessary. I will call Stormy today and wish him a Happy Mother's day.....for reasons that may be obvious to only those who know him. Today is Mother's Day but my mother is dead. Long live Xylia Couch!
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Being Tin Man 2 U means I make no excuses nor have any qualms about what I'm doing. Everything anyone does is usually for their own benefit one way or another and I am no exception. I have no reason to believe that anything I say will do you any good, but, in the off-chance it does, I feel that I should be recompensed in some small Click Here way. Don't you think?
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