Audrey

A year ago when I was deciding to move from New Jersey to New Orleans the toughest element of the decision was leaving my 90 year old mother in her nursing home.  Being the youngest of three boys I was always her baby. We lived together for many years and over the course of my life I had gone from being taken care of to being the care giver. After she was admitted to the nursing home six years ago,  I would bring her her coffee and cigarettes with an hour of time twice a week. Eventually just once a week.

She surprised the doctors and family by her resilience to strokes, falls and Alzheimer's. Seventy eight years of smoking hadn't even slowed her down. In fact, going outside a few times a day to have a Marlboro was the highlight of her day in an otherwise bleak existence.  Imagine a very bundled up Ruth Gorden outside in a wheelchair slinging profanities as she attempted to light her next smoke in the wind.

I recent months her health has declined sharply and it looks like she soon will be leaving us. So the final posts of my year long blog about my move down here will probably be a lot of my memories of her. Bare with me during my grieving period. To be honest, the grieving period started years ago as her mind started to fragment like an old hard drive. Dying are the ninety years of memories from an incredible and fascinating life of a strong, bright and independent woman.

Recently my friend Robert introduced me to the film "Curious Case Of Benjamin Buttons" Uncanny timing.  The film has allowed me to deal with emotions and feelings that I would've done my best to avoid with self medication and distractions of daily existence. I have loved ones in NJ, my mother whose life is coming to an end, and a fourteen year old daughter whose life is just beginning.  This is the first time in the past year, I wish I was there.

Wait until I tell you about Audrey, you guys will love her.

A belated Christmas song

I got drunk Christmas eve and kind of melancholy about not spending it with my daughter. Around midnight I found myself sitting on a cold concrete footing of the Crescent City bridge humming this tune while sipping on a PBR. 

I would have posted it on Christmas but I couldn't remember who performed it. My friend Crystal posted a mention of it on Facebook. So much in vein of the song, here it is late. Enjoy, don't jump.

Veteran's Day

On this Veteran's Day the Commander in Chief of the United States Armed Services is out of the country visiting other nations. Obama is busy trying to convince the world that the United States is very sorry if we may have offended them, and what ever it is that makes us so evil he will change.

On Veteran's Day we remember those who served.  If you get a chance today and want to to read one story about a man who served, check out a site I created to remember my father. A sailor who served in Vietnam. 

Frank Styles, USN

John R. Carleton

My mother was born in 1920. Audrey grew up as a tomboy in in Northeastern Pa. during the depression and was widowed by the time she was 24. My mother's first husband John R. Carleton, was killed in the Battle of the Bulge. War brides have the saddest stories. Before the war ended she was given a job for the Department of the Navy so she could support herself. Audrey worked at Naval Weapons Station Earl in Colts Neck NJ. That is where she met her next two husbands.

Her second husband Henry had served as a sailor in the South Pacific during WW2. He died in the late 50's leaving her with two young boys. Widowed again. In the early 60's, she met my father Frank at Earl and married him. Frank served in Viet Nam and died after retirement in '76. When asked if she would ever marry again, Audrey would respond "I buried three, I'll just get a dog."

About seven years ago, after several small strokes and the onset of Alzheimer's Audrey was moved to a nursing home. Being the youngest and closest, I assumed the task of sorting through a life time of possessions and distributing or disposing. I came across a forgotten family hallowed relic. A silver star earned by Audrey's first husband during the Ardennes Offensive. I am not a blood decedent, nor do I know of any. I need to find a place for this award, and the acknowledgement of his sacrifice.  

Somehow when I moved down to New Orleans six months ago the medal came with me. I thought for sure I had left it safely in a box in a storage unit in New Jersey. While going through some important documents that I had brought with me the Silver Star again showed up, this time in with my birth certificate.  During my first days in New Orleans my friend pointed out the WW2 Museum and commented on how great it is. It dawned on me that this is the place that the Silver Star should come to rest.


I am offering the Silver Star to the WW2 Museum in New Orleans for their collection. 

Meet my old man

I got into this blogging thing as just a way to vent. Screams and cursing into the wind of the internet, not caring if I am heard, just needing to get something off of my chest. One blog I started about Father's Day was about my better memories of my father. I found that after I became a father, I became less critical of my own. I tried to remember his best qualities, his talents, his humor.

A few days ago I was contacted by a man that had served with my father in the Philippines. He sent me photographs that I had never seen before. They were of a fishing trip that landed a 300 lb Pacific Marlin. I remember hearing the story when I was growing up. Mom always said it was a bullshit fish story. Well, I just saw the pictures, it's all true.

FRANK STYLES U.S.N.

Thumbs Up

I watched this film the other night. Very entertaining. I would love to watch it someday with my daughter. Rent it.

I miss you Kiddo....

This is the first Father's Day in 13 years that I haven't spent with my daughter.


Our favorite film to watch together is Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill. A few years ago I bought her the yellow suit for Halloween. I had been calling her "Kiddo" since she was a toddler. She's a real tomboy who loves action films and video games. When she was learning to walk she would take a bad spill, her eyes might water but she seldom cried.


We both balled like babies when I left New Jersey back in March. Tomorrow I am working as an extra on the set of the film Brawler again. The actor Michael Bowen is in it. He was also in Kill Bill. If I get the chance, I will break protocol of background extras by saying Hi to Mr. Bowen. Extras are not supposed to speak to principals.

Someday when I do get to talk to my Kiddo again, she'll get a big kick out of the fact I spoke to an actor from her all time favorite film. As long as my daughter considers me a success, that's the only opinion that truly matters.



"When will I see you again?"

"You know, that's the name of my favorite soul song from the '70s. "

I don't miss driving taxi

I was telling my landlord Mr. Pollock some of the dysfunctional adventures driving cab at night on the Jersey Shore. Anyone who is out at three AM is up to no good. One night I had a drunk shoot through a stop sign and almost park his Tahoe in my lap. If I hadn't swerved three feet to the right, I would probably still be going for physical therapy. My next fare was one of our regulars who stumbled into my cab with the motor skills of a tranquilized water buffalo. "I probably could've driven home, but the cops are such ball busters around here...ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ" Yea, I guess the three times the courts revoked your license for D.U.I., it was just to bust your chops.

Hardcore alchies are manipulators, I've heard it all. We had this one regular woman who I refused to talk to when she was wasted. In order to pull me in, out of the blue she starts balling.
"Waaaaaaaaa, my husband beats me."
"Yea? How long has that been going on?"
"For years!"
"Shut up then. The first time it happens you have my sympathy. Every time afterwards it's your own damn fault. The fact you have kids at home and don't do anything to change the situation makes you as big of a dirt bag as your old man."
Feminists would play her as a victim caught in a cycle of abuse. My father hit my mother ONCE. After he was taken away in a police car he never set foot in the house again.

But by the grace of God

You can not become a great person, until you become the least.
ETS

When I was working the temporary agency I met a few men who were living at homeless shelters. Good men, generous and decent men whom I grew to respect. I'll admit a few years ago I didn't have a lot of mercy toward the homeless. I was snobbish and elitist. I figured they were there because they chose to be. In recent years I have seen how easy it can happen. I actually listened to them when they spoke which shelters were better than others, I took note of which soup kitchens they said were the best. I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I was fortunate to have the help of friends to feed and shelter me. Does it make a differance if charity comes from strangers or friends?


Charity sees the need not the cause.
German Proverb

Five years ago I would say that a lot of things that have happened to me never would. I hope most Americans will pause and think. Situations can change fast, unforeseen events can turn a life around. I hope when things turn for the better for me, I won't forget how close to needing the help of strangers. May I remember those men I worked with and help them when I am able to.



And now abide in faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

LINKS:
www.covenanthouseno.org
www.ozanaminn.org
www.nolawomenshelter.org

Another blog of mine...

I never had a very good relationship with my father. An alcoholic who died when I was about 12. I spent the better part of my life either hating him or pretending he never existed. I could easily turn this blog into a project to bash him, however I won't. I spent my life demonizing him. Now let me search for the qualities he had. The purpose of this blog is to examine who he was, and why he was the way he was.

I started it last Father's Day. Being a Dad myself, I realize that it's the toughest role any man can take on. Now that I am a father, over the years I am a lot less critical of my father. I chose to forgive him for his short comings, and I hope my daughter will forgive me of my own short comings. Visit this blog, and meet my Dad.

frankstylesusn.blogspot.com