Neighborhood Exile

Dad has been digging himself deeper and deeper into trouble with his neighbors. He's frustrated trying to make new friendships with the people that live on his street and I can tell he's getting more angry about it as time passes. It's bad enough Dad acts so weird. Even if he was a super cool guy to hang out with frequently, Mom's condition makes it a little tough to have dinner guests over. I can understand why many people would want to tactfully excuse themselves from Dad's dinner invitations, etc. Can't fault them for that.

Crazed for golf balls, Dad has been sneaking around his neighbor's houses late at night with a flashlight. Apparently he's been hunting in their back yards and snooping around their property with little regard for their privacy. He has no problem walking right up to their windows while waving his flashlight along the ground. That's a bad idea, a bad choice of an evening hobby. At a minimum it could get your ass kicked plus involve the local police. At a maximum it could result in Dad staring down the business end of a gun.

There's an elderly married couple living right next door to my parents. Recently Dad was engaged in his covert late night golf ball retrieval operations when his neighbor's wife spotted someone wandering around on their property with a flashlight. She was brave, she rushed to open a door and stepped outside to confront the unknown intruder. When she began yelling at Dad to get the hell out of their yard and threatened to call the police my father decided it would be cool to yell expletives and insults back at her. I guess they verbally brawled for a few minutes before Dad finally got it into his noggin that it might be best if he went away. Now the neighbors know what he's up to at night and word has spread rapidly on their street. If that police chief Dad was trying to start a fight with finds out about this stuff he's probably going to really fuck Dad up.

My father's version of this story is totally whacked. Believe me, I've heard it over and over more times than I care to count. In his twisted world, he was minding his own business late at night just outside his neighbor's windows on their property looking for stuff that didn't belong to them. That makes perfect sense. How dare they call him names for that! How dare they demand he stays away from their house from now on! Those bastards! Dad doesn't seem to realize how completely fucked up and absurd his recounting of that evening's events sound as he's speaking about it.

Then there's this unhealthy obsession he's got for old clocks...

Couch Potato's Diagnosis

Yesterday afternoon I called Couch Potato's office and left a message on her answering machine. She returned the call today. After bringing her up to speed about what's been going on at Dad's place in Idaho I asked her a serious question.

"Right now I'm considering going against Dad in court by challenging his power of attorney over Mom. If you were asked to appear in court and testify about Dad, would you be able to do that?"
Couch Potato said, "I will be of no use to you."
"How come?" I asked. "Is it some sort of patient to doctor confidentiality clause or something?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I understand."
She said, "Sounds to me like Mom needs to take a one way trip from Idaho back down here to live with you."
"Yeah. I've been thinking a lot about that lately Couch Potato. But I don't have much room here in my place and I don't have the financial means to take care of her. I'd have to force the issue with Dad in court which brings me right back to square one. She probably would not be able to handle the trip to California anyway because she's in bad shape these days."
"Peasant, I want to tell you something and this is going to be strictly off the record. Okay?"
"Sure."
"My diagnosis of your father is that he's nuts. Insane."
"Really? You're not pullin' my leg are ya?"
Couch Potato replied, "No. And remember, if you need to talk to me don't hesitate to call."

I thanked Couch Potato and said goodbye.

Hearing those words "Your father is insane" was a huge relief. How ironic and strange I felt that way about it. For many years I had suspected Dad suffers from some form of mental illness. Actually getting the straight dope on his condition from a professional psychiatrist changed everything. It reinforced my determination to do something to help my mother.

Now I knew exactly what I was dealing with. I could put his behavior and treatment of Mom in a different perspective. Even though Dad may be incapable of doing any better I was not going to forgive him for what he's done to Mom. This also changed how I felt about my personal dealings with Dad. Most of the time when Dad cut me down and made cheap shots about me I ignored them. After years of hearing the same stupid shit coming out of his mouth it didn't have much of an effect on me anymore. Knowing that he's a definite kook meant that I could instantly disregard anything he says or writes to me from now on. After all, I was doing battle with a crackpot.

Adult Protective Services

Well, I've done it now. I have crossed a point of no return. This afternoon I made a phone call to the Adult Protective Services of Boise, Idaho and asked them to open an investigation on behalf of Mom. I am fairly nervous about taking this course of action because I don't know what kind of outcome if any will result. But since Dad and I already pretty much hate each other it's not like I have to worry about losing his friendship or anything.

Next up I'm going to schedule some time to talk with a lawyer who specializes in Elder Law, and while I'm at it contact Dad's former psychiatrist. I don't think he ever found out both of us were seeing the same counsellor. That was Couch Potato. She figured it out first and kept quiet. Then by accident I made the peculiar discovery Dad and I were receiving therapy from the same shrink. I mentioned it to Couch Potato during one of my sessions and we had an interesting conversation. Anyway I'm going to ask her if she might be of use to me in court against Dad if things go that far.

The guy I spoke with at Adult Protective Services sounded really old. During our conversation he seemed slightly confused and asked some of the same questions over and over again. His voice had a weezy quality to it. Maybe he was a lifelong smoker. I gave him the details of Mom's situation by describing her deteriorating mental capacity and her other illnesses. Then I began to tell this fellow about Dad's substandard ability to care for her, his increasing isolation of Mom from the rest of us, Dad's increasingly bizarre antics, and his obsession with his bank account.

"Your father is financially paranoid, eh?"

"Absolutely," I said. "All he cares about is himself. Everything is about his retirement and how he will have nothing left in savings after Mom has to go into a nursing care facility. That's all we hear coming from him. I have observed him spending their money freely upon himself whenever he wants something no matter how expensive it is. But when my Mom would like to have something simple like a set of candles he yells at her 'What do you want that crap for?' and she frequently begins to cry. He flatly refuses to hire any part time professional help for in-home assistance so he can get a break. So the strain of trying to do the whole thing on his own is making him more and more of a headcase."

After asking me a lengthy barrage of questions the old man at APS agreed to open an investigation.

"Under Idaho law we won't be able to tell you anything about this case. The only thing we will be able to inform you of is when the investigation has concluded. We will contact you directly."

"Would it be useful for you to speak with my aunt and uncle who live in the local area there, or would you like to speak with my sister?"

"No. That won't be necessary. You can expect to hear from us in coming weeks."

"Okay. So if you don't mind my asking, what typically happens when you initiate an investigation like this?"

The old guy rasped and said, "We will send someone out to their residence to sit down and talk with them. This person will evaluate the situation and inform your parents of resources for assistance and care. Afterwards we make recommendations based upon what we find."

Since we've all repeatedly told Dad about care resources in the Boise area and he's failed to act on any of them I didn't see much good coming out of this. Adult Protective Services handing Dad a bunch of brochures on nursing homes or whatever they were going to dish out wouldn't mean squat. If he wasn't going to take advantage of available help it's just not going to happen under any circumstances.

I said, "You know my Dad has a pretty good front going. He's a decent actor when talking with total strangers."

"Our people are trained to spot that sort of thing and see through it."

Something in the back of my mind told me to doubt that claim.

"Let me ask you another question. Are these recommendations you make during an investigation legally binding?"

"No."

I was stunned. "So what guarantee does anyone have if you decide to intervene on someone's behalf that anything will actually come of it? What if an elder is being physically abused? How do you handle that?"

"If a person is being physically abused then the case is handed over to police and they take it from there. We also give them our recommendations from our investigation."

"But your recommendations are voluntary and not enforced by anyone."

"That is correct."

After I said goodbye and hung up the phone I shook my head. Adult Protective Services didn't have any teeth. I had a bad feeling they weren't going to be of much use or help.

9.29.2003

Decided to inform you of what's current with Mom.

Cancer: She had a Mammogram ( 1rst since surgery ) on 8-28, and a follow up with her surgeon 5 days ago. That follow up was a physical examination of both breasts for lumps and abnormalities, to include lynph nodes under her other arm. One side has been stripped of lymph nodes.

Her Cancer is very deadly, and has "No Blood Markers". Meaning that they cannot draw blood and tell if it is in her system. She is scheduled for Mammo's and surgeon follow ups, every three months, for a couple of years.

Alzheimer's: This has been especially frustrating to find good medication for. There are only three Meds here, and none of them are a cure, or do much for the symptoms. Mom has been on "All Three", with horrific side effects from two of them.

There is a medication that has been used in Germany for the past ten years or so( Memantine ), and I had made contact with a pharmacy in Hamburg Germany to get this Med for Mom. Memantine, has been the medication of choice in Europe ( Alzheimers ), and does quite a bit more than anything that we have here. I contacted the Pharmaceutical company that will market Memantine here in the U.S.A. ( Forest Pharaceuticals ), as the FDA had not approved it for sale here. This last week, Daryl Wesche, the senior marketing person for Forest, informed me, that they had finally gotten approval from the FDA, but, were waiting for a formal letter. Once that letter is received, Memantine will be available here in the U.S.A. I have a prescription already from our Dr. , and just waiting for the release of the medication. Again, it is no cure. As an example: A woman that could no longer do many things like cook, is back to being able to cook. A great help.

For some unexplained reason, our Dr.s here, are not keeping up with Research Development, and are for the most part ignorant of new but not available drugs. I guess that they do not have time to read up on things.

Mom will be on Memantine along with Reminyl very shortly. Probably within 2 months, maybe sooner. Memantine may buy her some time.

Myriad Pharaceutical: MPC-7869 is a new drug undergoing reasearch by Myriad Pharaceutical in Utah. I contacted them for particulars about this new drug. It appears to even reverse some of the damaging plaque build up in Alzheimer's patients brain. This will be the first drug that might be considered the beginning to a cure. The clinical trials are starting next Fall at San Diego State University. I contacted San Diego State University, and I have Mom enrolled for those trials, however, I am not certain that I wish to put her through what they want to do. Lumbar punctures ( spinal taps ) and the like. The FDA will be screwing around with MPC-7869 for who knows how long. Years ! I was hoping that they would just give Mom some of the drug, but, not so. She would become a Guinea Pig. Not likely !

I have kept our Dr. busy reading up on shit, and he E-Mails me all the time with certain questions about whom to contact for what. I have kept him well informed, and we get along fine. I had Forest Pharaceuticals mail a whole bunch of stuff to him on Memantine, so that he could understand the medication. They checked his credentials first, then mailed him the information.

That is pretty much the whole enchilada on Cancer and Medications. You are now as well informed as I am.

There are other issues with Mom. When to get inside the home help. I would love to get away for a week every now and then, but, you do not understand the situation. At one point your aunt would sort of help out, but, not to my liking. Mom cannot even change TV channels, and she would be leaving Jan alone for much of the day. No Dice. The alternative, is hiring help. Mom has been violently against strangers in the house. A source of argument. So, I am fucked. That's the way it goes.

You expressed better help for Mom - Go for it ! I just will not deal with you know who. She has the brain of a three year old, and that explains why, as a "Woman" she has accomplished nothing . She knows everything, and has done nothing !

I do not wish to fight with you, and have found myself in a difficult position. I guess that I will have to live with those choices and consequences. I do not wish to be screamed at over the phone, nor scream back at someone else. I am 63, and don't have unlimited time. If you choose to come up and see Mom sometime soon, you are welcome. Mom is what's important. Your sister assures me that she is coming up for Thanksgiving, however, I feel that she does not understand how booked the airlines usually are. I will be shocked if she gets a ticket ( which I will pay for - you also, if you wish ).

If you want to talk about something, please call. Mom loves phone calls from you guys.

Dad

Cancer

Back in August Dad was performing his daily morning routine of getting Mom up and out of bed. While he was helping her get dressed he felt a weird lump on her chest that wasn't there before. During her next doctor's visit Dad made sure to mention the new lump. Mom's doctor had a biopsy performed. She's been diagnosed with breast cancer. This is on top of all her other health problems. Her Alzheimer's is rapidly gaining more ground so Mom is becoming more and more difficult to talk to. She is mentally degrading much faster.

I find myself thinking over and over about how Mom didn't deserve any of this. I wonder when it's going to stop, and what will happen next.

My father continues to ignore the rest of us completely when it comes to advice. He's always combative, his ears are closed. You either agree with him or you are the enemy. I was talking with my uncle about this situation the other day and he told me, "Every attempt to help was taken as he's not doing a good job caring. It's always a negative. Since then he has taken away opportunities to help." For a while now Dad's actions have struck me as he's trying to isolate Mom from the rest of the family. Dad has also been lying to me more often about what he is and is not doing for Mom's care.

Later this week I will be speaking with Adult Protective Services in Boise, Idaho and making an appointment with an attorney who specializes in Elder Law.

Under Pressure

In any relationship there is always going to be some level of strife. Autumn and I are no exception. Over long periods of time little insignificant nagging problems creep up and you have to work together to find solutions or side step them. You'll put in enough effort to keep an even keel if you care about the person you're involved with.

Autumn has claimed I put her under too much pressure when we're together on weekends. She complained that I never come up with any suggestions for activities, places to see and things to do. Autumn also feels stressed out when we are eating at restaurants because she always picks out what we're going to have. You know, like if we're at a pizza joint what kind of pizza are we going to eat. She's angry about that. I guess her grievances have been brewing for far too long a period of time and now this stuff is a big deal.

Funny thing is, when I used to come up with ideas of things to do on weekends Autumn nearly always shot my suggestions down. Do you want to go to the coast? "No." Do you want to go see a movie? "No." Do you want to go drive over to the city? "No." It is true I'm not a very creative or clever person when thinking of activities. That's something I need to work on. However when someone keeps making suggestions and they consistently get rejected, you eventually just shut up and go with whatever the other person wants to do. To me all that matters is we're spending time together.

Meals are another point of contention. I don't offer any opinions on dinner choices because Autumn seldom seems interested in what looks tasty to me on the menu. So I don't do it anymore. It's cool, I'll eat lots of stuff except for some seafoods and pork. I figure I'm accommodating her cuisine whims and it's all good even if we are served weird shit like eggplant pizza. Autumn doesn't see it as accommodation though. She thinks I'm being unhelpful and apathetic at the dinner table therefore I suck. I know, I'm a bad person.

I'm under constant pressure too. I feel like my main job to is make Autumn happy and I'm failing in that endeavor. Sometimes I'm confused and at a total loss for what it is I should be doing. What is the right thing to say to her in a given situation? How am I supposed to react? I dunno because I'm not a mind reader. Maybe that's how everything keeps getting screwed up. I simply don't have a clue and never did.

Lately Autumn has been hammering on me to get a lawyer and to invoke Adult Protective Services for Mom's benefit. I guess she wants me to challenge Dad's power of attorney. From what little I know about power of attorney it's virtually airtight. Nearly impossible to challenge legally. Adult Protective Services is an unknown. Autumn is backing me into a corner on this issue in particular. I've already got a lot to be stressed out about and I'm definitely losing sleep every night as it is. This week I am trying to pursue both of these fronts just to make Autumn ease up on me. I'm skeptical anything positive will come of it.

9.28.2003

I apologize for my slip of the tongue regarding your age. I know how old you are, and what day is your birthday. I wonder if you know mine or Mom's ??

Your comment about seeking better medical care for Mom, is spoken in total ignorance. You find her better Medical Care, and I will pay for it. She does not want anyone in our home at present, and has refused the idea repeatedly.

Many of your thoughts are born out of ignorance of this situation, and a lack of contact with Mom. I personally do not want to see you over Thanksgiving. You are full of Bad Information, and , Worse Information.

I am still puzzled by your "hoarding money" comment. Another ignorant statement. Mom does not want anyone in our home. So, if I spend all of our money, and we have no savings, would you be happy then ? Don't say " nice job saving $30,000 Dad". Just for your information, $30,000 is about 6 months of Long Term Health Care. A drop in the bucket.

You and I have had it, and there WILL be one day when you'll regret that.

Dad

Skipping Appointments

I called Mom's doctor again this week. Her doctor told me something that really disturbed me. Sometimes he runs a little behind schedule because his office ends up slammed with people which obviously happens. If the doctor doesn't get to my parents fast enough, Dad goes into a rage about it in the waiting room and then hauls Mom out of the building before the doctor can intervene. He's impatient so Mom misses her doctor visit because Dad doesn't want to wait. What a fucking asshole. Those are her appointments that are an absolute necessity. Now Dad is screwing that up, too.

Mom's doctor seems like a nice guy. During my phone conversation with him after he mentioned Dad's temper tantrums in his waiting room, he asked me a question. "Why is your father so angry?"

"That's a long story. I think Dad has been mentally unstable his whole life. It's gone undiagnosed and untreated. As years passed he's become more and more messed up. His personality is also a factor. It sucks. Between that and the way he treats people Dad has pretty much driven away anyone who has ever cared about him. He can't figure that out so he's more frustrated. Everyone around him is the asshole. He can't stop and look at himself in the mirror even for a second and consider the majority of his problems might be self inflicted. There are a couple of incidents that helped push him over the edge though, Doc. His Dad killed himself. When emergency workers showed up at their house to take away the body my Pop had to clean up the mess. Grandpa Hal shot himself in the head with a .44. Blew his brains out all over the wall and the ceiling behind where he was sitting. My Dad was 23 years old at the time. I can't imagine what that must have been like for him to deal with.

Hal was a successful advertising executive in San Francisco during the 1950s. He came up with some heavy hitting ad campaigns for canned foods like IXL (later bought out by Nalley) and Fanta soft drinks. Problem was my grandmother thought as long as she had checks in her checkbook that meant they had money. So she kept writing checks all over the place and Hal ended up broke before his next paycheck arrived. That and grandma liked to stay hammered and smash up whatever latest cars they had. That kind of shit drove Hal into frequent brawls with her. Both Hal and my Grandmother were drunks, actually. Hal seemed like he was fun though. I would have liked to have met him.

Another thing that really put the zap on Dad's noggin was his first wife leaving him. Dad got married young. It was the early 1960s and he married a blonde bombshell named Charlie. She was hot. Charlie came from a dirt poor family in Texas. I say dirt poor because her parents lived in a shack with a dirt floor. They had like six or seven daughters and they named 'em all guy names. Harry, Tom, Charlie. Anyway they all ended up being airline stewardesses. After marrying my Dad and moving to San Francisco she got a job as a bank teller in the lobby of the Fairmont hotel. Lounge lizards who were playing the Fairmont usually hit Charlie up. I mean she was smokin'. She posed for Playboy. That also pissed Dad off as you might imagine.

A few times cabs were sent to Dad's place with a dozen red roses in the back seat for Charlie. It was a round trip cab if you catch my drift and that really burned Dad up. Anyway she finally ditched him to marry a rich guy and Dad ended up walking around on the streets of San Francisco going nowhere with a gun in his pocket. I think he had a breakdown then that he never recovered from. I used to feel sorry for him about the whole Charlie thing, but now I think Dad was an asshole to her all the time and it caused her to bail out."

Money Hoarding

Dad is so fucked up in the head. It's off any kind of measurable scale. In his twisted little nightmare world he'll end up penniless and out on the street homeless any day now thanks to Mom's disease. I'm beginning to wonder who is really ill here, Dad or my Mother. Lately I've been leaning more towards the verdict that Dad is actually the person suffering from mental disability... not Mom. He's become so weird with their cash flow that he won't spend hardly anything for Mom's benefit. Dad seems to have no problem buying expensive crap for himself on a whim whenever he wants to. If Mom wants anything and asks him for it no matter how inexpensive it is, Dad instantly shoots her down and says they can't afford it. Dad is doing the absolute bare minimum to take care of Mom while trying to bullshit the rest of the family into thinking he's going broke taking care of her. I know better.

What my Father doesn't realize is, I am in direct contact with Mom's doctors, my aunt and uncle, and some of their neighbors. I know what is really going on despite his idiotic claims. I've caught him in a number of outright lies already. For now, I haven't said anything to him about that stuff. I'm giving him enough rope to hang himself with. Dad's behavior is becoming more and more sinister. It's like he is deliberately trying to isolate Mom from the rest of us. Every morning Dad wakes her up, throws some clothes on her back and plunks her down in front of the television. Most days she gets fed TV dinners. When he's too lazy to do that he takes Mom out to dive restaurants and hits on waitresses right in front of her. Real class act there. I accused him of hoarding both his and Mom's retirement cash the other day just so he can spend the bulk of it on himself. Here is Dad's bullshit rebuttal.

----------

Had to take Mom out to get dinner, and a few new DVD's that she wanted. About $120 worth of DVD's.

Our financial advisor, thinks that I am doing a great job with the assetts that we have, and with the savings that I have been able set aside. Mom has had incredible medical bills that you know nothing about, and our insurance did not pay all of her bills. Not even close. I have come to the conclusion, that people will have opinions of this and that. What is important, is whom is doing what and who isn't. Whether I am right or wrong, I am alone, and doing the best that I can do. That is the end of the story. All of our bills are paid, up to date, and money set aside for next month. If that makes me subject to scrutiny, as a Money Monger, and "Hoarding Money", than I am guilty as charged, and damn proud of it. I would call it being "Financially Responsible', and staying on top of my fiancial obgligations. I always have, and always will !

I have been "chuckling" all day about the money hoarding thing. I just cannot believe that you came up with that one. Sounds more like something you heard from the 85 pound mouth with one moving part ( tongue ). I remember telling Linda that Jan could spend whatever amount of money she wanted to spend, as we had "Gobs" of money. That of course, almost made her eyes bulge out of her head as she is so cheap.

As I said before, Linda is an information freak, and Gossip is her entire life. So, whatever you tell her about us, will feed her for quite some time. I don't give a shit.

Just stop and think about this. If I were not watching out for both Mom and myself, who would ??

Sorry, but your criticizm is not on my agenda. Future messages will be canned.

Dad

Blackout

Autumn had some friends of hers over for dinner the other night. Her guests were an older couple whom I've met before. Nice enough people. Arriving at Autumn's apartment a few hours before dinner was to be served, the four of us sat down in the living room for idle chit chat. I don't know how we got on the subject now or who was the responsible individual for starting it, but we talked about where each of us had lived and where we were from. I began telling them about my family. Both sides were long time residents of San Francisco. My grandfather Hugo owned three pharmacies and two drug research laboratories in the city. He apparently invented some of the first kinds of chewable vitamins and a kind of lotion to help with poison oak infections. By the time of his death in the early 1950s he was a very wealthy man. My mother went to private Catholic schools in the city exclusively from a young age. By the 1960s San Francisco had changed so much neither side of my family wanted to live there anymore so they all bailed out.

One of Autumn's dinner guests was particularly interested in knowing more about my Mom. She too went to a private Catholic school in San Francisco during the 1950s and she had a best friend with the same name as Mom.

I damn near fell out of my chair.

After giving this woman more details she was certain my mother was a long lost childhood friend. I couldn't be so sure. The only thing I could think of was to put her on the phone with my Mom's sister which I did. The two of them talked on the phone for a good half hour or so. When the call finished she was certain Mom had been the friend she thought of from so long ago.

Man, can my life be any more weird and fucked up than it already is? I mean what are the odds of shit like this happening?

Pleasant conversation continued on into the evening but I wasn't paying attention. Memories came flooding back into the forefront of my mind. Things that I had been trying to suppress. Family problems, Mom's terminal illness, Dad's mistreatment of her, all these things surged up uncontrollably. Dwelling on my family problems made me feel terribly depressed.

I started drinking. There were two bottles of good red wine on the table. I slammed glass after glass automatically until...

Looking up from Autumn's dinner table I noticed all four place settings had been cleared. There was no food, no guests. I glanced outside through the kitchen window. Pitch black. Last time I looked out there it was still daylight. Over my shoulder I saw the entire kitchen had been spotlessly cleaned. Dishes, pots, and pans were put away. Confused, I sluggishly turned my head to the left. Autumn was standing in the doorway between her bedroom and the living room staring at me. She was in her bathrobe. Her unflinching gaze was icy cold and filled with hate. It made me feel like trash.

Slightly hunched over in my chair at the dinner table I tried to speak. Autumn cut me off. Glaring with pure anger she said, "You were rude to my guests. I'm going to bed."

"I... wait... what happened?"

Autumn quickly turned around and shut the door behind herself.

Evidently I had done something bad. Whatever my transgressions were I no idea because of an alcohol induced blackout. That has never happened to me before. I couldn't think. Nothing made any sense. All I knew was, Autumn hated me and my presence wasn't wanted. I stood up to discover I had trouble keeping my balance. Staggering out of her apartment I managed to make it to my car.

The distance between Autumn's apartment and my house is slightly over fifty miles. I don't remember anything from the drive home.

When I finally woke up late in the afternoon I was severely hung over. Worried that I had done something horrible I called Autumn. She was very cold talking to me over the phone. She said my crimes included interrupting her guests as they were trying to talk, and shooting down their topics of conversation. I did not however call anyone an expletive, throw food in anyone's face, or flip anybody off. So I was just an annoying drunk. Embarrassing, sure. Do I owe her guests an apology? Probably. But did I deserve that kind of treatment from Autumn for my slip up? Driving home that night I could have easily wrecked my car and killed someone. At a minimum I could have ended up in the pokey facing a fat juicy DUI rap.

I feel like my girlfriend doesn't have much compassion or understanding for me anymore.

Menace On The 8th Hole

The afternoon I was moving my parents into their new home, Dad took me for a quick tour around the house. As we were walking through the back yard Dad started laughing. He was pleased with himself. He said, "I chose this lot because we'll never get hit with golf balls here. Heh heh heh." I don't care where you live on a golf course, your house is gonna get pelted with golf balls. I know this, and if I were to buy a home it would not be anywhere near a golf course because I personally have a problem with that. Dad scoffed at me like I was a dunce when I suggested his house is most definitely going to take a few hits.

Their house backs up against a fairway on the 8th hole. My aunt and uncle live in the same subdivision just a few blocks away.

Inevitably, Dad's house did in fact start taking direct hits from hapless golfers. The first few times it happened Dad ran outside within seconds of hearing a golf ball impact somewhere on his house, found the offending ball, and waited there until a player came looking for it. As soon as that golf ball's owner arrived Dad instantly gave him or her lip and glared at them with anger. Later, one of his windows got broken if I remember right and everything worsened. From that point on if a golfer came anywhere near the house and Dad saw them through a window he would be outside in a blink of an eye screaming at them. Most of the time when Dad freaked out on players they weren't even looking for a lost ball. They were simply walking past his house minding their own business. That was ironic since Dad had been caught numerous times by his neighbors sneaking around outside their houses late at night with a flashlight looking for stray golf balls to confiscate. It was scaring some of the elderly people living on my father's street.

People being people, word quickly got out through the neighborhood about Dad's bad behavior. It even got back to the golf clubhouse. Players who had been yelled at by Dad would return to the clubhouse and complain about "that bastard on the 8th hole." Frequently my uncle would go on the course to play a round of golf with a good buddy of his and they'd be joined up with another player or two that they didn't know. When they started to play the 8th hole strangers that my uncle had been hooked up with would begin to make wisecracks about the "asshole that lives over there" and point at Dad's place. "You'd better not hit that guy's house. He's a real mother fucker." My uncle's friend would usually wait until they were just about finished playing the hole and then he'd say to the group, "You know, it's a shame your brother in law lives there." He'd laugh to himself while watching embarrassed strangers trying to apologize to my uncle for their rude remarks. Heh. My uncle didn't care.

Dad unknowingly is now a marked man in his neighborhood. During one of his latest episodes hassling a particular golfer he became so rowdy that this player almost punched the living daylights out of Dad. As it happens, the player who was nearly going to beat my father's ass is the police chief of their town. The police chief was so infuriated with Dad that he commented afterwards in the clubhouse "I'm gonna remember that guy, and I know where he lives."

Nice work, Dad.

Double Agent

Autumn has started playing on both sides of the fence, like a cold war era double agent loitering around Checkpoint Charlie.

Recently she asked me how I would feel if she started communicating directly with my Dad via email. That question made the hair on the back of my neck bristle. Dad has been attempting to ruin my relationships and friendships since I was in high school. I learned early on that it was an especially bad idea to let him have much contact if any with girls I was dating. At a minimum, if he was able to talk with them while I wasn't around he'd say shit about me to my girlfriend. Dad would tell them I'm an idiot and a bum. He was trying to fuck things up for me and he succeeded on a few occasions.

I don't want Autumn to have anything to do with Dad because I don't trust him, I know better. Dad is a total headcase right now. You wouldn't believe some of the shit he's doing to his neighbors let alone my Mom and other relatives. Dad's gone entirely insane.

Unfortunately Autumn won't listen to me, she doesn't care about my opinions or feelings. So if I tell her I'm not cool with this and say "Please don't write to Dad," we'll have an argument about it and Autumn will go ahead and do what she wants. In a feeble attempt to avoid any further strife I told Autumn I didn't care and left it at that. I was convinced she was going to start emailing him whether I gave my permission or not anyway. She's absolutely stubborn, a woman who wants her cake and eats it too in every possible situation.

This is going to further complicate things and cause me more trouble. I just know it. I feel like Autumn is meddling in my family matters that she shouldn't be. I'm also having doubts about trusting her. There isn't much I can do about it for now. I'll have to wait and see...

9.13.2003

"I did not care for your phone call today. You don't have the slightest clue about what you speak."

Incorrect. My sister and I have a very clear picture of what's going on there. You just don't like hearing the truth. Too bad.

"Almost every day is devoted solely to your mother. One problem after another, one appointment after another, non stop. Medical Insurance problems, Life Insurance problems, bills up the ass."

So, deal with it. We keep hearing about it non stop right? Get some part time in home care to help with Mom. As I've said before and I'll say it again it isn't that hard. In fact I know you had a pretty sweet deal for a part time nurse recently and you deliberately sabotaged it. What the fuck were you thinking?

"We cannot travel, as we went to Calif recently, to see some old friends. Jan awoke ( crying ) at 3:00 am and wanted to go home. So much for our trip."

You should have known better. Mom needs to feel safe and secure and she confuses easily. Going on a road trip like that was dumb.

"You make one phone call, catch her crying, and raise hell with me. Well, why don't YOU take care of her for a couple of years, and lets see how you do."

Keep emotionally and mentally abusing my mother and that might come to pass... on your dime.

"What we have here, is a very sick woman, and her need for absolutely everything to be done for her. She has no need for a husband, just someone to attend to her needs."

Again incorrect. She has an overwhelming need for a husband who can step up and deal with her illness and make good sensible decisions. So far I've been observing a serious deficiency in that department.

"I would be very happy if I never ever saw Linda again, and I am aware that Jan needs or likes to see her."

Linda isn't a bad person. You just don't like her because she never puts up with your bullshit. Why don't you just drop the Linda-hating act ok? It solves nothing and to be honest nobody cares.

"I could go on and on, but the real truth is that you are incredibly ignorant of how difficult caring for Jan is."

Ah, yes. The classic Dad 'you just don't understand' line. I knew that was coming up again soon. Always does. Guess what? YOU don't understand. Everyone else does. Stop and consider that for a moment, if you can.

"Save your criticizm for someone else. If YOU can do a better job, then step up to the plate."

See my comment above, stupid.

Okay. So, the bottom line. I'm getting very very tired of your antics.
1) Get part time in home care for Mom.
2) Stop creating more friction between yourself and Linda and Larry.
3) Get some counseling for yourself from a psychiatrist. You clearly need it.

9.12.2003

Looks like my sister has finally had enough of Dad's bullshit, too. She just forwarded this to me. After reading it I thought she did a pretty good job. The bummer is, I could have used some backup like this last year and the year before. Sigh...

----------

Hi Dad. All I asked you to do was not put Mom in the middle of your war with Linda. She can't handle the stress. It's a pretty simple request. If you want to act like a child and demand property back from Linda, do it yourself. I asked you to refrain from the constant stream of obscenities that come from your mouth regarding Linda. Hearing how upset it makes her should be enough to make you be the bigger person here. I think it's time you spent less energy on hating Linda, and more on making Mom feel safe. I'm not trying to judge you. I realize that you feel burdened with Mom's care. However, every time I make a suggestion on ways to cope with some of your problems, you shoot them down in the most negative manner. Your life is only as miserable as you make it. If you moved to Idaho to save some money, why don't you spend some of it on part-time assisted care for Mom? I'll keep saying it until you start doing it. Anyway, I don't want to start my own war with you. I'm probably one of the only people left that will talk to you. I apologize for some of my language, but not my sentiment. Do not ask Mom to conduct your war with Linda. Do not make her feel bad when she spends time with Linda. And above all, do not take this out on Mom. It's not her fault. She has a disease. What's your excuse?

7.31.2003

Thanks for telling Dad how it is. I completely agree with and support everything you said to him. Sadly, this dialogue will not accomplish much. Dad is crazy and will never change. He desperately needs counselling. Anyway, I talked to Mom last night, and she sounded pretty bad. She said her stomach is finally feeling better because of some new medication, and she was happy about that. She also wants to know if you've still got your job or if you've been laid off. I will do the same as you in the future, and respond to Dad's disgusting emails with contempt. I've been ignoring them for too long. I'm going out of town today, and won't be back until Tuesday. I'll call you when I get back.

7.23.2003

I wish that you had some idea of how helpful it would be, for me to have regular conversations with you. Guess, it ain't gonna happen.

We left on our first trip yesterday, to Mt Lassen, and an old Fireman "Buddy". Your mother woke up at about 3:00am this morning "sobbing" that she wanted to go home. We had lots of things planned, and it all went right into the shitter. All that I could think about on the way home ( 500 miles - was divorce ). So we are home, had an absolutely "FUCKED" time, and so on. I an going to try and get away by myself somehow, then on my return, am going to see an Attorney. I've had it ! She's drowning, and wants to take me down with her. It will cost me everything that I own, but, at least I will not be a candidate for the "Boobie Hatch" !

I am sorry that we cannot stay in touch.

Dad

I fucking told you not to take Mom on any long roadtrips. She needs to feel safe and secure, driving around for hundreds of miles would be scary and confusing to her. You didn't listen, so this is what you get. I have no sympathy for you there. And I'm angry you put her into a situation like that.

I think it's absolutely ludicrous you have even thought of divorce once let alone multiple times, with your wife being as ill as she is. You are a poor caregiver to Mom. Period. Everything is always about you and your money. I think that if the roles were reversed with you being the one with Alzheimer's, Mom would have done a much better job caring for you. You take every insignificant thing personally, as if it has been deliberately done to anger you. I don't understand this.

For some reason you decided to move out of state. I suspect you did this not solely for the property value in the Boise area. My feeling is you moved up there hoping to use Linda and Larry as cheap babysitters for Mom. And you're pissed off because that didn't go as planned. If you had stayed here in town you would have had much more support from friends and family. Rent your place out up there and come back. It's not too late.

You know what you could have and should have done by now. I'll risk sounding like a broken record:

1) Seek professional part time help in looking after Mom. You can get a break and go do things you want to do. 2) Seek full time care for Mom in a nursing home. It's inevitable this will be a necessity in the near future.

Is it that difficult?

Have you ever thought about the many years that we were there, and hardly ever saw you ?? The last few months that we were home, we still seldom saw you. I think that you were VERY selfish with your time, and not much of a son to your mother.

Maybe I'm not a great Care Giver, I don't know. I am doing the best that I can. The $$$$ money is solely for your mother's welfare, and I am saving every penny that I can. It will be spent on her, and I will have nothing at the end of this ordeal. Am I at fault for that also ??

As usual, I do not expect to hear from you, or see you. For a man of 36 years, you are very wise, and have accomplished much. If there was an "Oscar" for video games you would win hands down. As for being a caring son to your mother, you'd be on the "Gong Show" !

There will be no more messages !

You don't have a leg to stand on. You're going to divorce your wife because she's sick and in the same breath try to lecture me about not calling my mother on the phone. If I am a bad son, you are a totally shitty husband.

Okay, so you're saving $2,000 a month and you have been for a while. Gee, thats great. Where's the part-time in home care for Mom? Oh, that's right. There isn't any. But, we DO have close to 20 radio controlled planes in the garage. That makes it all better. Now let's see. There's this problem of being able to go fly them because there isn't anyone to watch your sick wife. Maybe a part time nurse would be the answer? Nope. You don't want any help. You've got it all figured out... good luck, chump.

You have made bad decision after bad decision compounding your situation. None of it was necessary in my view. You made things hard on yourself, definitely hard on Mom, and a pain in the ass for a lot of other people along the way. I don't expect this will change anytime soon. You continue to be emotionally and verbally abusive to Mom. We've all noticed it, we've all talked to you about it. At this point I think you simply aren't capable of doing anything better. It's a real shame.

Oh and by the way, I'm not 36.

You really set me off when you called me a "poor Care Giver",or whatever the term was. I am the ONLY person doing anything for Mom. All Linda wants is information, and has nothing to do with Mom. She will get nothing from me, so that she can gossip.

I expect that you are mad at me, and I do not need it. I am on the brink, of being able to control my emotions as it is.

I have found that sharing my feelings with others has brought me nothing but grief and criticism. I will share no more. No one wants to hear it anyway. This is my journey, and I will have to do it alone, and to the best of my ability.

I have not read your last two E-Mails, and don't want to as I don't want the aggravation, if they are negative.

I am sorry for losing my temper, but, you really don't understand at all, what I am dealing with. You may think that you do, but, you don't.

The E-mail stuff is over, and I expect that hearing from you will be sparse. It is a shame that Mom doesn't hear from you more often, but, that's the way it is.

Talked with your sister last night, and they are going to come up during the Holidays. Looking forward to that.

Take care of your own life and problems, and I wish you well.

Dad

"I am sorry for losing my temper, but, you really don't understand at all, what I am dealing with. You may think that you do, but, you don't."

Incorrect. You have been telling people your whole life "they don't understand." It is yourself who does not understand. The rest of us understand everything quite well. You don't have the world figured out. You don't have the answers. If you did, your life situation would be much more pleasant by now.

I am losing my patience with you.

Ye Of Little Faith

Autumn called me earlier this evening. As soon as I picked up the phone and heard her voice I knew something was wrong. There was a slight tremble to her words, she was upset. Autumn had been acting strange for quite a while. I couldn't understand why and it made me nervous. She said she had something important to talk to me about. I told her I was listening.

She started to choke up like she was on the verge of tears. Then she said, "I feel like you have abandoned your mother... and... if I get sick... you'll do the same thing... to me." Autumn lost it. She began to cry.

Sitting on the edge of my bed it finally was dawning on me what was going on. I began to understand why she had been acting so weird. Autumn had been dwelling on my mother's illness and the way Dad had continued to mistreat Mom. Somehow, Autumn was turning the whole situation around so that it was all about herself. I couldn't believe it. What kind of completely fouled up logic is that? Staring at the wall, another realization hit me. This one hit me hard and it hurt bad. Like taking a strong punch to the chest I felt as if the wind had been knocked right out of me.

I was having trouble breathing.

What Autumn was really saying, what she was telling me quite clearly is that she had no confidence or faith in me at all. She was telling me that I'm just like my Dad. Pain welled up throughout my whole body. I never have felt so low in my life. I am nothing like my father. If I had a wife that was suffering from disease I would do everything in my power to help her, unconditionally. I would do the same for Autumn no matter what. Apparently she didn't think so.

Autumn had almost no understanding of my family problems. My mother was terminally ill. There was little I could do about that. Mom was living hundreds of miles away with a man who didn't care about her. There was little I could do about that, either. My shithead of a father had de-facto power of attorney over every aspect of Mom's life. Everything went through him first. What the fuck was I supposed to do? I couldn't go kidnap Mom and bring her back to live with me. I didn't have the space in my house nor did I have the financial means to support her. Knowing this made no difference. Autumn wouldn't listen to anything I could think of to say. She already made up her mind and talking about it won't solve a damn thing. I've been painted into a corner I can't escape from.

I told Autumn what I thought she wanted to hear. I would do whatever she suggested as long as it made her happy. That's all I cared about, really. It's the only thing that matters. I desperately needed Autumn's approval and acceptance.

After hanging up the phone I continued to sit on the edge of my bed for a long time with my face in my hands.

Imbecile Relocation Program: Part Four

Dad was unusually quiet all morning. We had loaded a large yellow rental truck with everything from the apartment. His early 1950s Chevy pickup truck was secured with chains to a flatbed car carrying trailer. As the two of us were at the rental truck's trailer hitch making sure both safety chains were locked in place, Dad said in a low voice, "I'm sorry about last night." Then he stood up and walked away. I could tell from the way he made his apology it was purely superficial, hollow. It didn't mean a damn thing.

The drive from town to Winnemucca, Nevada was long but uneventful. We stayed over night at a Motel 6 and continued driving the next day through desert into Eastern Oregon then we hooked over into Southern Idaho. Dad refused to use directions my aunt and uncle gave him. Once we arrived in the Boise area he managed to get us so completely lost that it took an extra hour and a half to find his neighborhood.

My uncle Larry met us at the house. He brought along Mom. Not five minutes into unloading the truck, Dad yelled at her and she started to cry. I caught up with him in the master bedroom. No one was within earshot so I pointed a finger up into his grill and I said, "If you do that one more time while I'm here you're gonna be laying on the ground looking up at me. Got that?" I was serious. Dad was long overdue for a KO.

Continuing to be a chicken with it's head cut off Larry and I kept tripping over Dad. He was being a nuisance. My uncle Larry is wise, he skillfully got Dad out of our hair by asking him if he needed to make any phone calls. After thinking about it for a minute Dad took Larry's cell phone and disappeared. Larry and I were standing at the back of the rental truck. As soon as Dad split, Larry looked me in the eye with a smile on his face and said, "That oughtta keep him busy for a while. Let's do some movin'." He slapped me on the shoulder and I laughed like hell. Well played.

Later that afternoon the contractor who built my parents' house dropped by. I'd heard Dad really made his job unpleasant and I felt bad about it. He seemed like a nice enough fellow. I told him, "My father is a very difficult person to deal with. I'm aware he gave you a hard time and I just wanted to thank you for handling it. Also, I'd like to apologize for the way he treated you." The contractor nodded and didn't say much. I think he wanted to say something, but thought twice about it. He was probably just being professional.

Flying home to California a couple of days later I felt like I had finally reached a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

Imbecile Relocation Program: Part Three

Dad was standing in his apartment's kitchen. Glaring at me he snarled, "You're a drunk."

I am not a drunk. I wasn't drunk. In fact I hadn't had a beer all day. Ignoring him, I continued jamming things into boxes and securing the lids with packing tape. Being the unorganized oaf that he is Dad didn't have anywhere near enough boxes on hand for the move to Idaho. Mumbling another insult at me I decided enough was enough. Standing up I turned around and walked from his living room to the kitchen. I got in his face. "There is something you haven't been able to figure out because you're so fucking stupid. You need me. I don't need you. I don't have to be here, I don't have to help you. So why are you constantly fucking with me? Get that through your noggin you asshole."

Slamming the door behind me I walked down flights of stairs to ground level. Wandering through a maze of apartment buildings I eventually found my way out to the parking lot. It was late at night. Early tomorrow morning we were supposed to leave for Idaho. I seriously considered ditching out on Dad. I mean, fuck him. I have stuck with him for months and all he's been doing the whole time is cut me down. But then I thought if I can somehow make it through the next two days my father will be far away and I won't have to deal with him anymore if I don't want to.

My car took me to a nearby grocery store like it was on autopilot. I went inside to their produce department. I found a clerk and asked him for as many apple and banana boxes as he could scrounge. He was a nice guy, I ended up with a little over a dozen apple boxes. They are sturdy and most excellent for moving purposes. After loading them into my car I drove home to try and get some sleep.

Imbecile Relocation Program: Part Two

Just a few weeks after moving my parents' stuff out of storage I found myself standing in front of the house I grew up in. This day would be one of the last I ever spent inside it.

Neurotic as hell, my father had rented a tiny U-Haul truck and expected me to help him move into an apartment. Instead of renting a large moving van or preferably a big truck he chose one of the smallest moving vehicles U-Haul has to offer. Making matters worse, each load we took to the apartment only filled about one-third of the moving vehicle's capacity. We made trip after trip back and forth between the house and apartment. It was totally unnecessary.

That day my father worked me to the bone for nearly twelve hours and didn't even buy me lunch. Autumn was kind enough to stay with my mother to keep her company. Dad wouldn't dare yell at her with Autumn around. He only does that when I'm there because I don't matter. This was no way for Autumn to be spending her weekend. I felt really awful about it while dealing with Dad's bullshit all day long.

Near sunset I was exhausted. The muscles in my arms were wiped out. I could barely carry anything heavier than a book. Hours earlier I told Dad that I was done for the day, but he kept pushing me. "Just one more trip." He said. That was like three or four moving van loads ago. Finally, he roped me into helping him carry a large wooden antique hutch that was part of my great grandparent's dining room set down the front steps to the driveway. I told Dad multiple times I probably wasn't going to be able to lift it because I was too tired. He didn't listen to me. So, we got about halfway down, both my arms gave out, and the hutch tumbled end over end until it hit the concrete driveway and splintered. It was ruined.

Imbecile Relocation Program: Part One

Dad sold his place. He took the first and only bid offered on the house which was very low. Dad did this against his real estate agent's advice and knowing full well that his new home in Idaho won't be finished for another six months. Now he has a deadline to meet for moving out. His kooky plan will require me to move some of his stuff to an apartment across town, most of my parents personal belongings in and out of storage facilities, and then finally move him to Idaho. What fun.

Unaware that Dad had already taken some items into storage he called me up the other day to help him start the move. I met him along with one of his close friends from the firehouse, a really nice guy named George. George is such a good guy I've never really understood why he's been hanging around with Dad. Also, another of Dad's friends showed up with his grandson to help out. Very nice of them. That's Ron and Raygun. Raygun coincidentally works on my old instrument line as a technician at Bill and Dave's. Small world, huh?

We took separate vehicles to a storage company downtown and met up in front of what turned out to be one of three storage units Dad had rented. None of them were located next to each other, they were scattered across the storage yard. Dumb. What we were supposed to do was clear out his storage units so he can drive one way to Boise in a big ass truck and then put all this crap into storage there. Does that make any fucking sense? I don't think so.

Everything went okay for a little while. George, Ron, Raygun, and myself stayed busy loading Dad's rental truck. I was confident all of us were doing a good job packing everything in tight so furniture wouldn't break loose during the trip. Dad was pretty much useless and kept getting in our way. Then he decided it was time to flip his "fuck with people who are helping me" switch to the ON position.

As I was carrying boxes up the ramp into that truck I happened to look over my shoulder at just the right moment. Dad grabbed items I had just packed on board and he brought them back off the truck. I was like, WTF? He didn't say anything to me about it so I went over to the box he snagged, picked it up, and put it exactly where I wanted it in his giant moving truck. He was watching me. When I stepped off the loading ramp Dad hooked me by my right arm and dragged me off to the side where none of the guys could see what was happening.

Grinding his teeth with anger he said, "That isn't a priority. It stays here."
"Dad, you don't seem to get it. You're moving. That means if there is room on the truck it goes."

He let go of my arm and stormed away.

I walked into his nearby storage unit, picked up another box and placed it on the truck. Dad quickly stomped up the loading ramp and hauled that box out. I lifted a spare wheel for his trailer up and pushed that into the truck. Dad immediately threw it back into the storage unit. Again he grabbed me by the arm and this time he yelled at me in front of the guys. "You did that just to fuck with me!" He was on the verge of a total rage. Ron, George, and Raygun all stopped what they were doing to stare at us standing eyeball to eyeball next to the loading ramp. I told Dad the same thing like a broken record. "You're moving. If there's room it goes on the truck. Simple, isn't it?" George and Ron were inside near the cab securing some large items with heavy canvas straps. I heard some snickering. Dad became even more mad.

Hour after miserable hour passed slowly. Dad expanded his retarded antics to the point that Ron and George were making fun of him. He was removing stuff they were loading onto the truck, too. That was pissing them off. I was glad for once that people outside of my immediate family were seeing for the first time what a total moron Dad really is. Nobody ever believed me in the past when I told them stories about how my father treats people. They always think I'm making shit up. Dad truly is a nutjob. No thanks to him we eventually finished loading that monster of a truck and called it a day.

A Simple Rule

Things between Dad and I have become increasingly strained. He's in a total freak-out panic mental rut. Right now he's retiring a few years early from his job as a fireman in San Francisco. It's because of Mom's illness. Financially paranoid and having failed to plan adequately for retirement years he's banking on his pension and selling his home here to buy a place out of state. Boise, Idaho is where he's decided to go. About two years ago I helped move my aunt and uncle to the Boise area. Real estate is inexpensive almost anywhere you go outside of California so Dad is counting on making a fat stack of cash from their house sale and pocketing the remaining money to live off of after relocating. Secretly I think Dad is hoping to use my aunt and uncle as babysitters to look after Mom because he's too cheap to hire professional help. That's the only reason why he's chosen the Boise area.

Being the unstable psychopath that he is, Dad is bungling almost every aspect of his retirement and move out of state. He's his own full time worst enemy. So far he's been screwing over his real estate agent here, fucking with the prime contractor who is custom building a home for my parents near Boise, jerking around his real estate agent in Idaho, and he's making my life a living hell. Dad constantly calls me up at odd hours day or night to bitch about everything. When he isn't complaining about the most insignificant shit he spends his time hurling insults at me. I'm a rotten son. I'm an idiot. To be honest I don't know how much more of this I will be able to take before I snap and start throwing punches. That's how bad it's getting. You know, there's a pretty simple rule in life that Dad hasn't learned yet. That rule is: don't fuck with the people you have to depend upon.

My stupid little sister is nowhere to be found even though she lives nearby in Oakland. I can't expect to receive any help or support from her.

Beating the shit out of Dad is sounding better and better every day. He goes out of his way to rage at Mom for no reason at all. It's cruel. Mom ends up wandering off in the house to go cry. I hate seeing that. Threatening Dad with a broken jaw only gets his attention for a few minutes. He'll knock it off for a short period of time and then he's right back at it again like nothing happened. Fucker.

To make matters even more stressful, Autumn has been acting really strange lately. Managing stress is not one of my better skills. I haven't been able to figure out why she's being weird but it's got me seriously worried. Usually I can tell what is bothering her. I know Autumn too well. Most of the time when I sense she is angry or upset for some reason I can talk to her about it and try to find a solution. She's keeping quiet. That's a really bad sign.

No Mustangs

Lately I've been thinking about getting an old classic car of some kind for weekends and a few roadtrips only. Something fun, something that won't ever be my primary transportation. I really like stuff from the 1950s-1960s era although I've never actually owned any kind of a fifties hotrod. Growing up around old muscle cars I have come to the realization that I will never be able to get my fascination with vintage autos out of my system.

Now isn't the time to be buying another car, but I have been pondering what I might like to pick up. I'd also want to get something cool that Autumn would enjoy. It would be fun to have a burly hotrod to drive around with her on back roads when we spend time together during weekends. For some reason 1964-1966 Mustangs have been stuck in my mind as a potential candidate.

This past weekend Autumn and I were walking into the house from the garage and I popped the question to her. "Hey Aut, I was thinking about sometime in the future buying another classic old car for us to goof around in. What do you think of Mustangs? You like 'em?"

Autumn looked at me and flatly said, "No."

Surprised, I asked why. What was it about them that she didn't like? She didn't really have an answer for me. I said, "Do you not like the way they look or something?" I got the feeling from her roundabout response that was it. She didn't like the body style, but she just didn't care for them in general. Hmmmm.

Well, I guess THAT idea is out the window.

Customer Simulation Tyrants

I was talking to some of our Button Up guys the other day about how things were going on the back end of the line. Working as much as I do between the environmental lab and our chamber area I don't see the light of day anymore. I had no idea what was happening out on the shop floor with regards to regular production stuff.

Apparently now that Customer Simulation is a full fledged department there have been a bunch of conflicts and problems. With the exception of one or two people, most of of their screening staff in Customer Sim was made up of employees who weren't useful on their instrument lines. They're dregs. People who just can't get along with others and or are shoddy workers. Some of them are using their position in Customer Sim to fuck with people they personally don't like back in their old areas. In some cases our Button Up guys told me Customer Sim staff are deliberately sending units back to the instrument lines that don't have any problems. Units that essentially don't have any electrical malfunctions or anything wrong cosmetically. It's become somewhat of a power struggle, a pissing contest.

Meanwhile instruments that need to ship out to customers are becoming increasingly late. We're missing shipment commitments. That's no good.

A few of the Customer Sim people are becoming tyrants. They're rejecting most of the work they see on a daily basis for petty reasons. When employees from each production line go into their Customer Sim area to pick up supposedly broken instruments and fix them, arguments are starting. It's wasting more of everyone's time. Line supervisors are having to make personal appearances to sort things out. To an extent some of those managers are being dragged into the verbal mayhem. It's so stupid. None of this would be necessary if we still had veteran workers inspecting finished instruments before they leave production lines for shipment.

Apple Cores And ESD Shoes

Shitfoot is a pretty fuckin' funny dude. I really like working with him.

Nobody around here thinks much of Greasy Guy. I particularly dislike him and I'm vocal about it. I try to be up front about that though so instead of just talking shit behind Greasy Guy's back I choose to beat him down in person, to his face. At first I had hoped ripping him up all the time might actually help motivate him to get his act in order but as time passed that hope faded from view.

If there was one person here who can't stand Greasy Guy even more than I do, it would have to be Shitfoot. I don't know why. Maybe they had a brawl of some kind or other that I am unaware of. Perhaps it's simply a clash of personalities. Anyway, the past few nights at work Shitfoot and I have been hanging out in my cubicle eating our lunches. Shitfoot usually eats an apple or two with each lunchtime meal. When he's finished with each apple and there's nothing left but a mangy core instead of tossing them into the trash can he's been jamming them up into the toe of Greasy Guy's ESD shoes. Fucking cracks me up. By the time Greasy Guy returns from Malaysia those apple cores will have become thriving communities of insects.

I will be blamed for it, of course.

Talking one evening about Shitfoot's propensity for clever, malicious practical jokes, he told me a story about a guy he used to work with at a diesel repair company. Someone made Shitfoot so angry that he found a dead mouse and placed it in the hood of this person's sweatshirt. I guess he wore the same sweatshirt every day and never washed it. After a time that dead mouse he was carrying around with him began to stink badly. Everybody in the shop thought that guy never bathed or something. Hilarious.

I need to remember to always stay on Shitfoot's good side.

Cleaning The Cube

Smoke Jumper dropped by my cubicle this afternoon to inform me of a customer tour that was going to take place in a day or so. I didn't have much of a reaction, we have tours from high profile customers frequently. Nothing new there. Before Smoke Jumper left he looked over towards Greasy Guy's half of the cubicle. On his desk there was a mountain of broken PC boards mixed with a spaghetti weave of various cables. Not a single cable was usable. One end was completely cut off or had a fray of loose wires poking out on every single one of 'em. There were mangled sections of aluminum instrument sub-frames, and broken hard drive cylinder heads. Buried deep underneath containers of wasted microcircuits there was a few plastic to-go boxes with half eaten meals still in them. They were weeks old and had turned into thriving mold colonies.

Towering over Greasy Guy's junk pile like a miniature skyscraper was a pyramid of empty soda cans.

Pointing at that Sanford and Son graveyard of useless crap Smoke Jumper said, "You need to clean that up before the tour comes through here."

I scowled and almost yelled at him. "Why do I have to clean up his shit? It's his mess!"

"Greasy Guy is going to be in Malaysia for the rest of the month. Just get rid of it, okay?"

Fuck. I'm always cleaning up after that bastard whether he's here or not. This sucks. I decided not to screw around with the whole deal. I was going to turn both keys and press the shiny red button. Greasy Guy's side of the cube needed to be nuked. Cleansed by fire. Walking around the building I located one of the janitor's rolling dump wagons. They've got these big gray colored carts that are about five feet long and a few feet wide. When a nearby janitor wasn't looking I swiped his cart and rolled it right up to my cubicle's opening. Scooting past it I started grabbing armloads of Greasy Guy's junk collection and tossed it into the janitor's portable trash bin. Everything went and I mean everything. I didn't care how much Greasy Guy might yell at me when he got back to see his precious broken parts stash missing. Saving the soda can pile for last, I sprinkled them liberally over the top of the garbage wagon and then I hauled it out of the building. Yeah!

Religious Pests

So I'm sitting at home minding my business, drinking a bottle of Red Hook ESB and listening to The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. Fish sticks were sizzling in the oven. Outside, it's a bright sunny day. Calm and cool. Not a single cloud in the sky to be seen. Everything was well with the world.

Then the phone rang.

Expecting a call from Senor 23 I reached for the receiver, but thinking twice I glanced over at my caller ID box. A local number that I didn't recognize was displayed from a person named Pat. I don't know anybody named Pat. Figuring it wasn't a telemarketer, bill collector or other annoying asshat I answered the call. I was wrong.

"Hello. I'm calling my neighbors in the area today to ask for their help with volunteer work. Working with at-risk children. Would you be interested in helping?"

Actually, I had been looking for an opportunity to volunteer somewhere. I was hoping to help kids in schools with writing skills or something of that nature. Especially trying to help kids that were on the verge of dropping out. Unlike Autumn who was volunteering at a maximum security prison teaching total fuckups how to add and subtract I wanted to catch people BEFORE they ended up in prison. Help get them back on the right path BEFORE they became society's throw aways. So I was interested in this stranger's question.

I said, "Yeah I've been searching for a good volunteer opportunity in the county but nothing suitable has come up. What have you got in mind, mister?"

"Well, I'm with the Jehovah's Witnesses over on Sonoma Avenue and..."

"Whoa whoa whoa. Hold up there guy. What's the JW's got to do with it?"

"Have you heard of us before?"

"Yeah. You guys and the Mormons are the two worst religious organizations for being nationwide pests. Proselytizing. Always showing up on my doorstep telling me how great your religion is. I don't believe you should be doing that. It's a crime. Also, I feel people are better off finding religion on their own. If that's what they require in life they can seek it out. It should not be foisted upon them via their front porches."

"We feel that God has spoken to us and that this is our mission in life to share our message. Through his Word there is the power to save mankind from tribulation... the end times."

"No. God hasn't spoken to you guys. You're making all that stuff up just like the Mormons and Seventh Day Adventists. God hasn't told you to do any of that. And I know what you're talking about with regard to Revelations. You are probably trying to use the current conflict in the Middle East as a sign that the end times are upon us. It's a scare tactic. You have no idea how many times I've heard that one since I was a kid. The end times are not upon us. Doomsday is not lurking right around the corner waiting to jump out and get us."

"Have you had bad experiences with organized religion, sir?"

"Yes I have. I don't know how long you've been in town here Pat but I used to go to Christian Life Center which was up on the North end. We lost everything, the school, our church, everything. It was all because our pastor was taking church donations and illegally spending it on whatever he wanted. Private real estate, among other things. From my personal experiences in life I have observed Christians are the biggest hypocrites on the face of the planet. I refuse to have anything to do with their religion anymore. They continue to claim to be moral while all I see them do is beat their kids, cheat on their spouses, lie to friends, and steal from their employers. But that's okay because all you have to do is say you're sorry to a dead guy on a stick and then you can go right back out and commit more crimes. No thanks, man. That ain't for me. The rest of the time I observe Christians exerting massive amounts of effort focused on non-important external influences like music and films. To be a good Christian you have to stay away from certain books, movies, and records you know. That's stupid. What matters is what is on the inside of each individual. What kind of a person are you really? How do you treat other people? Are you honest? Are you kind to others? These are some of the things that are truly important and they miss that point consistently."

"I wasn't aware of Christian Life Center. I've only been living here for the past three years. Don't you think that through the word of God there is the power to stop wars? Through him there will be no more Tsunamis..."

"Okay. I want you to stop for a moment and consider the comment you just made. Stop tsunamis? That's just mentally ill. And stop wars? You obviously haven't been paying attention to much history have you? Most of humankind's suffering through conflict has been directly caused by religion. Each group is always saying 'we have all the answers' meanwhile pointing the finger at every other rival religion saying 'they're wrong and they will surely burn in hell' or whatever. The fact is none of you doofuses know what's up and none of you have all the answers. As soon as people finally come to the conclusion that religion is more of a problem instead of a solution I think we will finally have worldwide peace. Everyone will be better off without it."

The line was silent. So I kept going.

"And why are you hiding on the other end of a phone today being a pest? It's a gorgeous day outside. Instead of doing this junk you could have been out there working with kids, volunteering to take them to the park or something. You could have been volunteering at the library or cleaning up trash from a creekside. I mean, you could make more of a direct impact helping out society as an individual rather than doing it as part of a religious organization. Besides, I'm always suspect of organized religions working for charitable purposes because I don't think you're serious about it. In my opinion, the only reason why Jehovas Witnesses, Christians of various denominations, and those damned Mormons do altruistic work in the community is just to bring attention to yourselves and your brand of faith. It's not genuine."

"I'm not talking about band-aid solutions for society's problems."

"Whatever. I-"

Pat interrupted by telling me to have a good day and then he abruptly hung up. Typical. As soon as the person they happen to be debating against starts to actually make them think a teeny bit they freak out and run for cover. It won't matter one way or the other what I said to him, but I hope that guy considers my points and maybe, just maybe loses some sleep over it.

Free Automobiles

Canopener called me later in the week. He wanted to ask a question concerning the Starfire. "Would your feelings be hurt if I put it up for sale on eBay?"

I thought about that for a couple of seconds. "Nah, man. Go for it." Canopener has three kids to take care of. He's the family bread winner and if he made some money off of that old heap, more power to him. I just wanted those cars out of here as soon as possible. That's why I was giving them away for free.

"Do me a favor though, when you place the eBay ad send me a link. It's gonna be funny to see how much it sells for." I wondered if it might sell for more money as a broken car than what I paid for it ten years ago when it was still running.

The Cougar left today. Oswald came up from Los Angeles to check it out. Despite it's poor overall condition he was totally ready for a challenging restoration project. Since the interior fire at Accurate Frame ate up some of the Cougar's electrical wiring harness there has been a direct short to ground. If it sits for more than a few days without being started up, the battery goes dead. Both of us drove to a nearby auto parts store and bought a brand new battery for it. After installing a fresh battery and dumping half a paper cup full of gasoline directly into the carburetor, the Cougar had no problem coming to life.

Standing at the edge of my front lawn I watched Oswald drive away. It was really strange to see my car leaving without myself sitting behind the wheel. For a brief moment I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I quickly locked that down. Taking a deep breath I turned around and walked into the house. Seventeen years is a long time to have a car. So many memories.

I hoped Autumn would see from my actions that her comment really struck home with me, that I was listening to her. Autumn's opinions and thoughts mean a great deal to me because she is the most important person in my life. Sometimes I don't think Autumn realizes that fact. I wanted to show her that I am able to make changes in the way I live no matter how difficult those choices may seem at the time.

South County Vehicle Retrieval

Canopener came by late this afternoon to fetch the Starfire. I expected he was going to show up in my driveway with a large tow truck or some variety of car hauler. Instead he brought a pickup truck with a small tow trailer. I guess he grabbed whatever was handy from his company's available equipment. Leaving the truck blocking one lane of road he hopped in to the Oldsmobile and pulled it's parking brake. Putting it in neutral he was ready to back out down the driveway. I warned him about having no brakes. Canopener's attitude was, it ain't nothin. Heh. I pushed against the car's front bumper and away he went. Rolling out to pavement he pulled hard on the steering wheel and hooked smoothly past his tow rig coming to a slow easy stop. Good job.

Now was the difficult part. We didn't have any extra help from anyone. Our mission was to push that heavy solid American steel up on to the tow trailer. Both front wheels had to be planted directly above the trailer's axle. It had ramps leading up and over but they were short and steep. Canopener straightened out the front tires by reaching in through a window. In order to pick up speed and gain momentum pushing that bastard we left a long distance between us and the trailer. Hopefully both of us had enough strength to power on through.

Canopener said, "You ready?"
"Yep."

Simultaneously both of us pushed as hard as we could from either side of the rear bumper. Walking, then running I felt the front end rise upwards towards the sky for a moment. Then an unbelievable amount of force rushed back against my arms. The Starfire's hood leveled out. Rolling backwards towards us Canopener and I got the fuck out of the way. Neither one of us wanted to be crushed. Our second attempt was no better. My beast of a dead car would not cooperate. Gently rolling to a stop past us we regrouped at the bumper for one more try.

We failed. Both of us were getting tired.

Canopener stood there in the street thinking. Then he turned to me and said, "Now we're gonna do what you're NOT supposed to do."
"What's that?" I suspected something bad was about to happen.
"Let's push it up against the trailer."

As soon as we reached it and the car's front tires were barely making contact with ramps, Canopener put the Oldsmobile into park and he engaged the brake. With a big, shit eating grin on his face Canopener looked at me saying, "Don't worry. This is going to be FUN. You'll like it, but you should stand back."

Uh oh. I ran over to the sidewalk.

Jumping into the cab of his pickup truck Canopener started the engine, threw it in reverse, and buried his foot into the accelerator pedal. Both rear wheels of the truck began cooking off like a funny car at a quarter mile drag strip. Clouds of thick, pure white smoke belched out of each wheel well rising past trees. The squealing sound coming from those tires was truly horrible. It echoed through my neighborhood with such ear splitting volume I anticipated any second everyone on the block would come running outside to see what the commotion was. And the smell, nasty. It was like someone had just incinerated ten thousand rubber bands. Inching backwards the trailer ramps scraped along pavement like a spatula and scooped up both of the Starfire's front tires. Lurching once or twice it creeped up and over until finally coming to rest in the trailer's grip. Canopener did it.

Stepping off the sidewalk I met Canopener at his truck's trailer hitch. In his best white trash hillbilly voice and with a smile on his face he said, "That's the way we do things in South County."

After securing the Oldsmobile with chains and heavy straps were cinched down over it's front tires Canopener drove home. I watched as he hauled that beauty of a classic ride down the street until he made a left turn and disappeared from view. Thinking to myself, I was happy and also sort of sad at the same time to see it go.

I had one more corpse of a vehicle to ditch. My local police department had ever so kindly given me extra incentive to do so. They had come by at some point earlier in the week and tagged the Cougar for impound removal in ten days. It's really got to go away. The sooner, the better.

Two Dead Cars

At least I'm not carrying around two dead cars.

I've been giving Autumn's comment quite a bit of thought. After considering how much money I'd have to dump into the Starfire and the Cougar to really get them back to decent condition I've decided it's not worth it. Buying fully restored classic cars that someone else has already invested time and money into would be cheaper than trying to do the work myself. That's the thing with old cars. You rarely get a return on your investment out of them. At best, you break even. Maybe at some point in the future I will be in much better financial shape to afford a hotrod or two. Now isn't the time.

When I moved into this place a few years ago I had the Oldsmobile towed here by a nice old fellow who doesn't ask any questions. In many ways he reminds me of the actor Bruce Dern. He's got a rusty, beat up tow truck and he'll haul just about anything with it for cash. He doesn't care if the vehicle that needs to be moved is currently registered or if it's insured. All he wants is cash up front. He's a very useful person to know. The last time he hauled the Olds for me he expressed interest in buying it. So I called him up first to see if he wanted to snag it. Tow Truck Guy told me he would have a while ago, but he was getting too old and just sold off his whole car collection. All he had left was one hotrod and a vintage fire truck which was for sale. Bummer.

Canopener had also asked about the Olds once. I called him and asked if he wanted the car. He thought about it, then said yes. Cool. That was going to work out well because he worked for a heavy equipment rental company. They had car haulers, trailers, probably even had tow trucks of their own. Canopener planned to be by to pick it up in a couple of days.

One down, one to go.

Just for the hell of it I went into IRC late at night and hit our clan's Urban Terror channel. Plenty of gamers were in there lurking like usual but nobody was saying anything. I typed in, "Is anyone here interested in a 1968 Mercury Cougar?" Nothing happened for a few minutes. All of a sudden I received a private message from one of the Urban Terror development team members, a guy who went by the player name "Oswald." He started asking questions about the car. Actually Oswald seemed really interested in it so I told him about every single thing that was wrong with the car. I mentioned the recent fire that had burned up a bunch of it's electrical wiring harness, all the cosmetic damage inside and out, etc. I sent him recent pics of the exterior damage. Oswald still wanted the car.

Well, shit. That was easy enough. All he's got to do is come get the damned thing.

Pack Rat

I don't remember what started it now or why I said it, but rather jokingly as Autumn and I were walking into the house I called her a Pack Rat. Irritated, Autumn glared at me and instantly shot back, "At least I'm not carrying around two dead cars." That's a common enough tactic to take during a petty squabble isn't it? Shift attention away from yourself as quickly as possible so you don't have to actually think about the point being made. Opening my mouth to say something in return I decided against it and just shut up. She was right of course. I do have two very dead cars now. That fire in the Cougar did more than just cosmetic damage it seems...

It is also true that Autumn is one of the worst Pack Rats I've ever seen.

Autumn's apartment is rather small. It's not that great of a layout inside but what it lacks in available space is entirely made up for by the gorgeous view of the surroundings.

Every closet in her apartment is jammed with personal belongings. This also includes a storage locker downstairs in her apartment's garage. It's all stuff Autumn rarely uses. Old clothes, an Amelda Marcos sized collection of shoes, hat boxes filled with random junk, far too many Christmas decorations, roll upon roll of gift wrap paper, a beading kit complete with hordes of various beads, boxes of photos from overseas trips she never looks at, shopping bags crammed with who knows what.... it goes on and on. Actually, it's impressive the sheer volume of crap Autumn has been able to hide. I've started to think of her apartment's closets as black holes gobbling up whatever is fed into them. Problem is they're defective black holes. Instead of consuming matter and spitting items out in another dimension halfway across the galaxy all that junk stays put making for one hell of a fire hazard.

Another of my amazing Autumn Pack Rat observations is a cycle her bedroom goes through periodically. Like a pendulum Autumn's bedroom swings back and forth from total disaster area to spotlessly organized living space. At any given time during the week whatever item is no longer immediately needed will be discarded. Dropped to the floor and left where it fell, her bedroom will transform into an obstacle course of bath towels, clothes, paperwork, and shopping bags until you can no longer see carpet with the naked eye. Eventually this clutter will be too much for even Autumn herself to handle and it will all be magically spirited away to hungry, gluttonous closets.

I can forgive all of that though. It's kind of amusing.

What I do have a problem with is the refrigerator in her apartment. That shit is scary. Autumn loves to cook and she's damn good at it. She's always in the kitchen mixing up something tasty from scratch. I'm constantly amazed at her level of kitchen skill. On the negative side, all those leftovers have to go somewhere. That somewhere is a white painted metal closet commonly referred to as a refrigerator. Autumn doesn't like to throw food stuffs out so more and more leftovers wrapped in foil or crammed into plastic yogurt containers pile up fast in there. Then she forgets about them. Bad things start to happen. The refrigerator has a tough time maintaining a constant temperature because of everything so it stays wet inside all the time. Real icky. Plastic bags filled with what was once fresh produce like cucumbers turn into brown and gray sacks of liquid mulch. Jars containing unidentifiable substances transform into rot. I'm genuinely concerned one of these days she's going to eat something that's gone South on her and end up seriously ill...

BBQ'd Cougar

I walked around to the back of Accurate Frame's building where my Cougar was parked. Opening the passenger's side door a cloud of white fire retardant powder rushed out. I poked my nose inside. Damn, it smelled bad. The whole interior reeked of smoke and fire extinguisher that had combined into something nobody's car should be- a wet BBQ pit. If I thought the upholstery needed work before... it really was going to need it now. Along the top edge of the rear seat, the leather had been charred black by flames to reveal gaping holes through it's cushions. Totally destroyed.

The frustrating thing about this is, I was going to remove the rear seat before I took it to the shop as a courtesy. It's a ten minute job. But, laziness caught me by the shirt collar and I decided to let them handle it. That was their job, after all.

Ed and myself sat down in his office to discuss how we would handle this. He was visibly nervous and completely embarrassed. I think he was worried that I would take him to court and sue him or at the very least make him pay for fully restoring my car's interior. A full restoration would cost thousands of dollars. Because the Cougar's interior was already thrashed I reasoned it would not be fair to make his shop pay for brand new carpet, headliner, leather bucket seats, etc. If I had brought the car to him in new condition and this careless accident happened I would think otherwise.

We came to a gentleman's agreement. Ed's welding work was going to run into the $400 to $500 dollar range. Replacing the rear seats would nearly be that much. I suggested Ed ditch the bill for welding, and I wouldn't hassle him for money to fix the entire interior. Seemed reasonable enough to me. Both of us shook on it. Done deal.

Driving home I had to roll all the windows down because of that wet BBQ pit smell. It was overpowering. At least the rear end of the car felt like it was firmly planted on the road again. Their repair work to those shock mounts at least was good. When I got back home I parked the Cougar out front. There it sat for weeks collecting lawn trimmings and hornets while I thought about what I was going to do with it next.