News On George…

A man stopped by George’s house yesterday and started to clean it. He moved many things up to the road where the road vultures picked through it and took the choice pieces like George's favorite drinking chair. I walked over to inquire about George.

“He got evicted,” was what the man told me. “I know little else. I’m just hired to clean the house.”

So you know as much as I do now. Charlie remarkably said that’s what happened to George days ago.

“Joyce’s pious sister isn’t going to put up with all that drunken debauchery,” is what Charlie said.

Joyce was my friend and cohort in mental illness who originally owned the home until she passed away. Her sister inherited the house.

Joyce's Camellia is Blooming...

Visitors :-)

Kim stopped by for a short while after work tonight to see Maggie and the house.  I was so glad to see her and keen to show off my abode.  I wanted to show her that I was “well equipped” as far as life was concerned.  And that I could provide a home if we ever got that far.  I know I am thinking far too ahead, but it’s a guy thing I think.  I just wanted to impress her like a peacock strutting around with his feathers flared.

Kim fawned over Maggie.  She has a corgi and she said she is bringing her over tomorrow to meet Maggie.  I made a little joke about having a dog fit for a queen. The only kind of dog Queen Elizabeth owns are corgis. Dad would have loved that little reference being so keen on the British Royal Family.

Not too soon after Kim had left, there was a loud knock on the door and Maggie started to bark.  It was my deceased neighbor’s sister.

“Did you mow Joyce’s grass?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am.  I did,” I replied. “I thought you needed the help with that.”

“Thank you so much,” she said giving me a strong hug. “I just haven’t been able to get around to it.  I am going to start paying you $20 dollars to cut it every two weeks.”

“You don’t have to pay me,” I told her.  “Joyce was such a good neighbor to me.”

“No. I insist,” she said, reaching into her purse and giving me $20 dollars.

Well, this now makes 5 regular clients for my lawn care business.  Monday will start another cycle of mowing again.  That makes a hundred dollars every two weeks I am making on a regular basis now that I am charging $20 dollars a yard.  I am not getting rich, but the money sure is nice after not having any for years and years. 

My Thoughts for the End of the Blogging Day…

The Changing of the Guard…

Mom has this completely obsessive compulsive need to see about her children’s needs.  Dad doesn’t share this to her extent.  Dad made me promise not to tell mom I was out of food or it would have been a major family crisis. lol  Well, I have been worried about mom and all she does for me lately.  I want to lessen my burden on her.

“She’s getting old,” dad said of mom last night.  “She can’t even hardly take care of herself, let alone you as well.”

I took this as a signal I need to stop some of the things mom is doing for me on a weekly basis.  How these various tasks for me get started, I don’t know, but mom can always seem to make life more complicated than it needs be. 

Mom came by at five this evening with my Monday fast food supper and my two treat Cokes.  She didn’t get out of her car and just blew the horn for me to walk out and get the treats.  That’s when I started what would be a convoluted conversation.

“This is the last week we do this,” I told her. “I don’t want you to do Mexican Tuesdays as well tomorrow night.  I will go get my groceries on Wednesday night and have dad come and write a check for my purchase when he leaves the pharmacy.”

“Why are you mad at me?” my mother asked, looking so confused. “I love you. I just want to help you.”

This took me completely off guard.  I thought she would be relieved she didn’t have do all that anymore.  She has been really struggling mentally for months now. 

“Have I said something to hurt your feelings?” she asked.  “Was it about me not answering the phone this morning?  I just didn’t want to get out of bed.  I called you back.”

“MOM!” I exclaimed.  “I am just trying to help you!  I feel you do too much.  Dad said you and him are getting old and unable to do all this for me anymore.”

“Well, he may be old, but I’m not that old,” mom stammered with a look of defiance on her face.

I smiled.  “It will be okay if you stop,” I told her. “I just worry about you.  I am not mad at all.”

“I am bringing you Nachos Supreme tomorrow night and I don’t want to hear another word about it,” mom told me sternly. “You father can kiss my ass about being old.”

I burst out laughing at the second statement.  Mom got to laughing as well.  I guess I am going to get Mexican Tuesdays tomorrow night after all.  

An Odd Couple’s Truce…

Lucky, Joyce’s cat, was sleeping on the carport today as she does every day.  Maggie was just mere feet away on my back steps sunning herself – enjoying the early Spring day.  Maggie has gotten where she completely ignores Lucky.   I am relieved at their odd truce.

Mom has a soft spot for homeless animals and cats in general and brought me this huge bag of canned cat food.  Dad would die if he knew mom and I were doing this.  I told mom the other day, “us formerly homeless and homeless folks stick together”, speaking of the cat.  I walked over today opening a can of cat food and placed it a few feet from Lucky.  She is getting less wary of me with every day and will meow when she sees me.  This is a promising sign.   Five feet is about as close as I can get at this point.  I am determined to make this cat my own.  Joyce will be smiling down upon me.   

A Lucky One…

Joyce’s cat, which I have renamed Lucky, sleeping by the carport of Joyce’s house.  I had just fed her a large can of tuna and tuna juice.  Maggie sat all afternoon just mere feet away not barking or carrying on so that bode promising. 

Thoughts for the Day…

The Vagabond Returns: Joyce’s Cat…

A few of you that have been with me a long time may remember my deceased next door neighbor Joyce.  She was schizo-affective like me except her illness was much more severe.  She constantly thought she was being persecuted by God and was constantly seeking spiritual counseling.  She even worked at a church as part of her penance.  Well, she’s been dead for about three years now and her wayward cat has returned home.   Joyce’s sister tried in vain to capture that cat and take it to the humane society, but never could. 

Lately, on my pacing the floor sessions, I have noticed the cat sitting in the carport sunning itself.  I see it everyday.  I walked over and the cat has been sleeping in the utility room on some old blankets.  I smiled.  It was as if Joyce had returned home in feline form.  I have been putting out cans of tuna to win over the cat’s trust.  I want the cat to be mine if Maggie will accept it.  I am going to get mom to get me some stinky canned cat food next week at the grocery store.  We’ll see what happens and I will keep you all informed. 

Helen’s Corn Pudding…

I liked Helen’s corn pudding so much I wanted the recipe.  Well, Helen doesn’t use recipes.  She just cooks out of her head.  I hope to call her today and have her recite the recipe to me to the best of her ability.  I will post it on the blog.  I also want Helen’s recipe for corn bread and will post that as well if she will tell it to me. 

We’re All Crazy in Our Own Way as Charlie Says…

“I’ve got a story to tell on your mother,” dad said laughing yesterday afternoon during our medication ritual.

Mom sat on the couch and started to look wary.   Dad loves to tell a good story on mom and has told many over the years.

“I wrote down a recipe for cinnamon rolls for Helen to fix for your mother for breakfast this morning,” dad said. “Well, your mother said Helen wasn’t going to be able to read my handwriting and was worried she wasn’t going to get the rolls.”

“What did she do?” I asked, intrigued.

“She got up during the middle of the night and rewrote the recipe twice making it clearer every time,” dad said, laughing.  “There were three different looking recipes for cinnamon rolls sitting on the kitchen counter when Helen got here this morning.”

“Johnny, don’t tell all this,” my mother said, embarrassed. 

“Well, Helen called me at work this morning,” dad said, just a grinnin’ and laughing. 

“Mr. John? Just what recipe do I use for these cinnamon rolls?” Helen asked me. 

“I laughed and laughed,” dad said.  “I told you your mother can get things complicated really fast.”

“Well, I really wanted those cinnamon rolls and was afraid Helen wouldn’t be able to cook them reading your chicken scratch!” mom said huffily, now defensive.

I smiled.  I love my mother so much and this is just characteristic of her obsessive compulsiveness.  I would have rewritten the recipe twice as well for some of Helen’s cinnamon rolls.

George’s Project and Mine…

Well, I sat down at the kitchen table to start rebuilding George’s carburetor last night.  I don’t know why I have been dreading this so.  What we do for friends.  George had brought over a service manual for his car he ordered at AutoZone late yesterday evening which gave me the impetus to start.  George also brought wiper blades for my car which excited me.  You know you don’t get to shop much when getting wiper blades excites you.  The next project I want to do on my car is the obvious oil change and a trip to the junk yard to get a digital clock out of a junked 2001 Honda CR-V.  Mine quit working a year ago and it drives me crazy as I never wear a watch.

Sunday Morning Rituals...

I walked into my parent's house this morning to the smell of baking biscuits and frying bacon. It has become a ritual for us to eat together every week. We fixed our plates full of biscuits, bacon, and strawberry preserves and sat down to eat.

"Joyce's camellia is blooming," I told my father in between bites of wonderful breakfast food.

Dad walked over to stand at the backdoor to see if his, too, were blooming.

"Mother always liked camellias," dad said. "She would always keep a bowl of blooms on her dining room table."

Dad talked a lot of football this morning which didn't interest me. I barely kept up with the Auburn game yesterday. I realize I would have a stronger bond with my father if I took some interest in sports. It all seems rather silly to me, though.

I left to drive home just as the hordes of church goers were leaving church at noon. Car after expensive car paraded by the front of my parent's house as I tried to get out in the road. It didn't perturb me. I thought wistfully of the quaintness of small southern town life and how much religion is important to that existence. I've thought often of if you can't beat them then join them. My thoughts on organized religion are an entirely different blog post and would violate one of my cardinal rules of blogging, though.

A New Morning Dawns...

Early this morning in the cool air I was sitting out on the steps of my back deck.  Maggie had her stuffed plush dog trying to remove whatever guts are left.  My thoughts turned to Joyce as I drank my coffee and had a cigarette.  Joyce loved to do the same.

"Life's too short," I told an inattentive Maggie.

Maggie brought her stuffed toy to me and dropped it at my feet.  I rubbed and scratched her back vigorously.  I wanted to savor this moment forever.  I was feeling well for the first time in days.  Maggie was happy.  My relationships with my family were good.  The sun shone down on my good fortune. 

For Sale...

Joyce's sister was over packing up her clothes and toiletries this morning.  I stopped by to offer a hand and to just be nosey.  I wanted to find out what was going on. 

"She's going to miss you," Joyce's sister, Janice, told me.  "We've got her a good place to stay."

"I am going to miss her as well," I replied as I busied myself carrying Joyce's clothes to her sister's car.

Stepping into Joyce's house is like stepping back into time.  It looks and smells like my now departed great aunt's house.  Something out of the sixties. 

As I was leaving, I watched as they put a for sale sign in front of Joyce's house.  It didn't hit me that she was actually gone until I saw that.  Despite all Joyce's problems, she has been a good neighbor -- the first neighbor I have ever felt close to.  I am sad to see her go.  I hope she grows to enjoy her new living environs. 

Intuitively Handle...

Went to a 10 AM AA meeting this morning.  It was kind of like a somber church for alcoholics.  We discussed handling certain situations in life sober.  Learning how to intuitively handle situations that used to baffle us when drinking.  There is a lot of wisdom in the halls of AA if you have an open mind and listen.  I try so hard to be a malleable soul and alcoholic.  

"Relationships," one lady said. "Drove me crazy and I was always dating the most terrible men.  I got sober and realized I didn't have to complete that vicious cycle anymore.  I had a new freedom in life.  I was at peace with myself."

"Resentments," another man replied.  "I got sober and resented it.  I wanted to drink like my father and his father before him.  It just wasn't fair.  I had to intuitively learn to handle life without alcohol.  It took years and I am still growing and changing.  I learn something new every meeting."

One of my biggest growth points was learning to be at peace with myself sober.  The only time I previously felt at peace was after six or more beers.  My busy, mentally ill mind would go a thousand miles a minute leaving me bewildered and confused.  It took weeks of steady sobriety to calm my mind down along with the help of my medications.

___________________________________________

Joyce's sister came and got her this morning.  Joyce spent all night sitting in a chair on her carport afraid to go inside.  That must have been a long night.  I was oblivious and asleep.  None of the medications they are trying on Joyce are working.  She is still batshiat crazy these days.  I am confused as to why they aren't trying new and different medications.  It is obvious her current ones aren't working. 

There was a note on my front door this morning from Joyce.  It said, "Don't let them take me away.  I love you.  Joyce."  It broke my heart.  I could barely read her handwriting though.  Joyce's living arrangements have been so chaotic with hospitals and living with her sister that it is no wonder she is struggling.    

Hotline to God...

There has been a strange van showing up at Joyce's house at night since she has been home.  The speculation between Mom and I is that Joyce has a boyfriend. 

"Oh no!" my father said last night when I mentioned it. "That is that wacky preacher of hers who is giving her religious counseling for her mental illness."

Religious counseling for mental illness?  I scoffed.  Joyce has a bio-chemical imbalance in the brain and that causes her mental illness.  Only medications can help.

I was once told schizophrenia was a gift of insight from God by my grandmother's preacher.  I could see and hear spiritual matters most normal people couldn't.  When I was mentally ill this only fueled the fire that was my malfunctioning brain.   I thought I had a direct connection with God.  Kind of like a hotline to spirituality.   They put me on an atypical anti-psychotic and any religious tendencies I had disappeared.  It was all a delusion.  I sometimes miss that religious fervor as it is much easier to explain the scary unknown and a chaotic world with God involved.  It was comforting in an odd way.  Truly the opiate of the masses.      

"I hate God!" she said.

It has been several weeks since I quit taking Benadryl.  I now have a large stockpile of the pills in my kitchen cabinet.  Dad still gives me six at night.  My doctor originally suggested Benadryl for my anxiety.  The active ingredient in the allergy medicine is commonly used in sleeping pills.  It does help to calm you down and make you mellow.  I just couldn't take a reasonable amount.  I would take six at a time to get a buzz from the pills.  

Joyce has been acting strangely today.  I keep watching out my kitchen window to find her pacing on her carport.  I am tempted to walk out and talk to her.  I am just afraid I might startle her and make things worse.  The last time she did this I had to call the paramedics.  She kept screaming she hated god.  The police arrived and said it was a religious matter and urged me to call her pastor. "She's mentally ill!" I pleaded with the officers in black.  The police finally got her family involved and got her in the hospital. 

Hard News...

Joyce was somber and sad this morning when I stopped by to take her some breakfast.  I had carefully prepared a plate of warm Danishes, fruits, and buttery toast.

"My sister is selling my house," she said sitting in her kitchen as she started to cry.  "They are putting me in assisted living."

I didn't know what to say, but a feeling of anger welled up within me.  I swallowed my anger and just sat with her at the table holding her hand.

"Certainly there is something you can do?" I asked.

"She has power of attorney over me," Joyce replied between sniffles. 

Selfishly,  I thought of my own circumstances.  That of being a mentally ill man in recovery and also having my father with power of attorney.  I wouldn't know what to do either.  Mental illness can rob you of your independence and adulthood.  You are relegated to the rights of a child. 

"I love you," I told her as I hugged her. "Eat your breakfast and you will feel better."

I left Joyce sitting at that table and somewhat more composed.  Joyce is only 62 and much too young for the old folk's home.  She still isn't doing well, though.  Who knows?  She might like assisted living once she settles in.  I can only hope for the best. 

Homecoming...

There was a knock on my door very early this morning.  I scrambled to put on some clothes and answer the door.  It is strange how Maggie knows who are friend or foe at the door.  She jubilantly did her happy dance and started to whine.

I opened the door and was so surprised.  "Oh, thank you Lord!" I said at the sight of Joyce.  "Come here and give me a big hug!"

"How are you feeling?" I then asked.

"Oh, I am okay," she said sheepishly. "I still have delusions about God."

"You look well," I replied. "I love your new hair-do!"

"Will you do me a favor?" Joyce asked. "Help me remember to take my nightly medications."

"I will call you after Dad leaves at night," I told her.

She didn't stay long.  You could tell she was still shaky.  I am just overjoyed she is home though.  Joyce is such a outgoing and gregarious person and makes living next to her interesting.  She promised me a fried chicken and turnip greens supper soon.  I can't wait!

Saint Ex-Wife!

What to do?  What do you do with someone who is mentally ill?  We, as humans, live our whole lives -- a complex symphony orchestrated by our brains.  What do you do when the brain malfunctions?  There are no tests, MRIs, or x-rays.  It manifests itself in our behavior which becomes aberrant.  It is easy to lock someone up if they break a law, but what if your trusted friend and neighbor is naked in her home and screaming at the top of her lungs?  Do you rush in?  Call 911? Call family?  I knew from past happenings that the police were the ones to call about Joyce as her family kind of disdains her.  It took a call to my father to get up the courage, but I did and they finally helped.   I now know what my ex-wife put up with me being noncompliant with my medications for all those years.  The craziness.  The thinking God was speaking to me through the Internet and television.  She was a saint.  And I only wish she knew me now.  We would still be married.  She loved me more than anything.  Bless you, Rachel, and God bless Joyce (and give her some meds that work).

Between a Rock and a Hard Space...

I had several calls to make at work once arriving. Everybody seemed no worse for wear with regards to me and yesterday so I escaped quickly to my office, made the calls, and sat relieved that was done. What was on my mind was Joyce. Just as I left for work, she came walking outside holding her head and crying something pitifully. "I'll be home soon," I told her trying to soothe what mentally ailed her. I felt at a loss and had to go, though. "Call your sister!" I then emphatically exclaimed as I rolled up my window and drove off. "Why does work trump someone in need?" I kept thinking on the drive to the pharmacy feeling dirty, unwashed. It was one of the few times I most definitely felt between a rock and a hard space. Trapped. Screwed if you do, screwed if you don't. I just couldn't be late for work after leaving early the previous day.

An Unknown Audience...

I was just standing on my back deck as I smoked a Doral Lights 100.  I was ruminating over the fact that my grass needs mowing and I wondered if the mower would crank after a winter stored under the house.  Joyce came clamoring out her side door talking to her clothes.

"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" she exclaimed.  "All I do is laundry."

Her washer and dryer are outside in a closet by her carport.  She didn't see me standing there until she looked up.

"Oh, hey," she sheepishly said. "I don't normally cuss like that."

"Yeah, sure," I thought remembering all the nights she told me with expletives that she hates my mother, hates her sister, and hates her own daughter.

I smiled and asked her if she felt okay.

"Actually, I am doing poorly," Joyce said and a tear rolled down her cheek.  "I just can't get everything together.  These clothes.  Cooking meals.  It is all too much."

"I feel the same way about having to mow my lawn," I replied, and I did.  It felt overwhelming. 

"You got a cigarette?" Joyce then asked, wiping the tear from her face as she walked into my fence.

"I've got a whole carton you can have sweetheart," I told her.

We sat down on my back steps feverishly telling each other all our problems as we chain smoked cigarette after cigarette.  We both felt better and better sharing what has been ailing us.  Joyce and I let it ALL out.  We bitched.  We moaned.  Until we were soon laughing in between drags of those aromatic smokes. 

"I feel like I should pay you for this like a therapist," Joyce told me with a smile.

I burst out laughing and gave her the most heartfelt hug.  Our little bitch session was not for naught.  

Glutton for Punishment...

This morning I left the house early to take pictures of some of the historic buildings lining the old Chattahoochee Valley Railroad right of way. It was raining softly and the sound of raindrops pattered on my umbrella. It soon came apparent that I was getting soaking wet as the wind would blow the rain sideways. My worn old tennis shoes soon were sloshing with every step. I did get some good photographs just before another pair of batteries went dead.

I found out today why Joyce's doctor won't put her on Lithium like me. Joyce had a kidney transplant and says the Lithium ruined her kidneys. Kind of a scary thing to know as I take a large dose of Lithium every night. You better bet I am going to be better about having my blood work done to check my Lithium levels. I have been lazy about it in the past.

A video from last year of the same walk I took today.

Lackadaisical...

Mom has been over here all day.  She said she was lonesome and didn't want to go home.  She laid on my extra bed in my computer room as I browsed the Internet.

I had to have a talk with Joyce about Maggie today.  Joyce has been feeding her and leaving some food on the other side of the fence.  Maggie has been digging out to get to this extra food.

"I was just trying to feed the birds and squirrels," Joyce told me concerned.

It has been dreary and overcast today, but the temperature was moderately warm.  We have a chance of t-storms tonight with which I will sleep like a baby.  Sorry I don't have more to share.  I am off to work.  

A Clean Fridge...

I was sitting at my kitchen table last night eating the spaghetti supper Charlie's wife had brought me.  Charlie begins to clean out my fridge on a whim.

"You've got four bottles of mayonnaise in here!" he exclaimed.

"I like mayonnaise," I replied.

Charlie is such a busy body -- always having to stay active.  I watched as he took everything out and put it on my kitchen counters, and then wiped all the shelves with paper towel and Formula 409.

"What else can I do?" he asked as he finished.

"I didn't want you to do that," I told him. 

"Let's change the filter on your central heating and air!"

Charlie took the filter outside along with a broom and swept it clean. 

"Are your medications making you sleepy yet?" he asked, coming in. "Your father says they put you to sleep."

"They will soon," I replied, and I could just feel the first calming effects of my psychiatric medications. 

Charlie soon left and I realized I hated to see him go.  He was my only company all day except for a strange conversation with Joyce about ear drops and doctor visits.  Joyce is still not doing well -- getting confused over simple matters.  I waved to Charlie as he and his son pulled away as Maggie stood in the window wagging her tail vigorously.  It was the end of a quiet Saturday -- a Saturday I should be thankful for after all the chaotic ones in my life.  C'est Le Vie.