Just Get a Regular Brand

I arrived as usual with Howie's groceries yesterday. He got up and got dressed, and reported feeling okay.

When I asked Howie where he wanted to eat lunch, he said we should go to Coco's, so that he could see if they would let him "go through the gate to get home." I reminded him that he had asked them the last two weeks (week before last, he went in and asked, and last week we had lunch there, where he also asked). He said we should still go there, so we did. At the end of lunch, someone clattered some dishes nearby, and Howie thought he had been hit in the head, so he was not in the mood to ask if he could go through the gate to "Jarry [cityname]." (You might recall that the other city used to be known as "Yibi [cityname]," but that has apparently changed.

I got a bit of insight into this other town and "signaling down half a level" this week, when Howie said, "I was going to have you help me find Gordon's [the name of a tobacco store he ran for a few months in the late 70s]. It's two levels down south." I said I didn't know how to get there. He said, "You signal down with that [pointing to the windshield wiper control]. I once turned the wiper on when it started to rain and ended up 200 miles north in another realm." Whatever that experience was, it has stuck with him and he continues to think that we can signal down and get to another level of reality.

This week Howie wanted to get some mustard, so when we went to one of the dollar stores, I showed him a display of Moorehouse Mustard (regular, brown, Dijon, jalapeno, etc.). I asked him which one he wanted, and pointed out the regular and the Dijon. He said, "That's owned by Moore's group." He wouldn't have any of it. Later, we went to another dollar store, where he remembered seeing mustard, and we found the display. The brand was Koop. "They have a lawsuit against us," Howie said, and he refused to get any of it. I offered to get Howie some mustard at the grocery store next week, and asked what brand was acceptable. He said, "Just get a regular brand." I suggested Stater Brothers house brand, and he seemed to be okay with that.

Back home, I noticed that one of the stuffed animals had a glazed donut sitting in front of it, instead of the usual cash. Much of the cash in front of the stuffed animals has been moved, apparently to the two bowls.

This week I took the opportunity to copy the information on some of the notes taped to the workshop door. Here are a few, written on 3 by 3 pieces of paper mostly, though some are 3 by 5 approximately: "LADA 12141 Born 1214, Corn Dogs 8991 Registered, Laser 121105 18 Born 1211, Cheese 3855195 Born 3855, Corn 3151, Apple 1616125 Born 1516." In most cases, the word Born and the number after it are circled.

One anomaly I haven't reported yet, I think, is that Howie seldom completely empties liquid containers. In his refrigerator are half a dozen 500ml water bottles with half an inch of water left in each. On the kitchen countertop are two or three hand soap pumps with half an inch of soap left--and three or four relatively full ones. He sometimes leaves a little soda in a can, and the cleaning products often have similar fates. Perhaps he subscribes to the dregs-of-the-wine idea, thinking that the last bit of product is less pure.

This week I cleaned up the kitchen sink area a bit (a monumental challenge considering that virturally every square inch of countertop is covered with stuff), and then noted that I need to call the plumber tomorrow, because the mainline is once again stopped up. The toilet near the back door appeared to be working, so that is a relief.

Howie was sipping a cola as we waved to each other when I left.

Wait a Few Minutes and See If I Come Back

Howie was already up and dressed when I took him his groceries this week. He said he was feeling okay, though he was having a problem with intermittent pains ("They keep putting stickers in my heart, but they are out now"). I again told him to take some aspirin and he again ignored me.

Last time I mentioned that Howie has about 71 photo albums filled. Each album holds 96 photos, so that's about 6800 pictures of pretty much the same things: areas around the house, strip malls we go to, and himself. There's an occasional picture of me in there, too.

Howie continues his almost obsessive-compulsive cutting of thin cardboard (the kind that packages soda cans and cigarette packs) into rectangles and squares about an inch on each side. He has three or four baskets filled with the pieces out in the workshop and a kitchen drawer half full. The kitchen floor always has a dozen or two pieces on it from where he apparently spilled them when moving them from one place to another.

The kitchen ceiling and walls about three feet from the ceiling are brown with cigarette smoke staining. If I had the time and energy, I'd wash them. But cleaning at Howie's has a feeling of futility. It doesn't do much good to mop the family room, for example, becasue by the next week there is another white haze from the ammonia and/or bleach he's poured over it, and in several spots more baby powder.

Howie had the usual uncertainty about lunch this week. At first he wanted a hamburger, then the buffet, then "Let's eat in town" (he thinks the buffet is in the next town, despite my repeated assurances that it's not), with the suggestion that we go to a Chinese place he named. So off we went. But then he decided on the buffet, so we finally ended up there.

After lunch we were heading toward the drugstore to pick up some more photos, when he spotted a Coco's. He said, "Can you take us there so I can see if they can send us through the gate to go home?" I said, "Right now?" and he said yes. So we drove on over. He got out of the car and said, "Wait a few minutes and see if I come back." I waited for him and he came back out in five minutes or so. I asked him what he found out and he said, "They don't know what I'm talking about."

We were heading toward one of the dollar stores when Howie said he had to go to the bathroom, so we stopped by the library nearby. After he came out, he stood around the entrance, smoking a cigarette, for several minutes. I wondered whether he forgot where I parked or whether he was waiting for someone else to come and get him. Just about the time I started to go get him, he walked on over to the car. I guess I'm his last choice.

At the dollar store, he bought the usual--candles, incense, potting soil, and so on. Last week, he took a shopping cart instead of a basket, and got eight bags of stuff (lots of paper towels and napkins in addition to the usual). This week he took a basket. However, we needed to go to another dollar store to get the kind of candles (and ammonia, etc.) that he likes, so he still ran out of money.

Back at his house, I noticed that the door to the workshop now has little pieces of paper taped to it, each one with a message such as "Frog 1021."

Howie was feeling pretty good when I left.

Maybe I Can Pay Them to Take Me Home

I haven't updated my visits with Howie in awhile, although I continue to see him every week. He continues to say and do bizarre things, but the variety is limited. For example, each week he asks or says most of the following:

• Do you know where Jumpy's is?
• Do you know how to get to the teen store?
• I want to buy a $20 radio that gets station 210.
• They said they don't want us to eat [or shop] here. Let's go.
• Do you know how to get to our supply house? It's half a level down. You signal with that lever [pointing to the windshield wiper control].
• They klonked me on the head when I left there [a store or restaurant].
• Let me see if I can leave to go home. If I can, just put the shopping stuff in the house.

Occasionally, Howie will say, "Nobody in town wants us to shop or eat there." Hence, our difficulty in deciding on where to eat each week. He also will say, "They said we have a store near here. Can we go there?" To which I ask, "Do you know where it is? Or do you know what it's called?" and he says no. I explain that we can't find a store when we don't know its name or where it is. Other comments have been, "What do you do when they switch your food ten times?" and "That popper almost killed me," said when he hears a loud noise.

Howie's shopping list remains fairly constant: headline cards, novena candles (in the unprinted glass jars--he won't buy the ones with people on them because they are "guru candles"), photo albums, paper towels, potting soil, hand lotion, dishwashing detergent, bleach, ammonia, extra cigarettes, notebooks, pens.

I think I mentioned that at last count, Howie had 71 photo albums, almost all filled with the pictures he has taken with the one-use cameras.

The neighbors down the street trimmed back their very overgrown pepper trees, and now almost every time we drive down that street on the way to lunch, Howie says, "They wrecked the trees." I tell him the trees will grow back out and look great.

Howie continues to melt bars of soap in bathroom sinks filled with water. He has put up more aluminum tape on the walls (to short out the zappers). He continues to complain about "butt stickers" and says that pouring bleach and ammonia on the floor helps to ward them off. When he complains about chest pains (he has angina) and I offer to take him to a doctor, he declines with, "They put a sticker in my heart, but I got it pulled out."

So far, Howie has been hanging in there. He was stubborn before he became mentally ill, and he was resistant to dentists in those days, too. And, with his schizophrenia, he is suspicious of doctors and certainly of psychiatrists (even though in the past he has seen several).

That's the update for now.

What Did They Swipe?

I've been remiss in my postings. Here is a composite of things from the last few visits with Howie.

First, his health continues about as usual: he feels tired most of the time, has occasional bouts of angina, has some back pains, and doesn't sleep well at night (when "they" attack the most violently).

Howie has taken to cutting thin cardboard and some paper up into pieces about an inch square. He has a drawer full of pieces in the kitchen and a wastebasket full in the workshop. When I asked him what he was going to do with them, he said, "Confetti. For a party."

Random notes I've scribbled on slips of paper (it's difficult for me to remember everything he says or does):

As we drive down the road, Howie remarks on how the town has grown over the years. Then he asks, "What's the deal with the people moving in here? Do they want to ruin the world government?"

At lunch at a Chinese restaurant, with the numbered menu that has about 48 choices: "Number 77 is not on the menu."

Howie keeps complaining of getting klonked at the restaurant and some of the stores we visit.

He continues to put "wooden Q-Tips" on his shopping list. The dollar stores don't carry them.

In the family room: 5 bottles of hand lotion, 3 bottles of bath and shower powder. In the kitchen: 6 pump bottles of hand soap, 2 bottles of dish detergent.

Howie puts hair conditioner in the bathtub and hand lotion on his hair.

In addition to the aluminum foil on the windows, he has now put some metal tubing against two or three walls, taped down with aluminum tape.

I happened to meet one of the neighbors last visit and asked him if Howie bothered them. He said no, but then added that Howie had been in the neighbor's house a couple of times. He said I should talk to Howie about that. (Quite a few years ago, with a different neighbor in the same house, he broke out all the windows during a rampage. He went through the county mental health system for a few months after that.)

I talked to Howie when I got back in the house and told him, "The neighbor says you have been in their house a couple of times." Howie said, "Oh really? What did they swipe?" I reminded him that the police would arrest him if he did that again.

His "swipe" comment made me wonder if he went over there because he thought they had taken something that he couldn't find or didn't remember throwing away or never had in the first place. "They" are always suing him, stealing his $800 million dollars, and otherwise absconding with his stuff and his people. He will often say "They hurt one of us downtown" or something similar.

The debate about where to eat gets more extended every week, because Howie thinks no one wants him at the eateries we've been to. Last week, we went to a Wendy's we hadn't been to before and he seemed to be okay with it.

Last week I was pleased to see that the nearly one gallon of Round Up that I sprayed on the driveway weeds had produced the desired effect and left the weeds brown and ready to blow away. I've been sawing some of the dead wood into firewood sized pieces, but it's a long task. The real trimming that needs to be done around the house, Howie is against, so I just leave the bushes to grow for now.

Relearning Old Lessons

This post will be a big shorter than sometimes, and you'll see why in a bit.

When I called Howie on Friday and asked him if he wanted anything special from the grocery store, he told me not to buy any more spaghetti. He has been on a lots-of-spaghetti kick for awhile (after he wanted salisbury steak and then tired of it), so it's about time for a change. He likes meatloaf now, as well as a variety of other TV dinners.

We entered the usual discussion about where to eat. Howie suggested fish, so I said fine. Then he said he wanted a hamburger, so I named six places. Finally, he decided on a Chinese place, where we did eat.

We went to two one-dollar stores (though the second one charges more than a dollar on many and an increasing number of items). At the first store, Howie seemed to be holding his chest more intensely than usual. I asked him if his heart was bothering him and he said yes. "They put a sticker in it," he said. I asked him if the pain was really bad, and he said, "No." I asked him if he had the pain during the week and he said, "Only a little."

Howie had left the first dollar store after buying only a few items because, "They don't want me to shop there." So we went to the second store, where he got a few more items, but forgot to look at his shopping list and left early because, "They don't want me to shop there."

I decided to mop the kitchen floor when we returned, so I got out the mop and filled the kitchen sink with water and Maestro Limpio (the Spanish version of Mr. Clean). I use the kitchen sink now because the laundry room tub has about a dozen bottles and plastic containers (filled with soapy water) in it and it's easier to use the sink. I pulled up the drain plug and the dirty water started to run out slowly. The usual problem with this sink is a couple of cigarette butts and some lint blocking the drain, so I reached down to grab it and promptly cut a nice gash in my left index finger. (Hence, typing this is slow, difficult, and painful.) I grabbed some Kleenex and asked Howie where the bandaids were. The blood was freeflowing, but I got it stopped after the bandaid was soaked with it. After the water finished draining, I looked in and found a large piece of broken glass. I asked Howie where the glass had come from. He said it was probably part of a glass-jar candle that had exploded. "Do they often break?" I asked. He said, "Someone shot the candle through the window." I didn't bother to ask him why there was no bullet hole in the window.

So the first old lesson learned anew is, "Don't reach where you can't see."

Next, I wanted to wash off the furnace filter, so I went down into the garage and pulled it out. (It's the cleanable type, made of plastic mesh.) I headed out toward the hose faucet and promptly banged my head on the garage door. This is an old steel door that has rusted thoroughly, especially along the bottom, from the days when Howie sprayed it with the hose several times a day. Now it doesn't open completely without a good push, so I just left it half open, hanging in mid air so to speak. I forgot to duck on the way out.

Lesson number two, learned anew, "Watch where you're going."

As usual, Howie thanked me several times and volunteered that he felt much better. His angina was evidently gone and he no longer held his hand over his heart.

He gave me two disposable cameras to get developed. I had brought him photos from four cameras the week before.

Too Much Medicine Isn't Good for You

Howie was feeling somewhat better this week. He didn't complain of any pains. Last week he said he had a hole in his head and that someone klonked him. He did say he felt tired, but I interpreted that to mean he is a typical human. I feel tired, too.

Howie asked where we could eat that was different, so I suggested the pizza place we had talked about but not been to. He agreed and off we went. On the way, I tried to make some idle conversation, so I told him I had reordered some of my medicines through the mail. "You shouldn't take too much medicine," he said. "I almost got killed." Then he added after a bit, "Too much medicine isn't good for you." Perhaps his belief that some medicine he took almost killed him explains why he is so hesitant to take even aspirin.

We arrived at the pizza place and went in. The TV was on, and Howie stopped and listened for a few moments. "They don't want us here," he said. "Should we eat at the Chinese place?" (One of the Chinese fast food places where we have eaten before was in the same strip mall.) I told him we could do whatever he wanted. I reminded him he had wanted pizza. Soon he said pizza was okay, then changed his mind and said we should eat at the Chinese place, reiterating the comment that "they" did not want us to eat at the pizza place. Any kind of music or voice (as with TV) seems to make Howie think that the owners of the store (whether tobacco shop, restaurant, or other store) do not want him to patronize their establishment. He seldom can be talked out of his conviction.

As we got in the car after lunch, Howie said, "There's a dungeon under the Chinese place with people in it. Maybe if I had left a dollar on the table, some of them could have gotten out." He acted as if I had said okay, he would have gone back and left the dollar. But I didn't respond with any comments one way or another. He repeated this when we got a ways down the road.

After lunch we stopped by the "big dollar store," where Howie got the usual--candles, paper towels, cleaning products, ice cube trays (several sets at his house seem to have disappeared), and so on. Outside, he saw a store that said, "Metro PCS here," and he interpreted it to be a ticket station selling tickets to a tram that would take him to the "other" city he lives in. I let him go check and he soon came back without a ticket. I could have told him it was a cell phone store but he (1) wouldn't know what that was and (2) wouldn't believe me.

Back at the house, I decided to vacuum some more, so I moved the sofa in the living room and vacuumed under it. I also vacuumed Howie's bedroom. At that point, Howie asked me to help him move his bed into the family room, so I vacuumed the family room (which has a linoleum floor), then mopped, and then we moved his bed. His bed has been there before, though on the other side of the room. Next week I will vacuum the floor of his now former bedroom.

I should mention that under his bed were three folding chairs, two wood panels (from sliding doors on a cabinet), and a metal wastebasket. All this is apparently designed to short out the electrical bolts and/or keep the ghosts from attacking him from below. Sometimes I glean from his mumbling to himself that he still hallucinates being anally raped (which apparently occurred when he was in the county jail in the 1980s I think it was). Once I asked him why he poured bleach all over the floor, and he said, "Bleach kills the involuntary bottoms." So all the junk under the bed (which in the past has included metal rods, a piece of railroad rail, and other metal objects) is for self protection.

As I looked around thinking about dusting, I noticed that he has half a dozen strands of Christmas lights still lit, and interspersed with gold tinsel. Dusting the window sills would be quite a feat, having to move all that stuff. And there is the other inhibitor--the futility of knowing that body powder would soon be squirted back on the cleaned surface.

I used the rest of the time at Howie's to cut up some of the tree limbs that I had cut down earlier. Many of them were infested with termites--little white bugs with brown heads wiggling around. Some of the wood had gigantic (from a termite perspective) caverns chewed in it. There is a huge amount of work to do out there. I asked Howie if he watered the plants (so many of the trees are dying) and he said he waters a lot.

Howie was happy with the three rolls of photo prints I had developed for him. He bought two more disposable cameras on the way home. He asked me to take several pictures of him in various spots around the house, so I did.

Howie was in good spirits when I left.

Where Did You Put The Vacuum Cleaner?

Howie was already up when I arrived with his groceries. He said he was feeling better and apparently had slept better than usual. (When I called the night before about 9:30, he said he had been in bed and was sleepy. Usually he's up until the early hours.)

Howie wanted to eat where we hadn't eaten before or at least not recently. I suggested a pizza place we had seen but not patronized, then mentioned some strip mall eateries we had not been to. I mentioned the buffet. Howie said that would be okay. Then as we drove he said, "Let's eat in town." I told him the buffet was in town, so he agreed. Howie had a plate full of items, including some spaghetti (one of his favorite dishes), and even some cherry cobbler for dessert.

After lunch it was off to the dollar store. Howie went back and forth between the Main dollar store and the Big dollar store. He settled on Big, but just as we reached the ramp for Main, he said to go there. I had repeately offered to go to both, but he wanted to choose one. At the Main store, he bought potting soil and some cleaning stuff. When I got outside, he said he wanted to go to the Big dollar store, too, so we did. There he got some jar candles, headline cards, bleach, ammonia, paper towels, and ointment (for his sore ear).

He mentioned that he needed a new radio. I asked him why he didn't use the radio in the music set I got him over a year ago (the set that has a record player, CD, radio, and tape player in it). He said, "They told me it wasn't paid for." That's the same comment he has given me before about it. I think I mentioned in an earlier post that he had put it out with the trash for awhile. But, of course, radios are now "electronic hazardous waste," and the trash men won't pick them up. So now the set sits in the workshop, still bearing the label, "Please take away."

I was planning to vacuum again (after long neglect) because the rain made it undesirable to use an electric chain saw on the dead trees outside. I have been a bit frustrated with the vacuum cleaner at Howie's (same model I have), because, even though it stops the dust, there are several filters and other parts that need regular washing. The sponge filter clogs up quickly in the tobacco-ash dust all over the place. Well, earlier at Home Depot I had seen a vacuum cleaner on sale for $30--bagless, only one filter to clean, 12-amp motor, automatic carpet level adjustment--so I got it and took it to Howie's.

The vacuum worked astonishingly well. It isn't very noisy, but the brushes loosen the soil and the suction grabs it. I vacuumed three rooms and two hallways, and (keep this confidential) filled about a third of a 33-gallon trash can with the dirt. There was a surprising amount of gray dust (from tobacco ash, I think). Lots of carpet lint (which seems at least in part to have been dug up by mice).

Now, the down side. When I brought the box in and started to assemble the vacuum, Howie asked, "What's that?" somewhat suspiciously. And after I'd finished vacuuming, he asked, "Where did you put the vacuum cleaner?" I showed him where it was in the closet. The potential problem, you see, is that the vacuum brand is Dirt Devil. Howie won't eat Deviled Ham, and is quite put off by devil anything. So, it may be that when I return next week, the vacuum cleaner might be standing out in the rain (as happened to a can of chain saw oil), or it might have disappeared altogether (having been put in the trash, for example). We will see.

I hope to be vacuuming more often in the future, in spite of my limited time at Howie's. It's difficult to mop, vacuum, dust, and cut wood all in one visit. Most of my visit time is spent with Howie on the way to or from restaurants and dollar stores.

When I left, Howie gave me two more cameras to have developed. It's usually at least one camera, and often two, sometimes three or even four in a week. The pictures are of ordinary items (bushes, trees, some of his cactus plants), himself (he takes a lot of self portraits), and shopping areas (when we part at a dollar store or the drug store where he gets his cameras, he takes several pictures around the parking lot).

Howie waved as I drove off.