Part 5 unedited

It was a nasty winter that year, with ice taking over the Grand River. The level of water and ice flow was so high that it came right up over the back of the property, over the decks, and up to the back door. It was a difference of about twelve feet, which really put Danny’s construction skills to the test, since it was him that helped Bruce build the deck. It was an impressive show of force from Mother Nature but not one board was disturbed. The river was a sight to see, especially downtown Grand Rapids where Julie worked as an accountant for Hunt Construction.

The project was tearing down the old police station and replacing it with an Expo Center. This was located right across the street from the U.S. Post Office, which is next door to the Seniors Housing building. The seniors had all been forced out onto the street. No one seems to care about family like on The Walton’s anymore, so they knew there would be little to no backlash to fear. There was a short-lived stink, and life went on. Just like the scandal over the VanAndel Arena- a short-lives stink, mostly due to the fact that the guy who had balls enough to make an argument about it in the Grand Rapids Press, vanished. When local taxes are being used, you have to hold a public bid for the work to be done but the deals were all done behind closed doors. No public bids were held. It was all left to cronyism and nepotism. What an outrage, a shameful travesty. It was my boycott references about that situation that coincided with my grief at the time of my seeming demise on September 3^rd, 1996. Coincidence, I wonder…?

Anyway, right in front of the Hunt/Expo project, a remarkable display of nature could be seen as the ice floes moved unhindered, like Glaciers. Bridge pillars stoutly cut through the massive floes of ice, leaving a spectacular sight. Long, deep gouges and lengthening trenches in the frozen mass like nothing I had ever seen. Come spring, when the ice melted and the water levels went down, a landmark boulder would be gone- removed by the glacial-like force, never to be found that I am aware of. Certainly, it was a terrible winter to be on the streets.

One morning, it was snowing pretty hard, and having a vehicle once again volunteered me to pick up the slack of negligence by taking Casey to school. I didn’t mind. I felt like I was there to help. Having a few minutes to work with, which meant no hurry, I decided to take the scenic route along the Rogue River, instead of getting on the North bound portion of Highway131. The route along the Rogue River was a winding road through the hills and valleys, east of US131highway. At one point, where I would get on, and at that time of morning, traffic was the last minute rush. The winds had picked up and a whiteout blizzard with heavy wind gusts struck. In a flash, it was impossible to see, causing a pile up of many, many vehicles- around sixty. It was the worst pile-up in the area, ever. I would have been right there in it. I was so thankful for my choice to not get on the highway that morning, for having not been involved, especially with someone else’s child. The guilt of that would surely have been too much for me but it’s possible my being there interrupted a more serious supernatural force. Maybe they were supposed to be in that accident. Julie would have been in a rush. Had I not been there, I would never have been there to be used for the option of driving her to school, and someone else would have been in charge of Jeans estate and the trust fund from Julies father. But then again, it’s possible that I was supposed to be there. A Guardian Angel- one of their deceased fathers maybe?       

As for Danny, the Gezon building had been put up for sale some time ago, which meant that the days of the loft were numbered. Our hopes were that whomever took it over would keep the studio occupancies but we knew that was an improbability. It seemed that no one was really interested in purchasing the place or at least not the building. The property was the only thing anyone wanted. Dan had made a For Sale sign for the owner to hang on the side of the building only he was going to put “Fer” Sale instead. We’d laugh and laugh about that. 

He was dividing his time between his friends and his mother, whom now resided in a condominium type apartment community of elderly people. Since she was not driving much, he had use of her Saab and taking her to Marz Hill Church for services every week. “Love Wins”, was the mantra. It was on the bumper sticker in the window.

Bruce let him stay in the guest house that he called the “Sugar Shack”, located behind the house but there was also a tree house across the river that he would go and stay in, built by Rick Todd, a friend who often hung out at Bruce’s.

And then there was Julie Wickman’s place, he stayed there too, walking her dogs while she was busy with working from her home office. Danny was all over town, and now with me living where I was at, he could stay there too.

My own time was being divvied up between my mother’s, Julie’s, and Danny’s, while working on the various projects, that were going on with all involved. Julie’s project was trying to take care of her adoptive mother, Jean.

Jean, having developed Alzheimer’s, had been declining in health and left widowed by her husband, Dick, whom died from A.L.S. a few years back. The local news featured him and his disorder that, once recognized, crippled him very swiftly and severely. A.L.S. had taken away his motor skills and ability to speak. This disease took his life by storm. It was a very sad situation to witness, which I did by way of the VHS tape copy of the news program, and through the various notepads that he had used to communicate with.

Julie would check on her mother once a week, in her home of forty plus years. It was off of Plainfield and Jupiter- back behind the old Witmark's store. This was only a token visit to say she did. She needed to be more attentive because the wolves lurked everywhere around Jean since Dick died. One sold her a brand new Saturn Ion even though she couldn’t remember what she was doing at the dealership. Another sought out more frequent tithe requests. And then there was Julie, waiting to sink her claws into the substance with all the guise of a faithful daughter, following the requests of her adoptive father, to take care of Jean. He was a rare man, loving his wife as if she was the only woman on Earth. Not able to have a child of their own, they finally adopted. Thank God, only once.

Of all the Evil, maybe I was there to buffer the Demonic forces, to add a bit of supernatural guilt that would deflect some of the negative somehow, somewhat. But I was no angel, not by any means. My motives were of the flesh and convenience, and of resentment. My rationalizations justified my actions, the good with the bad until the bad could be stamped out. My awareness of what was going on was becoming more and more, and it had a very negative impact on how I felt about the living situation and what I had become involved in. My drinking became more constant. Although I tried to curtail it, my sadness over the truth, and the reality that I kept finding in life, only seemed to give life right back to the beast that I fought to take life from. Everything was messed up but I continued to deny it by leaning on my Faith and Hope that there was Goodness to be found somewhere amid all of the chaos.

Chapter

Julie had gotten into a lot of trouble as a teen, finding her way into the carnival circuit where she learned to refine her skills at deception and manipulation, becoming a con artist. She played me out well too, speaking with an air of sophistication in the English persuasion with Casey feeding into the charade as best supporting actress. It seemed like it was all in playfulness but it was just part of a larger deception. Sometimes she would mention researching to find her lineage before being put up for adoption but even she speculated that she was descended from criminals. She had suspected gypsies because of her black hair.

She had an injury to her throat, sustained in a car wreck when she was seventeen, that required the routine use of a Teflon tune-up in the form of an injection from time to time. This was to help her speaking, since she had a hoarse ugliness that rattled the glass panes, chasing even the most incapacitated man away. I felt sorry for her. Her boyfriend and a couple of their friends were heading toward the west coast to do some “work” in the adult movie industry. She slept in the backseat while they were coked up and speeding down a dark stretch of highway. Somewhere, between wrong and right, they were in an accident. Who was to blame wasn’t going to change the fact that people were killed, including her unborn child. She was the only one to survive, and wouldn’t learn of her pregnancy until many days later. Her body was nearly severed in two, receiving massive amounts of care and hundreds of sutures and staples, leaving her badly scarred around her abdomen. Her throat was deeply lacerated, damaging her vocal cords. Teflon could only take the scratch off of the surface. Secretly, I felt a joy of sorts over the loss of that child, an uncontrolled voice of the ego, maybe, or was it that someone had escaped an undeserving hell of this family’s reality? This partly explained how she ended up in the carnival, maimed and disfigured, damaged goods and starved for attention…. Even if it was from a man who’s interests were purely superficial.

Jean went downhill fast, requiring someone to be appointed responsible for the finances. Julie was made executor of the estate, which was made into a trust fund, all the while letting her own home go into a state of delinquency as an effort to get out from under the debt. On the surface it appeared as though she was preparing to consolidate households due to her mothers caretaking needs but in reality she was just moving back in with mom. She put her moms house on the market and searched for a house that was big enough for the four of us. It had to be on a bus route. And it had to be in Rockford School district. Casey insisted on staying in that school but I had reasons to believe that the school could have done without her.

An impending sense of urgency created a hostile environment to which Kenny did not help. While I am at work, Kenny is sneaking underage girls over to have sex with. He knew his mother was at work, and that I was working. It was impossible to take them to his father’s house, and the cost of gas limited his driving, so it only made sense to take them to his mother’s.

Casey had tried telling her mother about Kenny’s perversions- that he had been trying to fondle her, and molested her in the past. Whether true or not, I cannot ascertain. There was so much untruth and manipulation that I could only observe and wonder. My concerns blew up when it was ME that was in the house, and in a position to be the responsible party in the home. I feared being the one implicated with accusations that any man fears. Thank God I didn’t get caught up in a bad scenario involving a statutory rape case with an irate father of a teenage girl who needed a good excuse why the school had called saying she wasn’t there. What a nightmare.

Chapter: Karma- Mandy has been found dead

As the snows went away with the arrival of spring, the business of eviction began keeping Danny and I busy with clean-outs and repairs again. When I went to the loft to meet up with him, the building maintenance guy from the ground floor business mentioned a power failure issue that they needed to have fixed. My question was, why Dan Doyle wasn’t there to tend to it, being that he was the person who handled their electrical issues in the past. That’s when I got the news about Mandy, Dan Doyle’s oldest child.

Dan was not available due to his incapacitation over the fact that she’s been found dead in her apartment, of an overdose. If that wasn’t bad enough, a guy was found in the room with her child, with his pants missing. It was obvious that he had been inappropriately handling Mandy also. It may be that he didn’t know she had an overdose, assuming her to be merely unconscious when he took advantage of her. My legs buckled and I fell to the ground, suddenly sick in my stomach, and groaning in sheer disbelief. I spent the rest of the day trying to understand what had happened to the young woman I had worked with, whom was so eager to learn the Carpentry trade, and was so thankful for her sobriety and getting her kids back in her life.

Mandy was just thirteen when I’d met her. Her mother, Lynn, had died in the arms of Mandy’s father, after crashing the motorcycle they had been riding. Mandy was a teenage mother. She got knocked up before her sixteenth birthday. And now, less than a year out of jail, she’s dead. The last time I saw her, she and a girlfriend that shared her apartment, had ran into Billy and I, after working on a porch rebuilding project for Salih. We spoke with them outside of a liquor store called The Bottle House. They asking Bill to purchase booze for them.

It was odd that they would be on South Division, where it was known for drug activity, after sundown but I dismissed it without much suspicion. Her person was one that was full of life and everyone loved her. She was spunky and she was beautiful in every way. I can still see her dimples and teeth on her bright smiling face.

That morning, I wondered if her father wasn’t being dealt his grief- karma at play for spending our money from the log home belonging to Mark and Connie when he bought the Harley Davidson Fat boy. Even still, I went to Dan’s home to express my sympathy that evening.

Dan was on his back, lying on the couch in a catatonic state. Saying nothing, I went to his side, knelt down and held his hands in mine. A few moments later I left him in the silence and never saw him again. I drove away, still crippled with the reality and sickness in my heart, while I agonized over how could this have happened. All I could think of was that Dan’s wrong doing brought this on. That’s just how I felt at the time. I kept thinking that he could have prevented this but that his selfishness and his greed made it happen. I couldn’t help but to blame him.

In the meantime, I was oblivious to my own selfishness and greed, and continued digging what was shaping up to be my own grave. The clock was ticking and no one would be prepared. Julie searched for a home that met Casey’s demands while the spring was progressing in winter’s demise.

A house was found that met all the criteria, which led to scrambling for boxes at liquor stores to move with. Kenny became too busy to assist the family, and Casey refused to help- still in a state of which no one on earth can understand except for a fourteen-year-old girl. What she needed was a paddling, the kind that breaks blood vessels in a father’s hand. This is a crucial moment that can’t be overlooked but the idea is to properly invest in a kid from birth, not from their teens. By then there is little hope.    

Chapter

While her mom wilted away, Julie continued making plans to consolidate households, with me there to take on whatever burdens came along. Only Julie knew what was going on with the bills. The payments had not been made on the home but that was presumably in her ex-husbands name, in anticipation of relocating. The bank eventually foreclosed as things came to a head. Luckily, Julie had a real estate agent involved that she went to school with- a stoner buddy from the past who helped her along in the process from behind the scenes. Within a few weeks she was able to find a home that would work for her.

 The house was on the bus route for school, had three bedrooms and an office, upper and lower level living quarters, large kitchen and dining area, fireplace, two stall garage with a third stall for a boat/utility or as a service bay, lawn sprinkler system, fenced in rear yard, seasonal porch, hot-tub, and it was right on the White Pine Trail.

We began moving in before the occupants could get out, filling their garage with her belongings. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a team effort. It seemed like I was spearheading the whole thing. I gathered up boxes and packed away everything that would fit in them. Casey had been continuously refusing to help do anything at all. Kenny had no job but was all of the sudden too busy, and Julie was not at all responding to the situation like a person who had to move. She was more of an invalid, as if she had no idea what to do, had never moved before, and never even been in a dwelling. It was almost as if she was on Earth for the first time but that was all part of the act to get my monkey to sing and dance… and it did, just not enough to beat the clock.

My words were that they needed to help, and of refusing to be the fool in the scenario but there I was doing everything like a good slave. Now, I wonder if she really had the ability to cast a spell, it seems she had me in one because there was not enough I could do in giving my all.

We moved the items using, both, her truck and mine, just the two of us. Since the new place was only three miles away, door to door, it was easier than it could have been. At the end of the second day of hauling furniture and boxes of crap, we went back for more only to find the house had been locked up tight by the mortgage holder. Julie got on the phone only to find out that the things left in the house did not need to be moved out any longer. They had placed everything in the dumpsters. She was now going to have to fetch them from the receptacles, which wouldn’t really be a big deal. I mean, who looks out of place diving in dumpsters at a trailer park in a bad economy? That wasn’t a big deal.

What was a big deal was that it was now pouring rain and way after sundown. Since she was the boss, in effect, my suggestions to work all night had been dismissed. Now I was hated for being in the position to say many things, one was, “I told you so”. The biggest part of it was that most of what was in the dumpster was Casey’s belongings. We had worked at packing and moving everything else in the home, leaving her things to be packed up by her. Of course, she maintained the stance that she was not going to help, and she didn’t. Much of it looked so much like garbage that it was hard to distinguish which of it was hers. It was a terrible chore. At one point I got in and watched from the cab of my truck, I’d had enough. My suggestion to get Casey to do it fell on deaf ears. Julie was not about to display that she had no authority, again. And although I kept saying that I refused to be the fool, I could not remove myself from this grave out of my own selfishness and compromised wit- my personal motives. After all I had been through it was just another difficulty, right? I maintained hope even though my own faults made it lessened. Neither of us were ever apologized to or thanked for what was dealt with or what was done.

While unpacking at 5904 Alcove Drive, I began to see that things were not all roses in the previous family’s lives. Money troubles were clearly indicated by many things. The sprinkler system was intentionally disabled, causing the yard to turn to a brown patchy mess- the only yard like it in the neighborhood. The hot tub was disabled. Doorstops on the master bedroom and master bath were ripped loose from the slamming of doors, which revealed fighting between the husband and wife. This was not a big surprise, given the fact that this was a time when there was a huge job loss in the West Michigan area.

Many of the jobs were outsourced to other countries with a significant pay difference. People were selling their homes and having to move back in with their elderly parents, in some cases, after already having downsized to smaller homes and liquidating their assets. Some took up the lesser paying jobs in retail and fast food, for the sake of keeping an income of some sort, which displaced the younger people who routinely took and depended on those jobs. This was a whole new aspect of the game- cutting the throats of our young to survive. That’s exactly what happened, much like when Sea Lions abandon their young, leaving them to starve to death while they try to find food to survive and breed again. So, quite simply put, the reality is that the young people are being extorted. Here I was seeing the sign of the times, instead of hearing about it.

My job was now tending the property, addressing those things that were in need of service or restoration, like the tub, sprinkler, interior repairs, water softener, and lots of other odds and ends. There was a scar in the back yard from a pool that I hid by putting a garden in, using eight loads of dirt from a supplier by the Grand River on Coit Avenue.

The tub quickly burnt up, having not been in service for who knows how long. The wires were brittle causing an electrical fire in the control box that ran the tub system. Under the scrutiny and dismay from the pool and spa store, I rebuilt the unit, which was a four hundred dollar repair that only cost me time and a fifty-dollar component. I was full of pride over that one. It all seemed so glorious, my finding myself in a home and a lifestyle to which my skilled trade had me accustomed to. The amenities and prospects of having my kids back in my life was becoming more of a reality. Everything was coming together.

As payment for doing all of the work on the property, and all of the domestic chores, and full-time care and companionship for Jean, Julie paid for an attorney to handle suing for my so-called visitation rights to be enforced. This began the process I had been anticipating so much.

On my birthday, she offered to do something special for me but out of pure mercy I only asked for some boiled eggs because I knew how scatter-brained and challenged she was. My fear of receiving grief later had motivated my choice and was an easy solution to her offer without rejecting her, I thought anyway.

Well, the water all boiled out of the pan. What gave an indication of a problem in the kitchen were small explosions that sounded like little balloons being popped from where we were in the lower level of the house. The air was soon flooded with the smell of burned chicken feathers. If you have ever had a chicken brush up against a wood stove you’d know what I’m talking about. Some smells leave a dent in your memory. We went to the kitchen and saw the mess. It looked like the eggs had all jumped out of the pan. The cathedral ceiling was plastered with egg yolk. Being that the ceiling was finished with a “crows foot” style texture with no sealer coat of paint, it was impossible to clean off without damaging the unfinished finish. I am sure the yolk stain is on it still. It’s the thought that counts, I’m told.

 A week later, she bought me an old fishing boat with a trailer. It was a hundred-fifty dollar boat that she paid eight hundred for. We put it in the water and used it that day. The next day I returned to Bruce’s, where it was moored, to go fishing again but found her sunk. The guys helped me bail it out, saved from sinking completely by the rocks under her, and four hours later I got her running, taking her over to the boat launch to get the vessel back home. It had so many pinholes in it that it could have been a screen door, colander, and Flour sifter- anything other than a boat. Again, it’s the thought that counts but it should have been the thought that maybe I was being used in every way possible but then again it wasn’t really her money- it was her mom and dad’s. I let it all ride and buried myself in caring for Jean out of loyalty to her, and the fact that I had no place to go where my prospects would be much better. Here, I was on my way to being on top of things with having a shop, tools, my truck, and in a position to rebuild my business.

 My identity was almost back. I almost had my children back. Now, I rationalized that the deeds I was doing were righteous. I felt a great sense of purpose.

Julie made the decision to purchase a real estate license in hopes of an easy income. As smart as she tried to be, she fell victim to another heavily used sales pitch used on a desperate society. Those who had a couple grand bought into an empty promise, only getting a piece of paper and a fantasy of not needing coupons to live. Truth is Grand Rapids had enough salesmen, especially Realtors.

Always scribbling, banking a little time in my songwriting added up fast. So, while Casey refused to do even the least of anything to help, my workload grew and grew to the point where I wouldn’t have a moment for anything but to write a few lines about it while stewing in my frustration and disgust with what I was now involved in, as well as with myself. A lot of that was voiced in a song I wrote about a subject in the news, Jennifer Wilbanks.

Ms. Wilbanks must have gotten cold feet regarding her wedding plans because she disappeared, causing her Bridegroom and their families to call the authorities, requesting to file a missing persons report. A lot of authorities from several states became involved. When they finally found her in Oklahoma, she claimed to have been abducted by a white woman and a Mexican guy. 

Too many opportunities had been lost in the past, like the Joey Buttafuco and Amy Fischer thing, where someone had written a song about that. Although only a novelty item, I wanted to be the one to nail this one. I couldn’t miss out on the chance to nail a gig, so I ran over to the loft in order to pitch the idea to Danimal while it was still in the news, mentioning how people land songwriting publicity that way, and that maybe we could turn something out that would gain attention for our compositions. It wasn’t long between breaths when I had my notepad out to show him what I already had to work with. He looked it over and suggested an intro idea, grabbed his acoustic guitar, and laid down a twelve bar blues progression. After about ten minutes, we had a pretty cool little blues boogie that I could belt out harmonica leads on my A harp to. We were satisfied with ourselves and basked in the glow of completing another song.

The warm weather settled in about two weeks prior, and my excitement about putting it together before anyone else, could hardly be contained. It wasn’t hard to rally Danimal into going down to Tuscan’s Deli to soundboard it on a friend of ours that worked there as a clerk, and to buy a couple of beers in celebration.  It was just about time for the lunchtime rush of customers, so we knew we had a perfect time to catch some ears. She was just about to snag a quick break when we got there, so we went out to a patio table in front of the building and started playing our song.

A minute or two into it, a man in a double-breasted blue pin-stripe suit pulled up, listened for a minute, and then entered the store with the clerk following. After he left, we played it again. As we were making a purchase, then to leave, the same guy came back in asking me for a business card or phone number, saying something or other about looking for acts. I really wasn’t paying much attention for the sake of all of the distractions and my enthusiasm over our sound-boarding the song.

Several weeks later, the phone rang. The caller identified himself as being with the D.W. Cassard V.F.W. hall, Post 3023, asking if we were available for Memorial Day. He said he needed an act, wanting to know if we could fill a two-hour slot in the schedule. I thought about it for a minute, remembering the hours we spent playing at our own art-jams. I told him we sure could, and it was set. I called Danimal right away to let him know that we were scheduled to play on Memorial Day at the Monroe Avenue VFW for a benefit to raise money for a new police K-9. All Dan said was, “We need a Ringer. We need to call R.B.” 
end of part 31 repost in order

Chapter; Sunk

As part of my plan to take back my time from Julie’s increasing demands, I returned to working for Bob. Being that Bob was a Gossipmonger; he could never resist a chance to capitalize on my trade skills. The fun part for him was that he got something new to talk about, AND my carpentry efforts that he called, “Amish Craftsmanship”. My ulterior motives were to put it in his face that I was in a two hundred fifty thousand dollar home, and that I was on my way to getting hands on the situation with my children, since he always deflected me as a bum and a piss-poor father.

Julie had made another impulse purchase, trying to keep me in her snare with another boat. This time it was a fourteen-foot Glastron with an eighty-five horsepower Yamaha outboard. It was a beautiful craft, metallic green and very fast. One morning, Bob volunteered to pick me up, jumping out of his red Savannah, rushing to the north side of my garage to urinate in the bushes, where most of the neighbors could have seen him if they were looking out their windows. I sensed something was wrong since he could have used the utility bathroom that was through the garage door to the house- a mere twelve steps away. Truth was Bob’s bladder and his conscience were both full. He had been up early, coming by before sun-up, and had been in the area drinking coffee while killing the extra time and concealing his deviance, which entailed using his Panasonic cordless drill and an eighth inch bit to put a hole in the bottom of my boat, just to the rear of the Captain’s seat. He immediately picked the drill up from the floor near his seat to show me his new purchase, bragging about the technology, while trying to compensate for his guilt with nervous chatter. The green material from the plastic and fiberglass was clinging to the fuselage with static electricity. It hadn’t dawned on me what it was that he had done.

 A day or two earlier I had mentioned that we were going to launch the boat in the Grand River. Our plans were to take it out, maybe to Grand Haven, and open her up, launching it off of Leonard, near Coopersville. We launched around noon on Saturday when the sun was high, and planning on drinking. The cooler was full of provisions, and we had fishing poles as well. If I was thinking about it, I would have known that it wasn’t good to be out drinking on the water when the sun’s high. Before long the heat adds up with the alcohol, taking a toll but I wasn’t able to get out of the trance I was in with the boat- just as Julie had hoped. We spent the day drinking in the sun and fishing, and everything seemed fine- except for the fact that we had Sandy with us.

As always with Sandy, screaming and fighting ensued, which really carries a long distance on the water. She worked subtly, at first, pushing my buttons in efforts to break up what I was working on. Things escalated when we got hung up in the mud, unable to get the motor up, so that we could free ourselves. Then she took the keys out of the boat, making me enraged. That’s when I blacked out.

Julie loved to spend her mother’s trust fund, and having me doing all of the work was a good opportunity to make it look like I was being rewarded. She took me to a couple concerts, one was Bob Dylan, and another was Leon Russell. Leon Russell was held at the new Intersection nightclub, located on the Westside of town, near the new Grand Rapids Area Transit Authority. On the main viewer/dance floor, to the right side, I glimpsed Sandy. She was wearing her bibbed overalls and had her hair braided- her signature style.

After warning Julie, her suggestion was to get the situation under control by meeting and greeting with her, so we didn’t have to spend the evening trying not to be noticed. My tiny and diversely distracted mind wasn’t capable of seeing that her motive may have been to get Sandy and I back together, so she could have a reason to kick me out in a way that would make me actually leave, eliminating the perspective of my observations. Maybe I understood what she was doing, and why she was doing it but she had no clue what I was truly interested in, which was building what looked like a family in order to re-stake my claim in my children’s lives. There was no way in hell I was going to walk back into a reality with Sandy, and as long as I had my leverage- taking care of Jean, in addition to holding the beans on Julie, like her so-called family, and drug use, there was no way she could get rid of me. She would have to come up with a better plan, which she eventually did.

In the meantime, on the river, we were trying to enjoy the weekend. The boat tilted to one side for a small stretch, which should have been an understanding that the boat was telling me we were in shallow water or sliding over a log. I had no idea we were taking on water at this point, making us sit lower in the water. We were dragging in the muddy bottom, even though the boat had a short-shafted motor. We had decided to get out of the sun, and that we were in a bit of trouble due to our drinking and inexperience but as we made way for the shore we found that we were stuck in the mud with the motor. The power had cut out because the battery became immersed in water. We had no idea that our inability to deal with the problems with the boat were from the water- or the alcohol. We had been trying to paddle to shore but weren’t getting nearer. Everyone became angry. We could not get the motor to pull up from the weight of the mud. Not one of us thought to get out of the boat to push the motor up. The women were not helping in any way, inebriated and bickering with me, while I struggled with the boat motor. Something snapped. In between all of the useless paddling, yelling, sun, heat, and drinking, I became very angry about the situation. Julie got smart and bailed out of the boat. The water was only less than three feet deep. She took the keys with her for fear that I would leave them there- a sort of mutiny for mutiny, I guess. Sandy had seized control of the alcohol, since it was of greater interest to her than trying to help with the boat. The whole thing was a fiasco, out on the water for everyone to hear, which at the moment was a group of young people around a campfire it the yard where we were trying to get out. All of my anger and frustration from several years of wasted effort with all the wrong people just blew right out of me like a volcano. There was a storm of negative energy between the three of us. How foolish of me to think I could drink with them. It only set the whole thing up for inevitable failure and misery. That’s the point when I blacked out.

By the time I regained consciousness it was dark. The evening sky gave me the idea it was around ten. A fire pit was blazing with a few kids sitting around it who were drinking. They were mimicking my tirade from earlier. Ignoring their comments, I began to search for the women, being told that Julie was sleeping on their porch, and that Sandy had wandered off to the store down the street. For some reason, I cared about her getting left behind, so I went to try to catch up to her. She had a habit of just stomping off, and my sense of guilt, feeling bad about the whole experience, I couldn’t leave her stranded, having to walk all the way back to Grand Rapids. All I thought about was how my decision to drink that day could have changed the whole outcome. Out of all the mistakes and bad situations that I had to deal with, the drinking was the only one that I couldn’t handle coping with. Up until then I had some control in the events and their outcome. Looking back now, I can’t believe I allowed myself to be so easily mislead in life.

 Memory of Danimal asking Julie why she hadn’t chosen to put a move on him just came to mind. She told him he was too smart. That’s what I get for letting money knock me off of my square. Julie had mentioned how guys were just after her for her money, and I jumped right on the bait. Well, with all of the drama and difficulty, and whatever else I can’t think of that starts with D, my torture was far from over. And as long as there was booze around, I could take it. It’s like the antigens a parasite uses, so that you don’t know it’s there, sucking the life out of you- like weed killer, only it’s used on society. How disgusting.  

When I arrived at the store, the clerk said she had just been there minutes ago. I walked the only way I could go there, and never saw her. She had ducked behind a tree when I was walking down the road to find her. When I got back to the fire pit, there she sat smiling with a triumphant innocence about her.

Early that morning, after I pulled the motor out of the mud, we piled back in and made way for the launch site. The boat had taken on a large amount of water. It wasn’t until I got it on the trailer that I saw it coming out of a small hole in the bottom. Had it not been for getting hung up in the mud, it may have sunk completely, especially since we were too busy fighting amongst ourselves to notice that we were taking on water or that we were a spectacle for seemingly innocent bystanders. How embarrassing. Thank God my name wasn’t on the side of the boat!

I just knew Bob was responsible for the hole in the boat; it fit’s his M.O.  He had told me about some of the dastardly things he does with his idle time, while his wife is at work as an x-ray technician in Grand Haven, harassing paroled CSC people by vandalizing their property. He scratches up their vehicles, slices tire, steals their mail, and who knows what else. It’s one of his favorite past-times to look up the sex-offenders list daily to see who is nearby to mess with. His exploits were impossible for him not to share with me, and provided him with something to talk about while we were driving to job sites. It was just a matter of time before I was again subjected to his little games he played. If it were not for the money I would never have kept re-opening the door I closed on him so many times before.

The incident with the boat was convenient, only in a single way. It got rid of Sandy. Had it not been for Julie having pot, she would have never been at the house with us, or so I think. Then again, if it hadn’t been for my drinking, I would never have been involved with Julie’s affairs or been so successful in failing to recognize my own self-worth.

Chapter

Our house backed up to the White Pine Trail. Originally a train route, it and others were part of an initiative to fight obesity and improve land value, driving up property taxes and home appraisals. And to use up some funds allocated for parks and recreation in order to remain eligible for yearly allocations of tax dollars, which means job security, basically. The trails were promoted as an instrumental leisure option, and as an alternative means of travel. The battle now, was getting people to set down their remotes long enough to get them outside for anything other than running to the mailbox or driving to the liquor store. Maybe that’s a bit cynical but it’s closer to the truth than anyone’s willing to take a moment to see.

It wasn’t long before I utilized it for everything I could: hiking, biking, walking the dog, going fishing, and as an express route to the Belmont Grocery store, which happened to be right next door to the Post office, where I had my P.O. box. I could sit in the hot tub, day or night, and see beautiful people enjoying the wonders of nature around, and in, my backyard.

In my nakedness, and smiling face, I waved from the bubbling jets while they strutted, jogged, and pedaled by saluting with smiles and sweat in the summer sun. This was my own little moment of paradise, somewhat of a consolation prize or a break from the madness and chaos that Julie, admittedly, loved so well. T

The money was a constant seductress but it was my earnestness in providing care to Jean, and faith that I was contributing something good to another seriously dysfunctional situation, that kept me going on.

To the south was a creek, a trickling flow that looked like it might have a trout in it or might have had, not so long ago. Tracing it up into the hills, away from the river, a small waterfall spoke it’s story in a sense of humor that’s only dry for a moment in August. It was in the backyard of what once was a farm, the house still being lived in. There was a small bridge big enough for a small garden tractor or for a couple to walk hand in hand.

After explaining the find to my mother, and that I now had a fenced in yard, I convinced her into bringing or letting me take, Dusty. Mom had a whole hatful of reasons why it wouldn’t work, chiefly, the reason being the Vet bills due to some kind of bladder infection that caused her to have a leaking problem, and her hip dysplasia. It was a long tug of war but Dusty was returned to me.

Since I had been given the dog by her when she was just weeks old, I felt Dusty truly belonged to me. She was my baby, and I was her dad. When I did get to see her, she could never get close enough. She was like a Spirit trying to climb into my soul. Dusty was now thirteen years old, one and one half years less than Cody, my only son. At this point, half of their lives were not shared with me. There were only pains in place of memories.

Dusty did have a leaking problem, and my hands were a bit full with that but I realized why. My mother had her own reasons for her understanding, so she was only giving Dusty half of the dose that the Vet prescribed. Since the medication was an antibiotic, it was now useless because the low dose had made her become totally immune to it. The meds are a bit expensive. My mom was only trying to use as little as possible in case of another problem when she may have needed the antibiotic because Vet care is expensive but the plan backfired because now she needed to be seen again, since the infection persisted, if not worsened. Finally, I broke down and took her to a Vet when I realized the problem just wasn’t going away, which did heal but now I had to replace the carpeting in the room she routinely laid in.

The pads that I had bought for her were inexpensive but the issue was putting them under her where she slept, which only helped a little because she would move around to a place that wasn’t wet when I was asleep. The trick was getting them under her without hurting her because of her hips.
end of pt 32

Chapter:

The real estate thing proved to be another scam, preying on people with the lure of seemingly easy money: “Come get a real estate license. You can make big commissions. Our courses are only 2500 dollars!” Arrgh! I suppose that’s what you get when you take the way out that seems easiest- and that’s closer to broke.

Nobody seems to have a sense of pride or respect for honest work anymore. My hard work was really getting me nowhere but my foolish pride and my resentment towards my ex-wife, were killing me slowly but surely. It was no secret to me that I was no better than those I criticized.

My labors earned me a room of my own in the basement, which I converted into a music studio. In reality, I had been assigned a task to turn a utility area into a usable den but my fantasy of having a career in the media, conveniently replacing Danny’s loft space studio, kept me from seeing that. I think The Fabulous T-Birds were playing in my head while I set to building a bulkhead around the ductwork of the furnace. The framing needed to be built in order to drywall. It needed plenty of soundproofing and some carpet. Julie had me build a closet that she could grow pot in as well. Danny helped me build some counter space, appropriate for the computer, keyboards, and appliances, which included a Tascam Four Track Analog recording system that he had gifted me.

One day, while Danny was making plans to move out of the building, Andy was making plans to move in. He quickly befriended Sean Adams, and his band mate, Mike. “Ace music Dave” was there bringing orders of guitar strings to musicians that day. Mike’s girlfriend, Laura, was painting a recreation of Vincent Van Gogh’s “Starry Night”, on the walls of their studio space. It wasn’t hard to tell that she was there spending time trying to save their relationship. I think I was the only one that picked up on life budding elsewhere in the room. Taking it upon myself, I tried to warn them about Andy but they were already under his spell. The guys were snowed.

That’s when Dave changed the subject, telling me about a guy interested in selling his DJ business. Julie agreed that, since it came with a listing in the Yellow Pages, it was a good investment. Danny and I weren’t interested in the DJ business. We only wanted the P.A. system that was for sale. It was a great buy, and we happened to need it for the upcoming Memorial Day show. The guy selling it wanted us to go do a DJ gig for a wedding reception, saying he’d loan us the speakers to do it with, and that we could think about buying the business. We said we would do the gig, and that we would think about the prospect of the DJ business. Julie called him back two hours later, saying we’d take the business off of his hands, and asked where to meet up with him to do the transaction. Now, it appeared as though we were the owners of “AA Bands and DJ’s”.

The wedding gig was on a Saturday, and was being held at a Country Club, in Jenison, which threw up red flags to me but Julie said there was absolutely nothing to worry about. She said it would be an easy two hundred bucks.

It seemed like I was the only one around the day Andy actually moved into the building, so it was me that ended up stuck with helping him move his things, which also meant helping him move his things from the woman’s house he was leaving. Judging by the looks on her face, she had been mistreated for the last time.

There were many pieces of musical merchandise, mainly brand new electric guitars that still were in their boxes. Every bit of it was hot. Chet, his boss, was storing a lot of this loot in the basement of his home. The story was, so Andy wouldn’t sell it all for drugs while he was supposed to be getting clean from Heroine and Crack Cocaine- just another con job on Chet. It worked well for a while but Chet was just as much of a crook, robbing people with a smile and some paint equipment. Andy swore that he was no longer using but everything, other than his words, said something else entirely. One of those things that spoke to me was the motor home he left for abandoned in the lot at the building we moved him into. It was eventually towed to the impound yard and sold for scrap.

As people progressed toward leaving the building in the weeks that followed, Andy was liquidating the things he had been accumulating. Story was that he had to move back to Florida to help his mother, meaning he wouldn’t be there very long. He had survived shooting a near fatal dose of bleach into his arm almost two years ago, and now was on his way to spend time with his mother while his body was yet to realize he was walking dead.

He offered to sell his P.A. equipment to me for seven hundred bucks. The lighting system, a good size mixer, amplifier, a pair of one thousand watt Yamaha speakers, light cans, miscellaneous lines and patch cords, etc. It was a great deal that I just couldn’t believe- too good. He knew Julie had the money to pay for it, and I was right in the middle of gearing up for the show. It just made sense at the time, so she bought it for me. She liked the music room so much that she bought a mini fridge with a tap handle and a carbonic system for a pony keg to put in there too. Yeah, I really thought I had things made now.

Julie went with me to do the wedding reception gig in Jenison. The father had called beforehand to explain what music tracks they wanted, and when they wanted them to be played. It was pretty exciting for me even though it was a wedding reception, which almost every band dreads. I had spent days going to thrift stores, buying all the music tapes and CD’s I could find that might be good additions to a DJ library. I just couldn’t remember, did he say NO Hawaiian shirts or did he say WEAR Hawaiian shirts?

We arrived and set up. I first smelled a rat when, after an hour, we were never offered a drink or any type of hospitality. Having never done a wedding gig before, I was under the impression that it’s a celebration regardless of whether you are “just” the DJ or not. Not even a glass of water was offered to us.

At one point, some of the girls came and gathered around to have their pictures taken with me. Little did I realize, they were sent by the father of the bride. They were gathering pictures to use against me.

The next day I received a phone call from an irate Dutchman who felt like stiffing someone on his wedding expenses. He was yelling, demanding his two hundred dollars back because I showed up wearing long hair and a Hawaiian shirt! It didn’t settle well on me, since I had just been woke from sleep, so I was irate as well but more so.

Julie took the phone from me and somewhere along the conversation, agreed to refund him his precious money. This only confirmed my fears, and I was quick to chalk it up to one of the reasons nobody likes doing weddings, moving on with my renewed opinion about Jenison.

Now my attention was on satisfying myself over the DJ service purchase by calling the guy to discuss the Yellow page listing, which was tied to his phone number. I smelled another rat. The problem I now had, was that my life had become so infested and overrun with rats, a simple extermination wouldn’t work well enough. He ended up stiffing me on the whole transaction and walking away with the money we gave him, and the DJ business. This was going to require something more drastic but I didn’t know what.

It seemed like a good idea to focus on my work with Bob, and with making woodcrafts from the scraps on the floor, among the so-called waste. The magic in my artistic vision spotted the table leg scraps that had been made when they were cut to length recently. I cut the four sided, hollow blocks into cubes, and transformed them into a pair of Dice. They made a desktop pencil caddy that I found pretty darn cool, looking just like Dice frozen in action.

There were some cedar pieces among the scraps from the fabrication of round top window casings that, to me, looked like birds flying. It was an abstract vision that gave the artwork to me. It happened to be Julie Wickman’s birthday, so I took to making a wall mount shadow box display using the “birds”, and some scrap beard-board for the back panel. A glow of pride warmed me that afternoon as the artworks took shape.    

A birthday party was planned to be held in the bar portion of Holly’s Landing- a hotel on the Grand River, off of Ann street. A Blues band was playing that night, surprising me when I got there. It wasn’t very busy, which made it nice because the crowd was fairly small, having about forty people but then again I wasn’t really paying close attention to the crowd.

My focus was on presenting my gift and getting into party mode with the music, dancing and beer. The cardboard box I had wrapped the shadow box in had something that I had written on it, which was something to the affect of it not being a Mel Gibson Blow-up Doll. It was my attempt at being funny because Julie was a big Mel Gibson fan at the time.

When I presented it to her, I took her into a side room to do it. A few of her friends, in their curiosity, followed us to be part of the unveiling. Hoping for a big reaction, I didn’t want to just leave it for her to open later. Perception, having been contaminated with alcohol, was that she didn’t really think much of it.

Maybe it only looked nice to me, sort of like a new parent with their infant. Oh well, it wasn’t going to stop me from what I would do later on, which was throw myself at her once again, especially since she was such a good person, and the perfect representation of everything I wanted in a partner for life. She had a job, owned properties, had a child, and a crafting hobby, and she wasn’t an addict. That was the big one, and exactly the reason she didn’t want me around for much more than a place to crash when I was too drunk to find my way to my own part of town. She trusted me in her home, and with her adopted son, Simon.

Occasionally, she would call to have me service her home or rental property or to bring her some delight. It was like I was looking in the window at something I wanted but could not afford for myself. Life went on.

In the meantime, I was at the end of the rope with everything. My court battle regarding the enforcement of my, so-called, visitation was won but after only a few visits, it all blew back apart. Before actually winning, Mindy had agreed to allow me to see the children but only under her supervision. Having her chaperone the children didn’t stop me from taking advantage of the opportunity to see them. We had a mediation at the Kent County Friend of the Court building, where we spoke with the mediator but when I had my chance to speak, Mindy was rude and impeded on my communication, to which I exclaimed that she needed to “shut the phuk up”. The facilitator did not approve of this, recommending that I go to anger management classes. After laughing it off, to my self and a few friends, I never complied.

In the meantime I have a second family court battle. My oldest child’s mother, Mary, came by the house to push off her youngest child, Heather, onto me as if she was mine. She had steadily maintained that I am the father of Heather regardless of the fact that I have had a Vasectomy since 1994, when I was married to Mindy. This added to my feelings that the wolves were trying to tear me apart. It was only natural, and convenient, to numb my pains with alcohol and camaraderie while grieving over one more nightmare, which served as a convenient excuse to continue self medicating.

Really, I don’t think I ever dreamed of being so popular with women. A paternity test was finally done. Several weeks went by before the results came back. It wasn’t until then, that I was released from that accusation. Now, Mary is fully cared for in a home for a Psychiatric illness that plagued everyone in our families for so very long. The bad part is, Sarah, was negatively influenced by her mother all those years, which constantly chipped away and destroyed my attempts at nurturing our relationship. It continues to be an obstacle that I hope time will, someday, heal.

The good part is that Sarah’s Great Grandmother influenced her positively, thank God. Sarah was the only one on her mother’s side of the family that ever graduated, never becoming pregnant or involved with drugs, and went on to get accepted into the Air Force. She was tested and given the opportunity to go into Intelligence but decided to become involved in the weather, as a Meteorologist.

My consolation prize is that she became very well educated, and takes after me, so I am told, despite my attempts to gain custody of her before Mindy compromised my life by using my Attorney, Betty Bronkema, in that custody effort. She secured her to handle her divorce from me after my accident. This complaint has never been properly filed. It wasn’t until recently that I discovered how to file a serious complaint against an Attorney or Judge.

Cody and Scarlett were thrilled to be able to see their father. Our first meeting place was at a park down the trail from our home, on the Rogue River. The kids were ecstatic to go there, especially since I announced that we were to fish, bringing Dusty along with us. Mindy ignored her though, and Dusty knew it.

Dusty was not able to understand why Mindy did not give her any sort of acknowledgement, while I set the kids up to fish. Scarlett showed huge excitement, a bit more than Cody. It was obvious that she did not get to go fishing much, if ever. So while they casted and giggled, I took pictures and shot video with Julie’s camera.

Dusty was in obvious pain, so I decided to take the dog for a walk through the river, taking the camera to get some pictures of my kids from the opposite bank. We found a shallow spot to cross upstream, wading in to some deeper areas along the way back down to where we could get a good shot.

The cold water flowed around Dusty’s hips, supporting some of her weight, as it became a bit deeper. Dusty became a bit more lively with the joy she was experiencing from the therapeutic effect of the water, cooling her hips. It must have helped to relieve her pain. It seemed obvious in her radiance. Dusty smiled and smiled.

Scarlett and Cody continued to fish but there was no action at that time of the day for them. Cody wanted to get his feet wet with Dusty and I, while Scarlett wouldn’t put the pole down for anything. She didn’t care if she had caught one or not, having so much fun just going through the motions of being able to fish.

Scarlett continued to cast and retrieve her spinner, while her mother sat in the grass with a book, and her allergies. It was nice to see her endure the aggravation she had, sneezing and hacking, scratching and tearing. It was all part of my plan for my time with the kids, and to make it inconvenient for Mindy, since she was making an inconvenience upon US. The prize for the day was when I climbed up the bank from the water. Dusty carefully climbed out too, only instead of shaking off the water where she was, she walked over to Mindy, stopping directly in front of her to shake it off there. She was an arms-length away with her book, sitting in the weeds, as Dusty made her testament against her “mamma’s” cold heart, covering her with the river’s mud and wetness. It was biblical. Julie was filming the scene as it happened, capturing screams and all. Never, since the divorce, had I been happier to see Mindy than that moment.

After winning the enforcement order, the kids and I celebrated with a big home-cooked meal complete with a toast, to our new independence.  It was the last time I would see the kids despite the efforts to coordinate having them again. Mindy began to schedule so many things in their days that they were too occupied to think about having time with their dad. Yet, one day she had the time to take my call, only to prey upon my love again.

Mindy wanted me to acknowledge that the kids were now old enough to find time to see me on their own terms, asking me not to call because it was pressuring them. I didn’t think that would be a problem but the truth was that she had been pressuring them on her end. Only God knows what she said, did, or implied. And only time would tell what damages the kids have sustained at her subjection.  

As for Julie, she continued to complain of back pain. Rather than live accordingly, she opted for the breast reduction plan- the easiest way out, which came with Vicodin. This was the main reason why she had taken the job with Hunt Construction. Of course, she did so little that I am shocked she was never fired. “Double-clicking the mouse”, and smoking pot between web-surfing sessions, seemed to be all she ever did. She smoked so much pot and masturbated so much that her fingers were pickled, and her body odor smelled like Marijuana resin. You could actually smell the Chlorophyll coming out of her armpits.

Anyways, Julie finally got her breast reduction, and another bottle of painkillers. Bruce called me to come and help with getting a roll of carpet in my truck for him, which involved an afternoon of drinking that led into an evening of drinking. Danimal and the guys were all hanging out on the river too. They guys all wanted to hear us perform, so Danimal and I started belting out some of our pieces. It was all part of the routine, and we loved sharing. Some were drumming along on the various drums that were always around, as the sun stole it’s light from us completely.

It was around nine p.m. when Julie called, asking me to come home to help her bathe. The bags that were hanging from her, draining the blood and fluids, along with an obstinate daughter, made it impossible for her to do by herself.

Jean was also in need of attention throughout the day, and with me not being there to perform the duties, it made her realize my importance once more.

Bruce had offered to get me a ride home but I refused, thinking I could get three miles to the house okay. When I got in my truck, the radio wasn’t working because a fuse had blown. My big idea was to pull a fuse from somewhere else. The courtesy lights seemed like a good option, and I was tickled with myself to be so smart. Everything was fine until I turned off of Northland Drive. The lights went up behind me. I kept driving, thinking that it wasn’t possible for them to want to pull ME over- I was good. Yeah, I was excellent, up until I realized that they did want to pull me over. My house was so close I wanted to just keep driving and stop to chat there. The house was only another mile away, as Radar Love played on the radio. After a short distance, I realized I was bordering on a fleeing charge. I just didn’t want to have the truck towed, knowing I was going to go to jail for driving under the influence. The officer came to the window to go through the routine. Eventually I was placed in the car with my hands cuffed behind me. Somehow I managed to get my cell phone from my pocket, calling Julie in hopes that she could come up and get my truck. The officer called for backup, and when he arrived, he went up the road to get her. The truck ended up home without the added expense of being impounded. For that, I was thankful.

When I went to court on Monday, Judge Servass gave me a suspended sentence. It was a comical dialogue between us, since my answer to why my blood alcohol level was a .024, yet, remained to have command of my faculties, showing little sign of intoxication, was that I was German and Polish, having a natural inclination to hold my liquor. He chuckled at that.     

Several months later someone decided to take Jean’s 2004 Saturn Ion up to the Circle K convenience store for another jumbo but it was raining, which caused for some slick roads if you were in too big of a hurry to get to the store before it closed, and back before anyone knew you had left. If it hadn’t been for the front wheel drive, they would have never been able to get the car off of West River Drive after careening into a Fire Hydrant. The trunk was half caved in, and the driver’s side rear tire was completely folded up underneath. Nobody would have a clear idea of the damage until the next day.

A ride was called for them get out of the area before any cops showed up, especially since this person didn’t have a license. It’s the only way the auto insurance would have paid for the damage. The next day an officer came by the house to see why there was a disabled vehicle sitting on the road, and to write a report because it was clear that there was an accident. Mostly, what made it clear was that there was a broken hydrant, and that the township wanted to know why they needed a crew at two in the morning to cap the water flow. And since there was a car sitting across the road with a massive wound, it was only natural for them to begin by tracing the ownership of that vehicle, which belonged to an elderly woman with a bad state of Alzheimer’s. For some reason the bill for the hydrant repair was sent to me.

The next day Bruce showed up to go look at the situation with a cocktail in his hand but he found that a cop was there to do an accident report. Deciding not to stop, he went up two more houses to a garage sale, where he milled about until the officer left. After seeing the mess that had been made of the vehicle, we quickly realized that it was going to need to go to a body shop, and that it needed to be hauled away with a flatbed truck. Comstock Body shop got to deal with the task, sending a flatbed to pick it up.

Julie was not excited about what had become of the brand new car. She wasn’t excited about having to claim responsibility for it either but it was the only way it was going to be repaired because this other person had no way to remedy the problem. With the possibility of becoming the center of attention regarding her affairs, that she’d rather not have questioned, she had no choice. The only thing I could do to help was to not criticize any part of it and resolve not to let anyone else use the car.

Strangely enough, offering envelopes were showing up more frequently from the Catholic Church Jean belonged to. Since I retrieved the mail, they found the trash very quickly. Surely they were aware of Jeans memory issues, taking full advantage of it.

Often she would say, “I could eat something”, even though she had just eaten. Once, a pile of Pistachio shells were in front of her, and Pistachios were still in her teeth- she had eaten a whole bowl of them. When I told her she had eaten them she scoffed with, “I beg your pardon”.

Jean had a piano that she would play once in a while but whenever she went past it she would ask, “Who’s Piano is this?” I would tell her that it was hers but she would deny ever knowing how to play. The piano would make a noise as if a key was struck, her dead husband communicating from the spirit world. It had to be because we had it looked at, thinking it was a mouse. No mice or sign of a mouse was found.

The Memorial Day show came and went. When fall arrived, it was time for another Barn Party at a friend of ours that Bruce had introduced us to. The farm was in Rockford and was very popular with a local community radio crowd that we all were a part of- we called them the WYCE crowd.

We were invited to come and play, so Danimal and I loaded up the vehicles with our band equipment. Julie and Casey followed in the Saturn, while Danimal drove my truck, and I drove Julie’s Sidekick. My luck with incidents involving Deer was unfavorable. As we drove north, on Northland Drive, we all watched as a Deer came lumbering from the hillside, on our right, to cross the road, impeding with my pathway. It hit the front passenger side of the Sidekick and just kept going. It astonished me because there were other drivers on the road with me, and Julie was right behind me watching the whole thing. There was nothing I could do to avoid it. I looked back at her in disbelief, and questioning what to do with hand signals. She just waved me on to continue and not stop. When we got to the destination, the damage was a small dent in the corner where the headlight assembly met with the quarter panel on the passenger side. There was hair wedged in the cracks of the assembly that would make it obvious it was a Deer, so she could later report it. When she did, the cop didn’t believe her one bit.

Dusty accompanied us to the party, making quite a spectacle as she walked around on stage with us while we played, like she was part of the band. I guess she was part of the band. It was pretty sweet having her there. People were worried that she was going to get after the Chickens, and that she looked pretty serious, sporting all of the classic features of a Grey Wolf. Time told a different story, and people were all trying to get a small piece of Dusty’s affection throughout the evening.

Danimal had brought an artist from the loft building that was a glass blower. It made sense to me because I knew Danny would drink his share for the night, and that The Glassman, as we called him, would not drink much at all. I wanted him to drive the truck home. When it came time to leave, the Glassman would realize it was a manual transmission. His foot slipped off of the clutch pedal and the truck stalled out. After a moment or two of struggle, Danny took the reigns, backing the truck into a car that was parked too closely. It only bumped the car but the kid called the cops because he must have had his dad’s car and didn’t want to get reamed out for it. When the announcement was made that the cops were coming, the Glassman took off from the scene. Danny was arrested for drunk driving and the truck was impounded, costing me two hundred dollars to get out. The exhaust had been damaged where the tailpipe hit the kids bumper and needed to be strapped up since it was folded badly and dragging.

Danny ended up serving a six-month sentence in the Kent county jail but managed to get placed in an Honor Camp Program near Greenville. He did about five months with good time. Danny had already purged all of his excess belongings in his anticipation of moving from the building, storing everything else at Julie Wickman’s house on the Westside of Grand Rapids. Since he had been staying around town with various people, it wasn’t too big of deal for him to serve jail time, giving him time to sober up from years of alcoholism.

Shortly after Danny went to jail, I went to jail too. This was the last time I was imposed on by Friend of the Court. I served a ninety-day sentence. The cops were coming to the house with a warrant when we were leaving the house one morning, passing us as we came out of Alcove Drive. Instinctively, I knew they were coming for me but didn’t say anything about it for the sake of freaking Julie out. The bubbles went up and we were pulled over. After an exchange of words, I got out for them to take me on their warrant, slipping off my insulated flannel shirt that had a half ounce of bud and a glass bowl in the pocket- in order to help them with less paperwork involving registering my property at the station. The officer appreciated my consideration.

When I was finally released, some 72 odd days or more later, I came home to a disaster. Beer bottles were littering the lower level of the home, along with pot stems and seed everywhere. Food packaging was littered in piles around the sitting areas. Laundry was accumulated in corners of the rooms, along with trash in heaps next to, and around, the area of the overflowed trash cans. This was definitely not the look of a two hundred fifty thousand-dollar home that you’d find in a sub-division on a cal du sac. When I got to the bathroom, the toilet was a disaster all its own, having not been cleaned since before I left, and had not been flushed for days. There were clothes heaped behind the door near the shower where they had been thrown. It wasn’t hard to figure out that NO housework had been done. Just for fun, I counted the underwear in the pile. There was nine pair in the pile behind the door.

They released Danimal from jail in 2006 at the end of April, I believe. The first day he was out I met up with him at Bruce’s. He set the beer down in the flowerbed as I pulled up with Julie, in an attempt to hide the fact that he was already drinking again. It was sad to see since we talked so much about sobriety, and Danny wanted it so badly but Bruce kept a large cooler full of beer on the back deck next to the hot tub, making it available for anyone to help himself or herself to, which we all did. Sometimes I would grab a six-pack when I needed it after the stores were closed, replacing it later or intending to.

By this time in the caretaking game, I was tending to Jean all day long, everything except for changing her diapers and bathing her, which had now become necessary.

Danny would call from Bruce’s in an effort to get me out of the house but I stayed to do what needed to be done. He would get frustrated because I wasn’t there spending time with him, exclaiming, “You’re missing out on life!”  He was swimming in Versluice Lake and doing hot tubs, kayaking the river and playing music, all while spending time with our friends but here I was, his other half in all of that- his muse and his soul mate. What he really meant was that he was out of time in life, and wanted to spend every day he could with his friend- his “brother of another mother”, Zach. Danny’s health was deteriorating, and he had already spent enough time discussing it.

Danny was now crashing at Robert’s house on Coit Avenue, next to Lookout Hill, while he served his community service to cover the court fees. They came and picked him up every morning except Sundays. Robert was glad to help Danny out, as Danny had helped him out in the past. Since Robert was a Paranoid Schizophrenic, he didn’t have much to do with his days, making it convenient to have Danny around to do things with. Danny didn’t have any money at all, begging his boss to pay him just a dollar an hour, which he refused. Danny lowered his request to a quarter per hour but was still humiliated with refusal.

Bob had me working on some projects, keeping me busy through the week. His plans to keep me around were out of necessity, involving a renovation on a six hundred some odd thousand-dollar home in East Grand Rapids. Julie sometimes took me to the site since I had no driver’s license at the time from my recent drunk driving incident.

Bob enlisted another guy to be there with me, a show of force but only for appearances and to keep the man-hour clock racking up time. This particular guy, Rob, was not skilled. Everything he did took an enormous amount of time. While he was running baseboard, which was about all he could do, everything else was my job, especially the, so-called, impossible. Those were the things I enjoyed doing, the things that were challenging and rewarding, to me, as a tradesman. My job was always doing anything that couldn’t be done with satisfactory results or couldn’t be done because no one wanted to be seen as the hacks and imposters to the trades that they truly were. Things like marrying crown molding into rounded and angular walls and ceilings were unheard of.

When lunchtime came we went to East-town and had Gyro’s, at a deli that won awards year after year for their food, making it all seem worthwhile. I loved my trade for all of these things. Feeling a sense of self-worth was probably the most valuable thing I got from it.