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"Danger is my business"


Prologue
Rules of the road

By Liz O'Neill

Mickey knew the rules of the road. He followed them every night on his way home from work on his bicycle. He would sit on the yellow line waiting to cross to the left, onto the adjacent street, readying to cross traffic as soon as it settled down.

That evening his routine was no different. He was following the rules of the road. However, someone was speeding onto the scene who was not following the rules of the road. They would in moments, assume the role of the main character in a tragic cautionary tale. This was the Ides of March, a date we will never forget. Mickey's 40th birthday occurring on the 23rd would not be celebrated until the following year.


The oncoming driver traveling at 30 mi an hour must have known the rules of the road. He had his mind on other issues, shoving any alertness aside. A pastor, he deemed something else more important. He was scheduled to give a talk to a group of young people. I think he may have been studying the directions to his destination, memorizing the schedule, or refreshing himself with the familiarity of his talk.

The truth all too soon spewed out revealing the bitter fact that the driver was looking down at something on the passenger's seat and giving no attention to where he was driving, a major rule of the road. He did not see Mickey who had lights on the back of his bicycle and reflectors on the pedals, also a rule of the road.

This was previous to any regulations regarding bicycle helmets. Ironically Mickey would not mount his motorcycle without a regulation helmet, however, the urgency for bicycle helmets was a thing of the future.

The force of the impact of a car flying at 30 miles an hour colliding with a young fellow coming home from work on his well-reflected bicycle, waiting to cross the road was so severe it flipped Mickey over the back of his bicycle slamming the front and side of his head onto the windshield of the car.

He was immediately transported to the local hospital where he began his arduous journey to recovery. I was at a meeting for my workplace, the battered women's shelter, when I received the startling, shocking, traumatizing news. A friend from work sat with me for a while until they had to leave.

As I sat there alone, listening to the silence and as an empath, absorbing everyone's emotions, I knew I had to get out of there as soon as possible. I was panicking. I didn't want to be there, I didn't want to be facing the reality of what was happening. We didn't know if he would live or die.

He lay there in his secured bed lifeless and motionless. With chaos and medical technology beeping away. Everyone who went to visit him attempted to rouse him by saying something such as, "Remember when..." from the desperate past or anything that was going to inspire him and perk him up. We each longingly hoped it would be us who brought him around.

How uncanny the dynamics, when a loved one is in critical condition. Everyone reviews how significant their relationship is to the victim, as if it were a contest. Who is the more important one?

A loving wife who had spent 14 years of her life with him? A mother who bore him and had worried him into adulthood. Or a sister who believed since they could recognize each other as siblings she was responsible for keeping him from all harm. She messed this one up.


There would be no joy served until he had progressed through several more stages. Hope was spurned when the realization struck us, one by one. Though he was reacting to people squeezing his hand by squeezing their's back, that pretty well meant nothing.

It was merely part of the second stage for him to respond to a hand squeeze. He was at no point along the stages of recovery to become aware of people squeezing his hand or talking to him. He was in a coma which would last months. We will follow those stages as he progresses.

In the third stage he became very agitated and continuously moved around in his bed still located in the emergency room department. This behavior ripped at our hearts. It was obvious he was not in any position to be listening to anything or anyone.

There was no room for, "Remember when you had that motorcycle?" or "Remember when you worked for CVPS?" Then it got to questions that tore our guts away, "Do you remember your kids?" "Do you remember me?" It would be a long while before he would recognize who we were.

When he became more placid and seemed to be moving onto the next stage, the doctors deemed it safe to move him to his own hospital room. There we could have many people sitting in his room giving him support. This was the progress he was making within stage three.

I was there for a bizarre event. His wife was feeding him. His eyes suddenly popped open. It was very creepy because he was like a baby with eyes open and was unseeing, unresponding. Once again hopes fluttered and crashed within the room. He would soon be transported to a recovery center in Lewis Bay on Cape Cod. We would no longer see him for nearly 8 months.

When he reached the recovery hospital on Cape Cod, he sky-rocketed Into stage 4, the violent reactive stage. It's good he was down there and we were up here. The staff knew how to deal with him. He was physically and medically restrained in a wheelchair. He had not yet relearned to walk.

The hospital was attached to a nursing home. Mickey escaped the supervision of the staff. He stealthily maneuvered next door and managed to communicate with one of the residents.

He asked her, "Do you have any cutters?" He wanted to get out of his restraints. The two of them made plans to get away from it all. Fortunately, he was found and returned to his area.

Another time he wanted to find where his wife was sleeping and headed out to find the building. He never did find the building housing his wife. When he turned around to head back to the hospital building he found the entrance. The first responders seeing him, yelled, "We found you, we found you." Mickey said,"No I found you."

Author Notes I'm beginning to write a new book about my brother and his being hit by a car and becoming terminally brain injured. I want to show the full life he lived before his accident.


Chapter 1
The Telephone Call

By Liz O'Neill

At some point when Mickey was out musing, practicing walking, a  new concept developed in his shattered brain. I think we'll have to agree with tongue in cheek, it was quite a genius idea. His plan was to establish a boxing ring adjacent to the hospital. 
 
“There would be, an ever vigilant staff team present from the hospital for every match.  If any boxer suffered a head injury or TBI Traumatic brain injury, as the result of a pummeling.  After the necessary emergency attention was administered, they could just roll him over to the hospital entrance.” There would be no better place for them. 
 
When Mickey was no longer physically restrained due to his violent behavior, he moved into the 5th stage where he was becoming increasingly inappropriate such as grabbing the nurses’ breasts and clothing. 
 
I am unaware of his being verbally inappropriate. He wasn't talking much yet. That glorious surprise was soon to be revealed. The nurses always had to hold the phone up to his ear so his wife, in particular, could talk to him. 
 
She would talk to him on his phone without expecting any response. No one on the staff had heard him speak as yet. This time was different. The nurses put the phone up to his ear which he held on to it as usual. 
 
Out of the blue, Mickey began talking. His wife was stunned, it was the first time she'd heard him speak in months. This instilled courage in me and gave me renewed hope for the possibility of calling my brother. 
 
One grieving opens up another. Watching the movie The Mission I witnessed the slaughter of humans and the death of music. I went out onto the back porch and sobbed and sobbed. I mourned, weeping for everything, the losses and tragedy of the story played out in the movie. But mostly, for the deep chasm created between my brother and me. 
 
I was most stricken when I called Mickey at his treatment center. I introduced myself, and described our relationship of brother and sister. My stomach dropped as I continued my abbreviated conversation with the stranger on the other end. He did not remember who I was.   
 
I returned to my mowing and shortly after, cut the motor and collapsed to the ground wracked with tears, with great anxiety and a sense of abandonment.  My brother did not even remember who I was. I reflected upon the adventures we had together and how I was always his protector. I was shattered at the reality I did not, nor could I do anything to protect him.
 
I know people meant well, but I found it difficult when they’d ask me day after day how he was. All I could say was, “There’s no change yet.” I hope none of you have had to continually answer with the same futile phrase about a loved one. 

Since that incident, I am continuously conflicted when any of my friends have announced they have a loved one in critical health. I stand there unsure as to whether or not I should inquire of their loved one’s present condition. I apologize for not appearing vigilant, concerned, and caring. I explain to them what drives me.
 
When I am out walking, I am brought to wonder how Mickey learned to identify trees by studying the spring colors of the leaves. I've learned to identify the name of the tree by studying the fall leaves, but not the spring ones which are colored differently than fall leaves.
 
He said, “I had to learn that technique to be able to direct the tree growers, planters and tree cutters where and how and which trees to attend to under the power lines. He always was concerned for the lines. If not monitored, the trees would grow too tall causing interference for the lines. Fortunately, he had a wonderful relationship with the tree men.

He had a wonderfully full life before his accident at age 40. He began college, studying math in preparation for engineering, much disdained by his father.  He found himself overqualified mathematically. But alas he graduated in the class of 1970.   
 
To keep his hand in the engineering business, he procured a job surveying properties.  As I listen to what the surveying task involves, I am greatly impressed. As Mickey figured the dimensions of the specified property, he needed to use the survey data he collected, whereby creating a property map to be used in mortgage and realty, and right of way issues.

Foxie was his mentor and he gave him the right to direct and guide Hank. Mickey was on the back of a green 1970 Chevy pickup, broadcasting gravel onto the substation yard for flood protection.
 
"Mike could work on preparing the renewed land." Foxie directed him. He had to plant 8 trees in a triangular pattern creating a shield on all sides. 
 
During another incident, after doing some cutting and clearing, a property owner complained. "I do not want the right of way that wide open. I was using it as a privacy shield and now that's messed up. My privacy is violated." That didn’t bode well for Mickey.
 
As tree warden, Mickey had to handle these irate customers. His favorite saying he came up with was “danger is my business.” Tree men spent hours in danger. To secure himself he needed to find a tree to winch himself to be able to be dragged out of the area in case of emergency. 
 
He was afforded every opportunity to learn all required skills and did have a section of instructions on climbing skills though he did not use them.  As the manager of line clearance, he dealt with the tree men very differently than some other leaders might. He prides himself with the dignity he showed them.
 
He went to several informative conferences where tree huggers with guns were cautiously discussed. The theory of line clearance underlined providing a safe and efficient procedure, at a minimum cost to the customer, the company & environment.

Author Notes This particular chapter weaves in out about when he was at his recovery place and was using the phone to communicate with others. It turned out relating for his wife & traumatic for me


Chapter 2
Names

By Liz O'Neill

The terminology for the right-of-way process was more than just words and meant more than mere paperwork.  They meant scary business. To provide the powerlines to pass through the right-of-way, there needed to be access allowed to the tree men & line crew to be able to restore the flow of the electric power through.  The definition of right-of-way is the right of one vehicle, vessel, or person to take precedence over another. 
 
My best way to understand right-of-way is a scenario such as this. Say you live in an area where power lines are stretching through. It would be important to have power lines established otherwise we won't have power. I want you to picture some trees that have fallen on the wires and you don't have any power right now.
 
The local power company and all its employees need to gain a court paper that gives them the right of way through your property. They can cut down any trees, and bushes, and clear away any land they assess to be necessary for ensuring the safety of everyone.
 
We don't realize when our power goes out and we get snarly that there are individuals who are working hard to restore our power. This can only be done if they have a right of way to get into the troubled areas which may well be our property. 
 
This is how Mickey handled those situations. When the customer expressed hesitation, Mickey would remind them they had just willingly signed the contract with a witness present. That seemed to have settled matters in one way or another. 

Mickey was always looking forward chose to keep his hand in the engineering business, and procured a job surveying properties.  As I listen to what the surveying task involves I am greatly impressed.
  
As he figured out the dimensions of the specified property, he needed to use the survey data he collected, whereby creating a property map to be used in mortgage and realty issues.
 
In the conferences he attended, he learned the need for focus on the importance of ensuring an efficient means to safety for the customer & environment. 
 
Neither Mickey nor his co-worker and buddy, Hank had any idea of the danger and uncomfortable setting they would work in. Mickey said, “It was a scary job.”
 
Mickey who has changed his name to Mike has had many nicknames throughout his life, Some having more meaning than others. One of our neighbors whom he looked up to called him Stuffer. 
 
He smiles today when reminded of that name. Another very meaningful name that at the time probably didn't seem to have much impact is Nike. That name might have been some kind of a foreshadowing. 
 
In Greek mythology, Nike was the goddess of victory and my brother was victorious over his tragic accident. The shoe company liked it so much they named themselves after her.  A perfectly suitable name for my brother. 
 
As he has matured as Mike, he expressed his opinion regarding the surveying procedure. “I'm grateful I got out of that business. The way it was going, by now, it is pure technology. He reflected upon his daily routine.

Reliable trustworthy instruments had to be packed up daily. They were not simple. One of the more vital devices involved in this field is a transit tool. The tools necessary to complete the surveying job included are a transit. He knew he must always have access to the correct tools in order to complete his daily tasks in an efficient and accurate process. 
 
The other tools he needed were a stadium rod, a 12 ft. fiberglass rod printed with numbers from 1-12. The plumbob is necessary to establish what is plumb, exactly vertical. A string suspended with a weight at the bottom will be both vertical and perpendicular to any level plane through which it passes.
 
With AI and technology involved, the tools listed above would end up in a surveyor’s museum. People are going to be the same all around, with technology or without. The same tasks will need to be carried out, regardless of the customer's comfort.
 
Mickey said they encountered people were called tree huggers who he knew had a shotgun or twenty-two, possibly planted on the rack in their pickup or could have been in a rack over their bed or their couch, He knew they had to be ever vigilant. He knew they might have to do some ducking among the trees. He knows of some workers who were shot.
 
What they were doing was unacceptable to customers of the local electric company, Central Vermont Public Service. Mickey and his friend Hank had to clear away the trees and brush to create a right-of-way for the customer and the company. What Mickey and Hank had to do was necessary however customers did not think so. 
 
They would often become increasingly belligerent as Hank was beginning to saw some of the trees and Mickey was chopping off some of the branches. Names were slung at them, however, Mickey and Hank carried on.
 
They had a supervisor named Foxy who after observing Mickey placed him in charge of the whole situation with the tree men, making him the manager of the 2 man group made up of him and Hank.
 
Mickey and Hank were called all kinds of names and just hoped in this shotgun culture, a shotgun did not show itself. You see they had to survey to find the right of way for the electric power line company who employed them to come through preparing the power line path.
 
This work was carried out, keeping in mind the safety of the workers, the customer, nature, and the environment. This was not appreciated when they began assessing the trees that needed to be trimmed and some just needed to go.
 
Mickey has some interesting tales of incidents that happened with him and his coworker Hank. He had to work outside in all kinds of weather. What seemed to be a usual Vermont snowy day grew to be a high risk day. We will read about a dangerous snow day with hazardous driving conditions.

 
 

Author Notes I want Mike to realize what a full life he lived before his accident.


Chapter 3
At risk of Electrocution

By Liz O'Neill

At Risk of electrocution
 
It takes time to carry out the necessary work that the customer does not recognize as vital. The work crew must complete their process to ensure everything is safe. Nothing can be acted out impulsively. The goal is to get the power back on safely.
 
Whether it’s raining or snowing or wind blowing they're out there working to get the power back on. They are there against snowsqualls and storms with high winds, the worst kind of climate you can think of. That's what they're working in, with up to 30 mile an hour winds.
 
Mike has an unusual story of a situation that occurred in the middle of a treacherous snowstorm. He was parked in his Bronco, which for some reason, Hank liked to call it B Oronacle.”  Snow accumulated to surround him. 
 
He was sitting there rather than moving along which caused a question in an on-coming traveler’s mind. A lady in a blue station wagon came along. 
 
She suspected he was going no farther because the road leading to the bridge must be closed warning travelers the bridge was out. It didn't occur to her that she was driving in a treacherous storm. Thank goodness, Mickey had the sense to wait until the storm settled down a bit.
 
 
She went close to Mickey and asked,  “What's the matter? Is the bridge out?" 
 When asked such a senseless question, Mickey responded with, “Not good weather. Scary, whether the road travels upward or downhill.” 
 
Mickey just knew he needed to be cautious. A four-wheel drive is useless on ice.  It will only help you if you are stuck in the depths of the snow  and he hadn’t reached that level of concern yet
 
Addressing the reader, I'll say let's just picture ourselves in the middle of a blizzard situation, and figure out what we would do.  That blue car kept going. Mickey never saw it again so he doesn't know how well it maneuvered to keep going and if they had any problems.
 
At other times, when Mickey was able, he surveyed in the snow, until his company ACF, owned by Aronson, Pete Chase, and Pete Franzoni, shut work down in the winter making jobs more scarce.  This is when Mickey switched to the focus of the task of measuring for the right of way of property lines.
 
The focus on the task of declaring the right of way gave him opportunities beyond surveying. Having to communicate with people regarding the right of way on their property exposed him to many personalties.
 
When he identified the property owner and wanted to politely communicate with them, Mickey said, “Hello, yes I can talk to you about what is going on.”  Other than being appreciative for his cordiality, she just huffed and said, “You’re very rude,” did an about-face and strutted back toward her house.
 
Unappreciative land owners or civilians would disregard their own safety or care necessary to be taken around the lines especially if a tree came down on the lines. Hank will soon teach us how dangerous it can be if people do not realize the tree has sap.  Sap is liquid and it can carry the electrical current to anyone who touches that tree. 
 
The workers have to isolate everything to make it safe for the public to come anywhere near. They need to wait for the crew to get there. There are too many impatient people wanting my brother and his little team to act more speedily. But they are doing what they can,  as well as they can and as safely as they can.
 
Mickey and any of the crew are always at risk of danger of electrocution because they are working around the trees against the wires. Mickey has a compelling story to tell about Hank.  
******
Hank’s Story
 
Mickey was fortunate enough to be trimming some trees a safe distance from Hank and did not recognize the danger Hank was in. Nor did Hank for that matter. 
 
Hank was cutting a poplar tree that had fallen, making contact with a deadly 44 kv power line.  He kept getting weird, uncomfortable sensations in his feet,  he continued to readjust them, assuming he was in unstable footing surrounded by a swampy section. 
 
It finally dawned on him what was happening. He needed to be wearing different boots to prevent any energy or any power from surging downward. A hard hat would prevent his head from becoming involved and safety glasses prevent harm to his eyes.
 
 How bizarre, the sensation in his feet was about to save his life.  The sap was naturally flowing through the tree but a not-so-natural situation was building.  At that point, electricity and voltage were being transmitted through the sap. 
 
Hank knew he had to remove his saw from that tree and distance himself from the voltage being transmitted through the sap of the Poplar tree. He was dangerously close to becoming electrocuted.
 
*******
Greyhound Ministry
 
When Mickey wasn’t working, he used to venture out on what he called his Greyhound Ministry. For 2 years he continued this good work, which involved handing out Bible tracts which had Bible quotes to read in case of distress. In the 1980’s he met appreciative recipients. 
 
I told him I'm glad he no longer carries out this ritual. In this day and age and with his TBI condition of an injured brain and being 76 years old, he could be perceived as off his rocker. I worry he'd be stabbed or shot or beaten.  He did relish living dangerously.
********
 
 
He also worked to help the needful people not just with cards that were food for the soul, but he provided real food for them. We would see him buy a grinder for someone he had met at Port Authority.  Good works reap rewards for the do-gooder. 
 
That was not the case with Mickey's generosity at that moment. While purchasing the grinder he dropped his wallet. It was but minutes before it was scooped up by the manager of the grinder establishment.  And he was the owner of the place. As an identified thief he must not have felt he was making enough money building grinders. We will find out more about this thief later.

Author Notes I'm hoping people will gain more insight into several things here head injury and also the danger that the electrical power workers endure


Chapter 4
Improving Peoples' Lives

By Liz O'Neill

Remember how Mickey bought a grinder for a fellow who was hungry?  As we might expect or hope in helping someone, he would be rewarded in some way.
 
The grinder building thief mailed the wallet back to Mickey filled with emptiness.  We could have a discussion here now as to why the thief sent an empty wallet back to the victim.
  
Was it to assuage his guilt? Or was he clearing excess baggage from his belongings? Maybe the empty wallet was nothing he had use for. Maybe a Christian moment or a thought struck him. 
 
What would be any other reason he returned that wallet? This is something that will stay in our heads. Every so often we'll think back and wonder why he returned that empty wallet by mail.
 
On other occasions, Mickey was helping the needy during the time he was West of Chicago. A fellow needed a ride and Mickey was able to get a cab for him. Other times he helped a parent buy some diapers which he as a father knew would be vital. 
 
Early on, he used to make regular donations of money to the local battered women's shelter. One guy said, “You're just like Jesus.” All our hero responded with was, “I do my best to make life easier for people. I like to improve the quality of people's lives wherever I am able. 
 
He spent many months volunteering in missions throughout the country helping in any way he could. He hung out a lot in the Kansas City, Missouri area. Mickey gives us an interesting tidbit about all missions in the United States. 
 
He said. “Amid the multitude of city lights, you will find several red lights. No not that kind.” It turns out every mission has a lighted cross with the words Jesus saves, lit up in red lights.
 
In St Paul/Minneapolis, he volunteered in a managed care facility. He was elated to be able to help so many people in a structured situation. Because of his selflessness, he was honored to be interviewed by an author of the St. Paul Newspaper. 
*******
The Interview
 
In the interview, he discussed how in his routine, he missed catching a lot of buses which he thought was providential. He would end up in another location,  almost as if the Lord was taking him to a needful area. 
 
He got to help people in an unplanned, unexpected location. He has a list of many small assists which may not seem like much to some.  When he found himself in a certain spot, he felt directed toward the people who needed his assistance.
 
 He saw a fellow sitting on the sidewalk curb appearing hungry.  He ended up buying a burger for the guy who it turned out, didn't have any money. Mickey sensed because the bus took him there, he was supposed to help that fellow. He kept following God's direction to know who the next one was that he was supposed to help. 
 
One compelling message he received confirmed to him he was destined to help people. It rang out when he found a fistful of money in the bus station. He heard some guy say he needed to find a way to visit his son. Mike bought him a bus ticket with the found money.
 
In the 60’s he called himself a street minister.  After flagging down and accompanying a homeless man in a cab, he hiked a distance returning to his original location. He did a lot of hiking back then. This was before he got himself in great shape by running in the late 70’s
 
He even got his sister to begin jogging.  She got up to 6 miles a day with his encouragement and instruction. He wishes he could recapture that same spirit of kindness and generosity. 
 
He knows he has lost a lot because of his TBI, traumatic brain injury. He is aware his brain has regressed and he misses the ole Mickey. It’s as if his brain is morphing in reverse with his personality and disposition. It's a growing tragedy.
 
This is one of the reasons I am writing this book so he can see the life he lived before a car slammed into him on his bicycle, on his way home from his tree manager position, a week before he turned 40.
 
Another way Mike wanted to get in better shape was to adopt a weight training regimen with dumbells.
 
He wanted to better his body strength inner and outer to help with his blood pressure, and stress relief. He gained greater self-esteem. That kind of training strengthened his bones and helped with his metabolism. It strengthened his tendons, ligament and bones
 
He didn't have to join a gym or get a lot of machines. He planned to pay for his dumbbells and a bench to lay upon to lift his weights but he came up with another idea. He got a shelf and put it on his bed and layed upon that shelf which served as his bench.
  
 He did not want to become like some people  who  become over enthused about the workouts and injure themselves because they are not being careful. His safe tactic was to use lightweights, and do many reps. 
 
The first step is understanding reps and sets and how they apply to his workout program. A repetition, or rep, references one complete movement. So, one biceps curl equals one rep, and 5 biceps curls are 5 reps. Reps make up a set, which is usually the total number of reps he'll do before taking a break.
*****
*****
Mike's brother-in-law Gary wanted a sparring partner for martial arts so he encouraged Mike to sign up. They trained  with an instructor whom they addressed as Sensei.
  
To address the Sensei, at the beginning of their instructions, they would have one hand open and would pound their fist into their empty hand.  Bowing their head to the Sensei, they yelled hi oh, Kuma te'.
 
Both Mike and Gary learned a very painful lesson. While sparring in their home, Mike was attempting to kick high toward Gary's face.  He was using his shin, however, Gary was using his shin to block Mike. They shockingly locked shins, some of the most tender parts of their leg. They were in such pain they couldn't do much for a long while.
 
Mike says of all the advice he would give to anyone beginning, such training he would tell them do not block with your shin. It hurt terribly for both of them and they both developed hematoma on their shins, which is described as a pool of blood trapped outside a blood vessel.
 
Sadly, their sparring endeavors were short-lived.  Mike's fantasy of becoming another Billy Jack, one of his karate role models had gone up in smoke.   
 
 
 
 

Author Notes As you can see mickey did many good things for people when he went out and did his ministry work. I want people to see who he was and how now most of it is lost.


Chapter 5
Athletics

By Liz O'Neill

You may wonder for how long and for what reason Mickey wanted to better himself physically and athletically. You may figure it has to do with his father's encouragement. That ship has sailed.

His father did teach him how to play golf but I would imagine it was to afford more opportunity to belittle him and try to control him with humiliation.

He could prance around with his son as a trophy. However, that did not work very well because I don't think Mickey was more than an average golfer.

For his whole childhood, Mickey always scored low in any of his athletic or sports endeavors. None of us knew why he couldn't catch the ball when it came toward him.
It dropped in front of him or behind him. It never landed in his glove.

When the ball was thrown to him, he missed it every time. When he stood at bat ready to hit the ball pitched to him he swung the bat with great hope, only to miss it, as they say, by a mile. He struck out every time. Now I know why, he wasn't interested in playing softball in our lot across from our house.

I'm wondering if any of you have figured out even before Mickey did what could possibly be the problem. His first reveal which was quite stunning, occurred when he was taking a test to be able to acquire his license. There was a picture in front of him with two trees near a car. His task was to tell which tree was closer to the car.

The way he perceived the picture was that both trees were equidistant. You may have an inkling what the findings will show. When he was in college it was confirmed for him. Maybe some of you guessed it. He lacked depth perception. He wanted to sign up for the Roxi program.

He hoped to join the reserve officer program where he could be an air navigator guiding the pilots. He was disappointed when it was confirmed that he did not have any depth perception and would not be suitable for the program.

Yes, it's depth perception, an important part of his vision. It would help him see objects in three dimensions and understand how far away they were. It is very clear to me why he could never catch the ball.

We didn't know why he couldn't catch a ball that came flying at him. I'm sure he wondered why he continuously missed the ball. He must have felt like a failure all of the time which is probably why he shied away from playing games where a ball was moving toward him. He was expected to make contact with the ball using a bat or his foot in kickball.

Everyone's judgment arousing puzzlement could then be wiped clean, especially for his father. I suspect at that point his father didn't care. He'd kind of written Mickey off as it was.

I'm not so sure Mickey cared either because I think his father's rules, regulations, and expectations had gotten old. I don't think Mickey cared to please his father anymore anyway.

He did become a good pool shark. He had great enjoyment with some of his pool buddies. Around the '70s he joined a group called Marble Valley Ridge Runners.

He made many friends in that group and was inspired to continue doing well. There was no criticism only encouragement coming from the group.

They would gather in Amherst, Massachusetts to run either a 5K 3.1 mile in length or a 10k measuring 6.2 miles. He laughs to think that sometimes in Rutland they would gather at a location across from the hospital.

This reminded him of the delusional idea he had when he was at Lewis Bay in his TBI treatment. You may remember when he was out exercising learning to walk, he got the idea that would be a great plan.

A boxing ring could be established for matches to occur near the treatment center. If anyone sustained a head injury, especially a TBI in a brutal knock-out, the staff members could just wheel them over to the Treatment Center.

This same amusing scenario occurred to Mickey when he was lining up at his starting block waiting for the gun to go off. He glanced across the road to spy the local general hospital.

Where he stood at the ready, would be a perfect location to schedule the runners to gather to begin and end. Any runner or spectator calling for medical attention would be right by the hospital and could be zipped across the road for any emergency services.

Another great idea coming from Mickey's kaleidoscope mind.

He may not have been making high scores in athletics but he certainly was getting high scores in school. He didn't have to do much of anything to learn what the teacher was trying to convey.

With his ADD, Attention deficit disorder he didn't present well as far as paying attention in class. However, he mysteriously scored A's on his tests. Even with his TBI, he is extremely bright and doesn't hesitate to remind his sister of that.

Back in the day if Mickey got an A his father rewarded him with quarters. Mickey walked away with many quarters, one for every subject.

Despite the behavior and symptoms of his ADD and his HA Hyperactivity Activity, the teachers liked him. They considered him a likable fellow. Is ADD since his head injury is over the top he can maintain a focus for about 4 minutes and then he switches to some other shiny object.

Sometimes in high school, he did become too disruptive which caused the teacher to dismiss him from the classroom to the bench outside in the hallway. He was unable to sit still or keep his mind on things.

When he was in the lower grades he had many friends. He didn't ever seem to get bullied like many in his neighborhood did. He knew to stay under the radar enough to never stir up any potential disruptions.

The only place he might have gotten into fights was in our neighborhood where we had many fistfights, and rock-throwing at each other. Even that activity occurred in friendly fun.

Author Notes I want readers to know how active and full of life my brother was before his accident.


Chapter 6
Music Man

By Liz O'Neill

At College, Mike was introduced to someone playing their harmonica and they were very happy to teach him how to play. He began to enjoy it. He would get into jam sessions, where muscians gathered to play spontaneously. 
 
His musical introduction began when he was in fifth grade. There was a man named Mr. Yanni who wanted to teach us students how to play instruments. Mike chose the trumpet. He became  proficient in playing that instrument.
 
Historically, Mike never wanted any of his things to be touched by anyone.  His sister was playing what she considered a squeaky clarinet. She wanted to get her hands on his trumpet with its mellow sounds. 
 
Playing the trumpet was much more difficult than a regular instrument. Mike had to learn how to read the music sheets for the concerts he was in.  He worked very hard on what they call buzzing which involved vibrating his lips and when he put the trumpet up to his lips it made another sound. 
 
If someone were to just blow into the trumpet without vibrating the lips, all they would get is the sound of air. With the trumpet you have to use three fingers to make different sounds with the trumpet. 
 
He had to learn the different positions of the fingers pressing down different valves to make various sounds. In addition to that, he had to learn the names of the notes and if he pushed more than one valve down he could get a chord. 

 
 
One day when Mike was coming down the street he heard someone playing his trumpet. That was definitely a no-no. He ran up the stairs to his room as fast as he could. There was his sister trying out different notes on his trumpet. 
 
They had a routine when he chased her as a result of other infractions, down the stairs and out the door. He pursued her  successfully over the broken glass into the brook. Once he saw her feet were sopped, he turned around and calmly walked back to his room to play his trumpet.
 
That was his routine the minute his sister was doing something to which he objected. One such occasion occurred when his sister wanted to wear one of his sweaters. He was a scrawny young man who hadn't reached his growth spurt in college. 
 
After their chase down over the bank of rusted cans and broken glass into the brook, his sister a year older who had definitely reached her growth spurt, wanted to return his sweater. He would have none of that because he said it now had bumps in it.
 
On another more serious subject, Mike was working at a resort called Mountaintop which is quite a ways up. A co-worker said he needed to go on a speed run which in his mind meant get somewhere fast. He wanted to get to the establishment which  served icecream before it closed.
 
In his speedy carelessness, the driver rolled his car into a meadow. Mike found himself upside down in his seat, tethered by his seat belt. Fortunately, someone must have seen the accident and called the rescue squad. 
 
After they used the Jaws of Life, and Mike was released from his seat belt, his body fell to the roof. Such a juxtaposition, a little bit like the story of the Titanic. Mike found out later the driver had quite a record of vehicular altercations.
 
Of all of Mike's personal possessions.  I would say he favors his phones. We have quite a story about that, coming up next.
******
Ladies and gentlemen, you have an ideal seat to watch as every incredible documented event unfolds before your very eyes. You may remember I thought my brother had slipped back into his recovery stages of four and five. That would be behavior of violence and inappropriateness.
 
Not so. I am relieved to know he is fine. Mike is not back in stage four and five. He is in his regular stages of life.  What was happening was his former caretaker was baiting him so we would think there was something wrong with his psyche stability.  She was baiting him to get him to act out.
 
She would even send him to the psych ward to spend a couple of hours. Once again with that activity it seemed something was wrong with him. She was baiting him to react in anger and frustration which would be a normal reaction. It had nothing to do with stage 4 and five.
 
One of the times she sent him to the psych ward she locked him out of his house. I guess it was so disruptive outside his house the neighbors were there. 
 
There was a police car, and a fire truck.  The fireman put a ladder up against the kitchen window, took the screen out and he was able to get inside.  He realized the sick woman was barricaded in her room. He kicked in the door and got her to sit up, walked her down the steps, to a gurney and wheeled her to the ambulance and off to the psche ward
. 
 
 
 
I may have already stated this earlier or in another chapter but his caregiver was an untreated schizophrenic.  She decided maybe four months ago to stop taking her medication and she grew sicker,  more dysfunctional and more paranoid until it came to a head that night. 
 
When we went inside we saw the evidence of untreated, unmedicated schizophrenia. She had taken everything in the old refrigerator and put it into about 40 garbage bags and abandoned it in the corner of the dining room. 
 
My nephew took about 10 of them out and then little by little Mike has been taking more out. We have four left and maybe by the time of this writing they will all be gone.

Author Notes I'm pleased Mike was able to do so well with talent in music


Chapter 7
Incommunicado

By Liz O'Neill

Ladies and gentlemen, you have an ideal seat to watch as every incredible documented event unfolds before our very eyes. You may remember I thought my brother had slipped back into his recovery stages of four and five. That would be behavior of violence and inappropriateness.
 
 Not so. I'm so happy to know that he is fine. Mike is not back in stage four and five. He is in his regular stages of life.  What was happening was his former caretaker was baiting him so we thought there was something wrong with his psyche stability.  She was baiting him to get him to act out.
 
She would even send him to the psych ward to spend a couple of hours.  Once again with that activity, it seemed something was wrong with him. She was baiting him to react in anger and frustration which would be a normal reaction. It had nothing to do with stage 4 and five.
 
One of the times she sent him to the psych ward she locked him out of his house. I guess it was so disruptive outside his house the neighbors were there. There was a police car and a fire truck. The fireman put a ladder up against the kitchen window and took the screen out and he was able to get inside. At the same time, the neighbors called an ambulance. She was sadly carried out on a gurney, shuffled into the ambulance, and taken to the psych ward.   The door was opened so my brother could get inside. 
 
I may have already stated this earlier or in another chapter but she was an untreated schizophrenic.  She had decided maybe four months ago to stop taking her medication and she grew sicker and sicker and more paranoid until it came to a head that night. 
 
When they went inside there was evidence of schizophrenia. She had taken everything in the old freezer, refrigerator and put it in foul-smelling garbage bags and left them in the dining room where there were about 40 bags. My nephew took about 10 of them out and then little by little Mike has been taking more out. There are about four left and maybe by the time of this writing they will all be gone.
 
One of my friends whom I mentored, when she was very young at the women's shelter got in touch with me the last couple of years to mentor her. She's become my mentor.  It's fun to have someone give you back what you gifted when you advised another. She cleans places up on the mountain so she's become a professional cleaner. 
 
Mike said, "She only lives a half hour away. "  That was perfect for her to be able to come to his house and do some cleaning. There were two targets to be attacked. One was the sink where she stuffed all the silverware, glasses, and cups and I don't know what else. The other sink had numerous empty drink bottles in it.  Mike cleared all that out. There was still other stuff in that sink.  I wanted my friend Janet to come work on the sink stuff.  The primary mess was what she left at the base of Mike's bed.
 
His caregiver dumped everything from the kitchen and dining room into Mike's bedroom right at the base of his bed. That needs to be sorted to get the cereal refuse out of the room. We do have a new group called Ava's Home Care, Mike discovered. I'll let you know how it goes. We've also just been contacted by Vermont Nurse' Association.  It's all very exciting. 
 
The most insane aspect of the last three days when I went up to Mike's and I take responsibility for the faux pas. I thought I had charged my cell phone.  I plugged the charger into the cell phone but did not plug it into the wall So when I got up to my brother's hoping I had a working phone I found my phone was not charged. His caretaker of 15 some odd years tore the landline out of the wall and we later found out canceled his cell phone account. 
 
We went to Walmart to get a phone so we'd have a working phone. I can't believe they sent him out of there with a non-working phone. They gave him a little card and told him to have his neighbors call the number and then put in some code. The neighbors had no idea what they were supposed to be doing.  We went to bed that night without a working phone and I resolved that we would do something about it tomorrow. 
 
The following day we were driving around and I said, "I know, we're going to go to some place with generous people.  We went to the local Catholic Church. However, sadly no one there knew how to do anything with phones plus it was very confusing with the minuscule directions they had on the card. The kind people directed us down the hill to the Mental Health Agency.
 
That worked out perfectly since my brother has been one of their patience. I believe the universe was shining on me because when we got in there, the fellow who was going to be helping us was from IT. He knew all about phones. 
 
He was able to make contact with the phone company and slowly set up a working phone for him. That night we had a working phone and I said tomorrow we will go to AT&T and you will get a regular phone that you have an account for. That's when we found out that his caretaker had disconnected or discontinued his account. The assistant who was helping us with a phone for Mike, was very sensitive to his situation.
 
She realized he had tremors and he would need a special phone,  Never a phone like mine.  I've had people little by little giving me some clues of how to use my phone.  I rue the day my brother would have to use my phone. He would be able to flip up and you could see the numbers and type them out. Nothing is simple.  She Cloie said, "Oh we don't have any of those phones here, but you can go to Walmart and get one, bring it back here and I will set up a plan for him."  She had the charger all set for him. So we went to Walmart for about the third time. We were very happy to walk out with a phone that we knew was going to be a working phone.

Author Notes I feel a bit out of character writing this but I want people to know the struggles my brother has had made a little bit worse by his OCD and his ADD.


Chapter 8
Walmart Times Three

By Liz O'Neill

Chloie from AT&T was lovely to be sensitive to his needs. One of the things you have to understand about my brother and this has always been the case. He acknowledges we were brought up in a stressful  tension-producing childhood. He's aware he needs to have something to aggravate him. In his pre-whack days, a term we use instead of having to say TBI, terminally brain injured, we just say pre-wacked.
 
Back in the day, he had a couple of motorcycles he messed around with, so they would be a little less easy to run than they were. Then he could be aggravated because the motorcycle wasn't running well.
 
 From our trip to Walmart,  where we didn't want anyone to sell him a program but just give us the phone, we went down to AT&T to talk to the clerk Chloie who sent us there to get the phone. She immediately hooked my brother up with the required program and the equipment he needed for his phone.
 
The most aggravation going on now is with his phone.  He doesn't like his phone but it doesn't bother me because I told him he needed something for aggravation.  Now I've come home for a couple of days and charging my cellphone.  I'm keeping in touch with him at home and he's able to cook his own meal in the microwave or order out.
 
He does use his phone to make the calls for the Instacart where he learned from his former caretaker who used to order a meal for both. What a great plan. All Mike needs to do is call up his favorite eatery named Denny's. They deliver different meals to him. He gets a lot of sausage and gravy and pancakes. One thing he ordered for me that I'm very excited about is a double hamburger, double cheese, french fries and no pickle. 
 
What we're eventually working on and maybe I will be able to get a hold of somebody on Monday to get him a caregiver and a case manager. I'm hopeful we'll be able to begin that process tomorrow, Monday. I was given numbers to call people and what the conditions might be. When I finished the page of phone numbers, because of my ADD I had no idea what I had written or what agencies any of the numbers are connected with.
  
I just learned there are many helpers going to be coming in and I will not have to go down there for maybe a month. That will be wonderful.  I will keep in touch with him on the phone of course, even though I'm becoming emotionally exhausted. Fortunately, everything is settling out. There are people who are supposed to be coming to help him and I can be here in my own home. 
They are even going to be helping him with his ADLs.  He has had a very difficult time showering. I am in hopes they will make it so it's not so frightening for someone with TBI. It becomes a startling moment when the water hits his skin. He said there's something about his TBI that makes his skin very sensitive at certain parts.
 
This makes it difficult for him to initiate his own shower.  He's going to have a nurse come in to help him figure out how to calmly take a shower. There was one idea they came up with, that for some reason I just never thought of. Some of you always seem to be a little ahead of me in my investigations, so you’ve probably already thought of a shower chair. He's looking forward to that.

Mike is not someone who's just going to sit around waiting for everybody else to do stuff for him. He went searching for an agency that might be able to help him and he found one. It sounds like someone that can be me. I'm getting worn out. Every other week I'm traveling 2 hours of Vermont roads with switchbacks all along the way.
 
But once again the universe smiled on me and a lady called and gave me the numbers Mike and I needed to call.  There were only about two of them, not a whole page like the other list.  I told her I had ADD and I needed to go slowly. She said she was fine with that .
 
She's going to be with me every step of the way or if she can't be, she is going to get somebody so now I'm going from I don't know what to do with step one to there may be some people that will help me with step one.
 
In addition to this group my brother has found another group that may cost some money but I told him he is well worth it. He may be arranging with a group of people to come in and visit him a couple times a week for two hours and maybe do some work.  I'm not sure but it would be good for him and for me so I don't have to travel two hours. I actually am going to be able to stay home for possibly three weeks.
 
We also just got connected with VNA. Vermont Nurses Association. They are exploring Mike’s needs and one of the most wonderful helpers to come there will be a nurse to help Mike with his ADLs. He is as excited as anyone can get with TBI. Mike is looking forward to it. He's not been able to take a shower since Karen has left.
 
A note of reminder to all readers. She was his caregiver for 18 years and she was wonderful til she wasn’t. She knew how to turn the handle of the shower, so it was just the right temperature. 
I detest those handles on the showers. I've been intimidated when running across them in hotels or motels. You turn the lever up and you don't know if it's going to be hot or freezing water, or nice warm water.
 
Mike couldn’t do that confidently therefore he always had Karen take care of it for him. After Karen left nobody else seemed to be able to do it the right way so we're hoping this nurse, Bob, will be able to. Mike is so looking forward to Bob’s arrival. In the meantime, we will continue as we are.
 
 When my brother's caretaker went to Alaska for about 8 days, he did fine as long as he got his food and she called him one time then she called in his meal. He has learned how to call in his own meal. He calls me about 15 times a day. so he's getting plenty of social connections with me.

Author Notes As I'm writing this I am beginning to realize that I am emotionally exhausted maybe writing is helping.


Chapter 9
Fear of deprivation

By Liz O'Neill

What we're eventually working on and maybe I will be able to get a hold of somebody on Monday to get him a caregiver and a case manager. I'm hopeful we'll be able to begin that process tomorrow,  Monday. I was given all these numbers to call people and what the conditions might be. When I finished the page of phone numbers, because of my ADD I had no idea what I had written or what anything was going to coordinate with.  It was just I was exhausted.

Mike Is not someone who's just going to sit around waiting for everybody else to do stuff for him. He went searching for an agency that might be able to help him and he found one. It sounds like someone that can be me. I'm getting worn out. Every other week I'm traveling 2 hours of Vermont roads.

But once again the universe smiled on me and a lady called and gave me the numbers I needed to call.  There were only about two of them, not a whole page like the other list.  I told her that I had ADD and I needed her to go slow and she said it was fine. She's going to be with me every step of the way or if she can't be, she is going to get somebody so now I'm going from I don't know what to do with step one to there may be some people that will help me with step one.

In addition to this group my brother has found another group that may cost some money but I told him he is well worth it. He may be arranging with a group of people would come in and visit him. A couple times a week for 2 hours and maybe do some work.  I'm not sure but it would be good for him because the  Individual from this group will be me, and I will not have to go up to Rutland 2 hours away on a Vermont Road.

There was actually a group that came in Hazmat suits to totally clear the house out of mold and mildew.  The room his caretaker was in is totally empty. The best part and even my brother who doesn't experience emotions much is a little happy because they cleared away all the stuff she'd spewed around Mike's bed.

We also just got connected with VNA. Vermont Nurses Association. They are exploring Mike’s needs and one of The most wonderful helpers to come there, will be a nurse to help Mike with his ADLs. As excited as anyone can get with TBI, the head injury,  Mike is looking forward to it. He's not been able to take a shower since Karen has left. He proudly told me Monday is shower day.

A note of reminder to all readers. She was his care giver for 18 years and she was wonderful til she wasn’t. She knew how to turn the handle of the shower, so it was just the right temperature. I actually hate those handles on the showers. I've been intimidated when running across them in hotels or motels. You turn the lever up and you don't know if it's going to be hot or freezing water, or nice warm water.
 
Mike couldn’t do that confidently, therefore he always had Karen take care of it for him. After Karen left, no one else seemed to be able to do it the right way so we're hoping this nurse, Bob, will be able to. Mike is so looking forward to Bob’s arrival.

In the meantime, we will continue as we are. When my brother's caretaker went to Alaska for about 8 days, he did fine as long as he got his food and she called him one time then she called in his meal. And he has learned how to call in his own meal. He was calling me about 15 times a day, But since he's had so many visitors coming in,  he has not had to call me as much. 

It's wonderful, there’s a programs called Grubhub, Instacart door dash or he calls a restaurant and someone will deliver it to his house. If he doesn't have food in the freezer until we go to Aldis again he can call the GrubHub people and they will bring him some supper. 
We are both aware we have fear of deprivation. Maybe someone knows from their own experience. We just can't figure out why we have such fear of deprivation.

We're not really sure why. Our mother didn't lock our food up. She let us have whatever we wanted. For some reason we have fear of deprivation. That's why it's important for my brother to be able to just order whatever he wants to eat even if he has the refrigerator full of its stuff. He knows he has plenty and he doesn't have to worry about going without.
 
My brother came up with a solution for this situation which could give some insight into what may be responsible for our condition. They never ate with their father only on Sunday and holidays he came in late around the time the the little ones were preparing for bed their mother had to prepare a full supper for him.
 
My brother may have come up with some insight into what may be responsible for our condition. They never ate with their father only on Sunday and holidays he came in late around the times the time the little ones for the little ones to be getting into bed their mother had to prepare a full supper for him. 
 
The little 2 and 3-year-olds stood with their chins on the dining room table watching their father gorge himself with a supper. His gig was to ask the little ones if they would like a bite of whatever he was eating. They cautiously nodded their heads yes.  Then he would ask them if they liked it and they would carefully nod yes. 
 
The next cutting game he played was when he said, "Here take it all." This brought confusion and shame to the little ones didn't know what they had done wrong. But they knew they should not have taken any of their father's food. The frequent nightly standing and staring at their father eating, had a lasting impact on them.
 
 
 
 

Author Notes Fear of deprivation all-encompassing. It isn't just about food anymore.


Chapter 10
Running up the stairs

By Liz O'Neill

Our mother couldn’t watch us constantly, even though it would have been a good idea. We were always into mischief. I was three and my brother was just two. We’d often gazed into the mystery of the myriad of items in our kitchen pantry.  
 
Our mother kept a variety of bottles, jars, and boxes . We didn't of course know what any of them contained. We'd always been curious as to what goodies were on those shelves in our large pantry. There were six compelling shelves to explore.
 
I did the climbing and Mickey did the coaching. The first five shelves were a disappointment to both of us. Everything seemed to be boxed up or tied up or secured in some way. Ah, but there was a little brown bottle of something on the tippity-top top shelf.
  
I showed Mickey a few things on the lower shelves. There was really nothing of interest for either of us. He encouraged me to go higher. I was excited to climb to the highest shelf I'd ever reached. We were really going to find stuff we may never have seen before. We were presented with an exciting treasure hunt.
 
This was a great adventure for both of us. Even back then at the earliest stage he could remember,  Mickey loved Adventure. loved Danger. He urged me to go higher on the shelves. He had to know what was in that brown bottle.  Our sometimes dangerous ADD, Attention Deficit Disorder captured our attention.
 
We zeroed in on the last level at the same time.  It was a brown bottle of something. We wondered if the stuff inside the bottle was brown or if it was just the color of the bottle. We would not rest until we discovered the answer to our puzzle.
 
Of course, Mother had chosen the highest shelf in the pantry to safely store that little brown bottle of medicine. Being so high, she probably hadn’t seen a need to secure the cap. She knew how to carefully lower the bottle when needed for little emergencies.
 
The irony was something used for a mishap here or there mushroomed into a full-flung crisis, with our introduction to the small-town hospital.  As we already know, this was the first of many visits from us and our neighborhood kids.
  
Slowly stretching on tiptoes, I was able to lift down the tiny brown bottle. Mickey needed a closer look to inspect just what that spellbinding bottle was. Enraptured with what I was carefully grasping and excited to investigate for myself I was hurrying a little more than was wise.
 
The brown medicine stain that was beginning to form on my fingers should have been a signal. As I tipped the bottle, the top fell off and the liquid inside spilled, covering Nike’s face. We were lucky only a few drops went into his eye.  I can still picture him standing in his roomy hospital crib, with a brownish-red stain down one side of his face. 
****
 
Off that same hallway was Nike’s room with a spacious closet, a safe place for both of us. I don’t remember why we went there to hide among the heavy overcoats, way in the back on the floor.  
 
I know it wasn’t to get away from Nike because I’d often meet him there. He’d be planted on a high shelf above me, covered with more coats.  If I got there ahead of him, I’d have him cover me with coats previous to his climb to his hiding place. 
 
 After a while, the pattern of coats was pretty well established and I would just run and dive under them before our mother came up the stairs.  When I think back, it doesn’t feel like it was a game. I don’t know what happened initially. 
 
It must have been something that angered our mother. I don’t imagine she’d do anything to us if she ever caught us. As she peered into the darkened closet she may have smiled knowing just where we were and walked away leaving us with the belief we had outsmarted her.
 
There were times when we played tricks on our mother. Plans were hatched in that same hallway.  You see, my family was one of the first in the neighborhood to get black and white television.
 
Because my father had to have the lamp off, I imagined myself to be like Abraham Lincoln who had to read by the light from a candle or fireplace. I wonder if he got an astigmatism as I did as a result from doing my homework by the light of Hop-a-long Cassidy’s campfire. 
 
Those television shows gave us fodder for activities to act out. We loved playing hotel,  not the sort kids might play today. This was modeled after Billy the Kid and Whip Lash Wilson.  No Annie Oakley for me; my little sister got to play her.  
 
My grandfather, who died when I was three, left behind a ledger from his blacksmith business and Mother let us use it for our hotel ledger.  Later Mother said, “That that ledger was probably worth a lot of money before you kids scribbled all over it with your favorite crayon.” 
 
I bet it would be worth even more money now with all of our famous signatures in it.  I wonder where it is now and who is raking in all of the dough.
 
We had a rule that you had to check your guns at the desk when you signed in.  It seemed to be on the honor system as there was no one to be the desk clerk, We were busy robbing banks, with Annie Oakley tagging along. 
 
The bank was actually a low cupboard in the kitchen, not used for very much except storing Mother’s loot.  Because each feared the other would get more candy, we fought so much that Mother said we had to divide up the spoils. 
 
Being the oldest usually meant being blamed for stuff I didn’t do, but this time it worked out for the better. I got to divide up the three bags of various flavors of candy and make some of the rules.  It was decided that the leftovers, those not in multiple of three, would go to Mother.  We agreed to put them safely in the cupboard for her. She was going to have all of the leftovers.
 
We went back to our hotel to rest, checking our guns at the desk.  One might imagine we didn’t take a very long rest and were soon grabbing our guns, to hold up an otherwise occupied bank clerk.
  
It seemed Mother was always in the kitchen cooking, washing dishes,  or cleaning up.  This made it quite easy to sneak up on her, dial open the imaginary combination to the safe, grab the goods, and high-tail it back to the hotel to divide up the day’s take. 
 
The yummy, coveted, sweet, chewy leftovers, numbering one or two, were placed back in the safe, ensuring our fun would continue until the next bank deposit. When that was carried out a fresh plan for another stickup could be formulated.

Author Notes Some of this goes back to Memories as maybe 3 or 4-year-olds


Chapter 11
Cleaning

By Liz O'Neill

We are trying to get an emergency home phone landline established for my brother. He has since lost his own cell phones so all they have and all he has is this phone. Trying to call it to see if it works, some lady was getting a little annoyed because I kept calling her. The Comcast people had given us the wrong number. The way this hooks in to the title cleaning. 
 
We were applying for an emergency phone landline for my brother. Evidently some lady came in saw the house and immediately became judgmental and said the house was unkempt to have an emergency phone in it. One of the leaders was quite put back as I was also. One of the leaders, Melissa, grumped “how could someone say that an emergency phone call could not be allowed?”
 
Several of us worked on the project and information was reinstalled. However, I spent almost a half an hour on the phone with one of the technicians from Comcast yesterday. We were trying to get the phone to ring. What happened was really weird when I called that number I got another lady. She was assigned the number we were assigned.
 
So I called and had another number of asssigned. We still don't really know if that phone is working so we got’ve to keep working at it. I'll let you know. I repeatedly called that number. No one answered. It could be no one's home.  We will keep trying. My former sister-in-law is going to do some investigating also.
 
We are puzzled as to why that woman would say that about my brother and his home. There are probably three people in his home who are making sure things are neatened up cleaned up.  They do his laundry. The cat is back because my brother feels he can take good care of the cat.  I told him the shortcuts for cleaning up the litter box and then just put a little more sand in it. And He's been doing that and it's working fine.
 
You may remember in my book Traffic, my main character, Chordelia, Linda and I were very conscious about using walking sticks. I finally got my brother to drag out his old walking stick and that will be much help more helpful. He said when he took the bus to Walmart which is probably about 2 miles away, stepped down off the bus and fell.  I noticed he's been using his walking stick since then. I was pleased to see when we were going anywhere he was actually carrying his walking stick.
 
At some point it was discovered there was surplus mold in one of the closets. What resulted, Mike had a group come in that would clean everything out, with hazmat outfits. All the toxic items were removed as I return to my bias toward Miss Snooty. I still wonder what measuring tape or any measuring device she used to make such a statement about my brother and his house and his need for an emergency landline.
 
We will continue to call that number until we verify if that number is ringing or not. I keep wondering is the ringer on that phone being sounded. On another subject of phones, my brother went up to his usual place Walmart  to talk to somebody about his phone. He ended up leaving his phone somewhere in Walmart so he has no phone. I think he's always got that drive that he wants to go back to Walmart. We realize we can't leash him.
 
I know many would feel that that would be the solution. Many cringe when they think he's riding his bicycle. If you remember it was because he was riding his bicycle when he was 40 years old, got hit by a car. Some Minister was driving down his road clearly not watching where he was going. Mike was sitting at the yellow cross line waiting for the cars to go by. That's when this unalert driver slammed Mike off his bicycle onto the driver’s windshield.
 
Ever since all of the victims of his TBI don't like seeing him riding a bicycle. Bicycles have become another Obsession for my brother in addition to telephones coffee slippers and shoes. I'm wondering how he's doing because he has no cell phone I didn't know if he was trying to buy another one and that would be more money out of his pocket.
 
He does ride his bicycle down to a store that he calls RDS,  a discount store where he gets many of his needs. It takes him nothing to ride down to the next block. He returns with a few items in a satchel. It is enough to throw in the freezer and have some nice frozen meals in the microwave. When he has his meals from his Meals on wheels, which contrary to others’ perceptions,  he is thoroughly enjoying. He claimed that he had done Meals on Wheels back in the'90s. The flavor was not as good then, as it is now and he's very pleased with that.
 
This seems threateningly dangerous, much easier for him to get onto his bike than to get onto a bus. The problem is once he gets down to the Walmart area. He travels to the back of the Walmart store and then when he comes out he may have missed his bus. Then he's lost for the night and the police have to come and look for him. As I've said before we can not leash him.
 
He has repeatedly taken his phone down to someone he calls “the telephone man” at Walmart. But now he has left his phone somewhere with the telephone man or in some other place down at Walmart. It seems now he is going to be obsessed with going back down to Walmart to talk to the telephone man. That would only be by what he calls the BUS.




 

Author Notes It is therapeutic for me to write about this scrambling that goes on within my brother's brain and mind and world.

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