An Hourglass of Inheritance and Insanity

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John Lennon forgot to "Imagine" one crucial scenario in his classic song of that title. "Imagine there's no money" would be the lyric I would add. That unnatural resource of currency is perhaps the one thing that rules all of our so-called civilized behavior as a species. That and sex, of course. I know that my life would be a lot less complicated if money were not an issue, and recently it became an even more stressful complication in the care of my aging father.

The facility where my father currently resides has petitioned the court to appoint a "guardian ad litem" to take over all of my father's decision-making capabilities. A guardian ad litem is most often appointed in cases of child custody disputes, abuse, or neglect, the guardian being a supposedly unbiased party advocating solely for the child or other person who is incapable of fully defending themselves. I learned of this when I received a copy of the papers in the mail from the petitioner's attorney. No phone call, no interaction, just straight to a judge.

Furthermore, statements in the documents assert things that I never said, judgments I never made, and describe all of this in language that I could interpret as libelous, defamatory, and slanderous. If the retirement home my father is residing in treats next-of-kin like this, no wonder he is unhappy.

This legal action probably stems from an incident in which my father became combative, and could be construed as endangering himself as well as the welfare of others in the building. My father is a chronic alcoholic. He drinks when he is depressed, bored, and otherwise unhappy; and he either has not availed himself of recreational programs at the facility, or there are none that he is interested in, or both. He repeatedly expresses his desire to be done with life. He never fully recovered from the passing of his second wife (my stepmother) several years ago. While his emotional state continues to deteriorate, his cognitive abilities remain intact, which is why this legal action is all the more revolting.

Meanwhile, I am not in a personal financial position to take any action myself. In fact, I have no potential income on my immediate horizon. My major client employs me mostly from late spring through early fall. Yes, I do have some hesitation to visit my father for the same reasons the retirement home finds him to be a handful. He is hard of hearing, and prone to temperamental outbursts. Still, the overriding reason I do not visit is because I cannot afford the airfare. I am an only child, so I also do not have sibling help. My cousin, who does live closer, has understandably reached wit's end, and he also has his own family, and a business, to look out for.

I received the court documents late on a Friday, naturally, so contacted the attorney for my father's estate via e-mail the following Monday. The attorney is the kind of guy that makes you think twice about telling a lawyer joke. He is kind, understanding, thoughtful, and expensive. Retaining him in this matter would bankrupt me in a matter of days. I told him as much, politely. His response was that his firm's fees would come from my father's estate since this issue pertains directly to his estate.

Here is the thing. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that I was rather looking forward to a bit of inheritance from my father, to ease my own financial burdens in the future. I have concluded that I will be damn lucky if the whole thing doesn't get burned up in efforts to protect that inheritance. Forget the "death tax," attorney fees and other expenses will take a greater, ongoing toll. Heck, the retirement home appears to want to get as much as they can out of him right now.

Everybody wants their cut. The yacht club got a sizeable chunk out of him to build a new bar. How appropriate. Given that the yacht club has been one of the communities my father truly has felt comfortable in, I don't object to his donation, honest. Still, the sands of money and time in the hourglass steadily slip away.

It is all I can do some days, probably like my father, to just get through, accomplish something of worth, and steel myself for the next day. My father and I are a lot alike, it occurs to me, in our isolation, our internal demons, our addictions, and our struggle not to have a bleak outlook on the future, both personally and for the world at large. At least I have my words, and expressing my mounting frustrations, dwindling hopes, and raw emotions does help. One of those hopes? That this kind of thing is never visited on you.

When the Dog Bites

The back of my right calf, courtesy of a dog

I am not usually hard up for material anyway, but occasionally something happens in my personal life that disturbs me enough to prompt a post. I was bitten by a dog the other day. Yeah, that will get your attention, even if it was a little yippy-yappy thing. In the wake of the event, all my other encounters with aggressive canines came flooding back along with long-buried hostilities and unresolved conflicts.

I take a walk through my neighborhood almost daily, and Thursday, November 17 was no exception. At one point in my route, which I have passed countless times, a pair of small terrier-like dogs were playing in a yard. As I passed on the sidewalk, they barked and gave chase, nothing terribly alarming....until I felt pressure and a mild sting on my calf. I was so surprised that the little nipper may have gotten me again, though not as acutely. I backed out into the street shouting "Hey!" numerous times, loudly.

A neighbor across the street was silently raking leaves and witnessed the incident. He might as well have been a statue. I asked if he knew who owns the dogs, and he pointed to the next house. Indeed, the pair of pooches ran there next, still barking. The one that bit me made efforts to do so again. More shouting from me, into the open garage of the owner's home. Nothing.

I finally shouted the house number and told them they needed to get outside. A petite Hispanic woman eventually emerged. I told her rather angrily that one of her dogs bit me. She told me to "calm down," and barked commands in Spanish that sent the mutts running into the garage. I repeated, even more assertively, that one of her dogs bit me. As she made for her garage I said she better pray that I don't get an infection out of it; and she muttered back something to the effect of "I hope you don't get an infection, too." I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt that is what she said, anyway.

Upon returning home in snow and rain, I discovered that at some point my mobile phone had been lost. I exchanged my coat for a rain jacket and headed back out. I found my phone easily, and though it was wet it was still operational. Now, I finally turned my attention to the bite, and found that despite heavy jeans, it had broken the skin. The bite most resembled an abrasion, though, so I didn't treat it except for showering later.

Taking to social media, I found out that, by law, you must report pet bites to the proper authorities. Here in El Paso County, Colorado, the Humane Society takes care of that. I answered a few questions and told them I had no malice toward the dog, or even its owner, despite her unsympathetic nature. I hoped the dog would not be removed for quarantine and was assured that a ten day in-home quarantine was standard.

It was interesting to read some of the responses to my post on Facebook. Some of my friends were only mildly sympathetic, too. Several even gave the thumbs-up "like" to my status. Not sure why I deserved that. Others commented that "at least it was a canine [and not a cat]." Cat bites are really bad news, I'm told. I politely replied that I am not generally in fear of being attacked by felines during my walks.

The whole cat versus dog thing is really starting to get my dander up. Far more people pile on the cat-hater bandwagon than even acknowledge the danger that unrestrained dogs pose to other pets, wildlife, and people. Then again, we all know that the only "good doggie" is yours, right? I am guilty, too. Logan was an adorable dog. All the other canines in the neighborhood were pretty much Cujo. I recall occasions in which I had to maneuver myself between Logan and some off-leash, unfriendly dog to avoid something heinous from happening.

I do believe pet-related laws need more tooth to them; we need harsher punishment for irresponsible pet owners, dogs or others. I am not a mace-carrying, knife-wielding, or gun-toting pedestrian, and never intend to be; but, bear in mind that the demeanor of your pet speaks volumes about you, too. I am not inclined to have a positive opinion about your personality if your dog is belligerent, loud, and otherwise obnoxious. Forgive me if I don't believe you when you say "he won't bite."

Good Guys Without Guns (or Lawyers)

The police came knocking on our door the other day. Turns out that another neighbor had called in a disturbing the peace report on our next-door neighbors who routinely argue if not worse. As I answered the policeman's questions, I began to feel guilty that I hadn't been the one to make the call myself. Then it occurred to me that my behavior had changed over recent history in part because personal intervention in neighborhood incidents is a lot more risky now. This is one of the unspoken consequences of the proliferation of guns in our American society: Unarmed good guys won't help you now.

I lived in a very ugly neighborhood in Cincinnati in the 1990s, and domestic violence and youth gangs were essentially weekly problems I faced in my apartment building. I had zero tolerance for either, and regularly spoke my mind to those doing the offending. Granted, now I have a spouse who's welfare I must consider as a higher priority than even my own, but there are plenty of reasons I rarely intervene in loud squabbles anymore. The biggest one is that I don't know what weapons they may bring to the fight. Logic and a good vocabulary don't seem to go very far these days.

Even aside from the potential for lethal force is the potential of legal force. Everyone is armed and litigation-happy. I better make sure that if I confront someone now, that it is on neutral territory. We have a homeowner's association here in our townhouse complex, so I'm not even sure where the boundaries are. I can't afford to open us up to a lawsuit from anybody.

This is why neighbors don't know each other anymore. We don't trust each other, we assume the worst, we value "privacy" above all else, and we don't participate in neighborhood events. This is certainly true of younger people for the most part. We have an annual neighborhood association meeting and it is attended by less than one dozen people.

Our neighborhood is also largely "minority." We don't know how to talk to each other even if we did want to. I am not saying ethnic diversity is a bad thing. Far from it, but everyone sticks with their own kind and it is at the least awkward to try and change that. The last time I spoke to any neighbor was because the postman had delivered their mail to our address.

I have no idea how to change any of this, and frankly my will to try has become mired in the inertia of the status quo. I would sooner run for public office than a leadership role in my own HOA. There is something more appealing about serving anonymous citizens than dealing with the pot-head across the walkway.

The bottom line is that I am embarrassed by the person I have become. I have maintained empathy and respect for the vulnerable among us, but have ceased to intervene out of fear and the "hassle" that often comes from doing so. Still, I will not give in to the point of purchasing a gun myself, or putting a lawyer on retainer. What to do instead of that remains the challenge.