Coming Attractions

So there's this grocery bagger that works at Allens in Bella Vista, named Max.
Probably the nicest human being on earth. He hugs every person that leaves the store and hands out suckers to the kiddies. Great guy.

Last night I went to a Relief Society planning meeting at a friend's house. Having never been to the house in the daylight, I drove right past her driveway. Her neighbor came running from his yard and flagged me down. "Stop! If you're looking for the Binghams, you just passed it. There are a lot of cars in her driveway, so if you need to, feel free to park anywhere on my property. Have a nice day. Tell them Max said, 'hello'."

Whoa. Nice neighbor.
I'm surprised he didn't offer to carry my purse into her house for me. Then I made the connection that Tonya's Max was the Allens' Max.

Question: How do I score a Max for a neighbor instead of the circus tent I have going up on my street?
No, really. I want to know.
The Binghams have a Max, who has literally been voted as the nicest person in Bella Vista and I have a Keith. And a Flattop Mike. And a Crack Charlie with a freaking mini horse in his living room. And a Naked Marge. And remember Cindy? The one who gave me the sequined flapper dress with the fleas in it?
And a Henry.

Speaking of Henry, he was outside when I got home today, so we exchanged our typical friendly hello's and how are you's and I told him that we are going to be listing the house in the next month.

His response was sweet.
"Ooooh, that's bad timing for what I've got going on right now. Do you think it will affect the sale of your house much if I start using my crockpots on the porch? A friend was throwing these out, just because the bottoms are broken off. Can you believe that? They work perfectly fine, too. I'm going to rig em up so they'll still work, but I'd like to do all my cooking outside, in case they tip over, the mess will be outside on the porch."

For those of you who live far away, let me explain one thing: outdoor cooking in Bella Vista = vermin and bugs. You don't leave food outside all day, here. You just don't.

Wow. You know you've lived in Arkie for awhile when you use a word like vermin. When did that one become a regular in my vocabulary? Gross.

Anyway, patio crockpot cuisine coming right up at Cirque du Our Neighbors.
Do I really need another reason to get out of here?

House for sale. Tell your friends. Or enemies. I'm indifferent.
But if you do happen to be friends with a bearded lady, send her my way.
I'm willing to make her a deal she won't be able to refuse.

Humbled.

I just caught Henry mowing our lawn.

What's that smell?

It's time.
Let's talk about Henry.

Remember Henry?
He moved into Carl and Barb's house directly across the street.

He is a Hoarder. A REAL Hoarder. The kind that end up on the tv show.

Lately, the smell from Henry's garage has become so bad that we just can't take it anymore.
But who do I call? The health department?

One day, we were in the driveway and there was a particularly bad smell wafting over from Henry's open garage. It is always open, which is why we have so many stray cats now...they are surviving on mice from Henry's garage.
I am 100% serious.
Imagine the worst mess you have ever seen, then throw food and animal feces on it.
You are picturing the view from my kitchen window.

So anyway, the smell was so bad, that I was trying to talk to my parents in the driveway but I started dry heaving instead. Sick.


I lost it.
Between heaves, I was standing in the street, throwing my fists in the air, sweating and screaming at the pile of garbage, "Ugh, Henry! CLEAN your freaking nasty house! It's disgusting!"

"He's not in it."

huh? Oops. Henry was right behind me, walking up toward his house from a garage sale down the street. I probably should have been embarrassed at the time. Instead, I was sick. and MAD.

Henry was pulling a cart FULL of more crap that he'd bought at the garage sale! He asked if something was wrong.

Now or never, Meg.

"YES, something is wrong. Your house is messy and it smells bad. I don't like looking at your garbage all day and the smell makes me throw up."

Henry looked surprised, "is it a bad smell?"

"Uh, YES IT'S A BAD SMELL!!! It smells like rat urine and cats and rotting flesh and sewage and garbage! It's disgusting! Either clean your gross house or keep the garage door closed so we don't have to see it or smell it."

Then (like a coward) I turned around and walked away.

OK. I realize this was not my finest moment. Just so you don't think I am dead inside, you should know that the guilt of my horrible behavior did come and it hit like a bag of bricks, or a bag of garbage, if you will.

When we got home that night, Henry's garage door was closed.
It stayed closed the next day, and the next.
And the next.

It did not help that the lesson in Relief Society that Sunday was about loving your neighbors and bringing them closer to Christ. Of course it was.

Yeah. Remorse was slowly going to kill me. No one deserves to be spoken to like that. I wasn't even speaking, I was screaming, crying, and gagging. It was quite the tantrum. How UN-Christian of me. I know that I could have said something to him, but I didn't need to do it that way. I am so embarrassed. I think Aaron and my parents wanted to curl up in a ball and die after witnessing the show.

I needed to apologize.

But here's where my pride sneaks (read: marches) in.
I don't like to apologize. (I know, who does?)
I love being right and I hate admitting I've let my sharp tongue get the best of me. I've said a lot of stupid and offensive things to people (just humor me and act surprised, ok? I'm not feeling very proud of myself at the moment, so let's not go there), but never anything like this. I mean, I've apologize for being rude or snarky or whatever, but let me just tell you right now,

"I'm sorry I called you disgusting and screamed in your face" is not something I thought I would ever have to say.

I confess:
I found excuses and justified reasons to not apologize for 5 days.
Henry's garage did not open even once.

What if I broke him with my horrible words? Maybe he honestly has NO CLUE that he has a hoarding sickness and I was the one to bear the news? That has to be worse than hearing "you've got cancer" for a guy like Henry. I had to talk to him.

With Aaron's encouragement (he is so wise) I prayed for humility and courage to apologize. I might have prayed that it would be easy. I know that part isn't fair, but I did anyway. Just keepin it real for ya.

The next morning, I had an opportunity, and I knew it was time.
Reese and I heard the trash collector cruise past our house at 6:30am (why so early? They usually come at 2) We rushed outside to pull our cans to the curb and flag them down so they'd stop on their way back.

Henry's garage door opened.
I passed out.

Ok, not really, but you know how when you throw away a meat package or a really nasty diaper, and it sits in the metal trash can just cooking and festering and rotting in the heat of the sun day after day? Do you know how bad that trash can smells when you open the lid 5 days later? Bad. Real bad.

Sort of like how bad the smell that came from Henry's was when he opened the garage door for the first time in 5 days.

I held my breath, prayed for strength and a bridled tongue, and went over there and gave Henry a sincere, heartfelt apology. I really meant it. After a moment, he cut me off with a, "no worries" like it was water under the bridge.

To be that forgiving, I can't even imagine. If someone had offended me and MY home like that, I would have stewed over it to an unhealthy level and held a grudge for weeks. Not Henry. He was all smiles on trash day....which is ironic, because he never puts out any trash on trash day. His willingness to forgive made me feel even worse for how mean I had been!

Henry continued, "Next time, you just have to pat me on the back and say, 'hey buddy, you've got a smell!' Don't worry about it."

Oh the guilt! It was like I had kicked a puppy.

"Besides, I found the source of the smell."

Um, you burned your house down? I know the source, Henry. I'm standing in it.

Instead, I say, "you did? What's that?"

Henry proudly held up a gigantic black garbage back and I threw up in my mouth.
"60 lbs of rotten onions!"

Cue Janis from FRIENDS voice because oh. my. gosh.

My guilt left. My head exploded. I have learned pretty much nothing from this experience.

sixty. pounds.
60 pounds of onions! Rotten onions!
Who the crap buys 60 lbs of onions?! WHY did he have them? WHY did they rot? WHY does he live across the street? Why does he have no idea that he has an illness? WHY? WHY? Whyyyyyyyy?????


The following weekend, he brought his brother's truck home to unload into his house, full of stuff of course: several tool boxes, golf bags, a dining room table and a full set of chairs, one of those special assistance raised toilet seats on a stand with the bars, a cabinet, and TWO refrigerators.
And the garage remains open 24/7 again.

what am I supposed to be learning, here? Other than that it might be time to move, I mean.

Karma

Sometimes, having a private blog isn't so bad.

This weekend, Henry came over to show us his (now infected) reattached thumb, and invite us over for dinner at his place. (yikes.)
We quickly decided that it's too hot to cook, and we are going out to pizza together tomorrow night, instead.

Remember Henry?
Of course you do.

Do you remember 2 years ago, when I made fun of denim jumpers and a week later the universe got back at me and I somehow ended up wearing one?

Karma.
I deserved it.

This is Henry's House:
I call this photo series. "Piles of crap that have been buried by piles and piles of crap."




Meanwhile, while I arrogantly hahaha'd at Henry's ill behavior,
my air conditioner was flooding the carpet pads.

New carpet is getting installed in my home, today.
Which means everything I own needs to be moved out of the carpeted areas and into the dining room. Since these photos were taken, a piano, a treadmill, a changing table, and about 6 boxes of crap have been added to the horrific scene below.

My House:

Huh.
Whaddyaknow.

sort of looks like...piles of crap that have been buried by piles and piles of crap!

Karma bites.

Henry the Hoarder and a Vote.

The new occupant of Carl and Barb's old house is Henry.
When he moved in, it took over a week of NONSTOP movers, and full sized moving semis.

Henry has a lot of crap.
Literally. I've been inside the house. There is crap on the floor and there are bugs everywhere.
Henry is a Hoarder.

For real. A REAL hoarder. The kind that gets buried under piles of their own crap and they die and no one finds them for weeks.

Carl and Barb would DIE if they saw what has happened to their home.
I'm aware that I have a ton of crap in my garage and that my yard/landscaping needs to be kept up better. But at least I don't leave my crap filled garage door open 24/7!

Henry! Are you kidding me?! Close the door! I hate looking out my front window and looking at everything that everyone everywhere has ever thrown away piled up in your garage!

And, it's not just the garage. Henry doesn't run his A/C, and instead, leaves his front door and the door to his house from the garage open all day. He even props the screens open.

What the heck? Is he not aware that screens do not prevent a breeze from blowing. Screens are merely there to SCREEN the sight of your crap from my view. Let the screen do it's job, Henry.

On Sunday night, Henry shows up at our front door, holding his hands against his chest. The wife beater that he has been wearing (for at least a week from the looks of it.) was covered in blood. HALF of a bloody thumb has in his messy grasp. Sweaty Henry was shaking and said, "Oh I did a number on this one. I need ya ta take me to the hospital."

Aaron went down the hall to grab his shoes and keys, and settle the kids down while I grabbed an old towel and an ice back and ran outside barefoot to aid Henry...who didn't look so hot.

He'd cut himself with a circular saw.
He showed me the cut.
His thumb was BLACK. Henry had bled all over pretty much everything in the area (pile of garbage) where he'd been building a wooden shelf to store some of his garbage.

He said, "the house is sort of a mess, but I'm gonna need you to go in there and get my cell phone, my billfold from the pocket of the trousers on my bed."

I took a deep breath and we went inside.
I know you are thinking, Meg! You terrible person! Who cares if his house is messy?! He could lose his thumb! What's wrong with you?

But LISTEN, people.

This is not your ordinary messy house.
I do not use the word hoarder lightly, ok?
I knew that going in there meant hoping that there was a path left clear for me to walk on so I didn't step on any of his treasures.
It's like that episode of Friends, where Ross dates the girl with the messy apartment, and tried to describe it to Joey:

Ross: You know how you throw your jacket on a chair at the end of the day?
Joey: Yeah...
Ross: Well, like that, only that instead of a chair it's a pile of garbage. And instead of a jacket it's a pile of garbage. And instead of the end of the day it's the end of time, and garbage is all that has survived.

Actually, it's a lot like that.
I really didn't want to go back in there. But of course I did, because who wouldn't do that for someone...especially someone in pain.
I knew that Henry had lost a lot of blood and had probably bled all over the area he'd been using the saw, and then left a bloody trail through the house while he figured out what to do, and that I'd be walking through that biohazard.

and remember...

I. WAS. BAREFOOT.

I crossed my fingers, took a deep breath, and went inside with a hope that any disease living on what used to be the carpets of Henry's house had been eaten away by the penicillin growing on a moldy piece of food that had been left out.

Henry was really starting to fall apart at this point. His sentences were broken, he was stumbling around a lot and forgetting things suddenly, and I could tell he was in shock. I hollered to Aaron to grab a towel from the house (to wrap around Henry when he got in the car.).

We began the search for the phone. With incomplete instructions from poor Henry, I made it to the bedroom, and located the billfold and the cell phone. We headed out of the house and Henry stopped on the front step edge. He went white and just stared into space. I was really worried he was going to pass out, but he was non responsive when I asked him if he was ok. I told him to sit down and then he just looked at me and held his wounded hand tight.

"HENRY. You need to answer me. Are you ok?"
no answer.
"HENRY you need to sit down. I'm going to help you sit down."

"mmmm......uhhhh..."

I think this was the first time he'd left his house in awhile. He was freaking out. But he wouldn't MOVE. He was just swaying on the step and I knew that if he tipped over, I would not be able to break his fall. Aaron had just pulled the car to the front.
I decided to go TV Cop on him and get in his face.

HENRY! YOU LISTEN TO ME. You are going to pass out. You need to get into the car. Now.
Can you walk?

"I....uh...."
TV Cop Meg wasn't working, so I went with Mean Mom Meg instead.

"YES OR NO, Henry. Are. you. alright? YES or NO. I need an answer now or I am going to help you sit down right here on this step." In a normal situation, the lack of ability to give an answer would be considered a no. But in this case, I couldn't tell how much of it was just Henry's typical bizarre antics, or if he was wigging out due to his accident.

"uhhhhh....uh..."

"I'm going to count to three. ONE."
"I can. I think I'm fine."

"Of course you are. Now let's go get in the car." Ha! counting to three. works every time.

We helped Henry into the front passenger seat of the Civic. Aaron looked over at the wound and then immediately looked away. I just said, "you're going to be fine, Henry" and he said, "We can make it to the VA." Aaron said, "UH, VA? Is that the same place as the closest hospital?"

"No. I don't have any insurance. VA. You better go fast." Then he gave me instructions to go back inside, find the keys to the Buick (parked in the driveway, also full of crap) retrieve the so I could lock up his house and use the garage door opener to get out.

The VA is in Fayetteville, 45 minutes away from our house.
They passed like 5 hospitals on the way there. Poor Henry.

The only report I've gotten so far is that Henry's thumb was salvageable, but we don't really know. He came home the next day, but we haven't seen him. He had Aaron call his friend to come get him, then he was taken back to be stitched up.

So while they are en route to el hospital, I am putting 3 kids to bed....two of which have a LOT of questions about Henry.
What happened to his thumb? Was he playing with scissors? Did he use the sharp knife? Did he touch the saw tools? Why was he so stinky? Why did he have blood? Why is his house messy? Why did Dad drive him?

I did my best to answer them. But as I scrubbed the first 3 layers of skin off the bottom of my feet using scalding hot water, I had plenty of questions and thoughts of my own.

What drives people to become hoarders?
What does Henry even eat if he never leaves the house?
What was all that crap on his bed?
I wonder if those boxes of rotten strawberries that were there the last time I went inside his house are still by the back door? I bet they are, but they're covered in more garbage.

Hmmm....I wonder IF those strawberries are still there.
Naw. They're not there.
Are they there?
I'm supposed to find keys in that place? That puts a new perspective on the "needle in a haystack" saying.

Marge's broken arm, Marge's broken ribs, Marge's bruised tailbone and cracked hip, Marge's chipped tooth.
Carl's 1st stroke, Carl's truck accident
Disarming Ross
Henry's severed thumb.

Yup. We're officially neighborhood geriatric caretakers.

So here's where your opinion comes in.
You're going over to a house that is so messy, that no one believes you when you try to describe it. Instead, they'll just look at you like you are a terrible person for wishing you'd put on some shoes before going inside.

Vote: This situation is happening to you. You are headed over to "find the keys". Do you take your camera inside when you go back over?

Yes or No?

I did.