This is Gary’s dog, Manny, as a puppy in 1976. He was the first Afghan Hound we bred, shown in puppy coat. We kept him all his life. He was a smart boy.

I thrashed the kitchen the other day and Gary had to clean it. It’s what he does most days. It had been hard that day. His brother called to complain and then hung up on him. This brother doesn’t like Oregon’s Governor Brown and believes Hitler went to Brazil, and worries that Gary is “leftwing.” Gary told him we like Governor Brown (the brother is a resident of Washington) and Hitler is dead. Yeah, and we’re leftwing. My husband’s brother was diagnosed schizophrenic when he was fifteen.

He is at the age where the general mental health of some schizophrenics improves. This has not happened for him. He is not worse than he was as a teenager, but he is not better. He still tends to rant about things a good deal, has no interest in anyone’s opinion unless they are agreeing with him, and he hangs up on people if they disagree, or might have taps on their lines, or for other reasons too convoluted and absurd to go into. He has never been on meds, has never been institutionalized, is sometimes banned from call-in radio shows, but otherwise does not cause trouble. He argues with people but has not spent time in jail that I know of.

On the other hand, another relative has been arrested and convicted of abusing his spouse, began court-ordered therapy in his late forties, and with good behavior had that conviction wiped from his record. He is not schizophrenic but has anxiety and phobias and perhaps borderline personality disorder, which is not nice, but he can be charming and he is very smart. He has been institutionalized only briefly, and has been on meds and in therapy for many years. He is also not better. He is, some might judge, worse.

He is depressed and rarely leaves his home and is lonely and claims he has driven away all his friends. He is angry and blames people for failing to behave better. All this is likely true, though I have not spoken to him in a long time.

I was reminded of this just the other day when I called to make a reservation at a charming coastal hotel. There was some confusion about who I was. And the story came out about repeated reservation cancelations. The person I talked to was charmed, but anxious herself about those cancellations. I promised I would not cancel.

So. A cake, some sadness about our family members, and a clean kitchen.

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