"You gonna get another job?"...

Good day today, but mentally (and physically) tiring. (I've at least touched on this before, so I apologize if it is repetitive.)

I don't consider myself a "hoarder." But my Dad grew up during the Depression and my Mom was born during it. And they both grew up on farms in rural Wisconsin in a time when you didn't just "run into town" every time you needed something (assuming town even HAD what you needed). So you hang onto things that might be useful. When you can't repair the old lawnmower anymore, you park it somewhere in case you need some parts off it for the new lawnmower.

Over the past 5 years I've bought 3 houses and a van. I've had 2 tenants move out. So I've accumulated "stuff." Old tin furnace pipes, tables, wheels, bamboo, the aforementioned lawnmower, drywall and lumber remnants, and other things less intrinsically valuable. Now having a 996sf basement, a tin shed, and garage space for 6+ cars (I have 2 and a motorcycle) makes it easy to hang onto stuff. And because I'm too cheap to spring for a dumpster, I have to break things down so they fit in my big trash can--and can only throw away as much each week as fits in the trash can. So today I was cleaning stuff out of the shed to get it ready to rent out. Luckily there's still plenty of stuff that can go before I start getting down to stuff where it's like "but I don't wanna throw that out."

Oh well, I guess I'd better get back out there. Gotta tackle the leaks in the roof and a few other things--to say nothing of general cleaning. Oh, and The Dog is reminding me it is time for her afternoon walk.

I understood that I like fixing things, but...I don't know if it's been awhile or what, but I feel absolutely joyous from an hour or two of working on leaks and failures on the tin shed roof. The fact that the weather was actually pleasant may have been a factor, but only a factor. You know what it was? I had problems and I tried solutions for them and the solutions actually seem to have worked. I guess we'll see the next time it rains though.

But yeah, literal, absolute joy. Like, "what is this feeling I'm having and how can I keep having it?" Like the Grinch's heart growing 3 sizes. That's how I feel right now. It's kind of cool, because I can't remember the last time I was this happy.

A quick draft to get an idea for a more polished essay down before I forget it: I am often more clever than I realize. And I sometimes miss an opportunity I've set up because it is so unconventional. Not entirely my fault. On at least two occasions people more experienced than me discounted those ideas too.

I'm in this train of thought because of the realization that, if fully rented at market rates, I could be grossing as much as $600 a month by renting out indoor vehicle storage. And that's mostly free and clear; less whatever commission Neighbor.com charges. But it's property I already own and is already paid for. There's no new insurance or renovation costs. It's basically ready to go. Based on the structure of the financing I've got for my next rental, I'd be lucky to get that much off it. Indeed, in the short term my next rental could actually *hurt* cash flow because I'd want to be paying down my loan. (In the long run a rental makes sense because cash flow improves as the loan gets paid down. And property values generally increase over time, but right now I'm missing out on potentially over $7,000 a year because it is an unconventional way of doing things.)

Then there's the war. Without giving away anything classified, I was a comm guy for Iraqi Freedom. I was supporting a pipeline across the desert so I needed to have communication every few miles so the pump stations along the way could tell each other what was happening up and down the pipeline. On paper, the way to do that is with radios. But the number of radios I was going to need was daunting. And the number of batteries needed to keep the radios running. AND the number of radio operators to keep that many radios running. So we brainstormed contingency plans. [And I need to dig up the name of the Sgt who endorsed what follows, because for various reasons I may flesh out later (or maybe now), I didn't give him enough credit at the time.] One was to just run wire and use old WWII style field phones in a gun loop/party line format. The question was if you could push a signal far enough over phone wire. So we took a bunch of spools of phone wire and started stacking them up and splicing them together to see how far you could push a signal. It looked like it would work. (There was a question of losing signal strength on wire actually played out over distance versus rolled up on a spool.) When I was explaining this all to Higher on the comm side, they agreed that it was a crazy plan and that radios were the way to go. So me and my staff agreed to keep this in our pocket as backup but not to brief it as a viable plan. Unfortunately for me, at that point they brought in someone of higher rank at my boss' request to take over my role (but without me actually being fired. That's a whole other story.) and he, of course, briefed our backup plan. And of course my old boss picked that as the plan to execute. As it happens, it worked wonderfully; far better than a gaggle of radios would have. Anyone can operate a field phone. And anyone can answer one when it rings.

Of course then there's my whole method of paying cash out of pocket for houses. On paper, leverage is the way to go. You build your empire by financing a house of cards and giving up a big chunk of your income to the banks for interest. Because you've got a lot of houses, you've also got a lot more overhead--repair, management, etc. Only owning a few houses, there are much less costs. You're still paying insurance and taxes but you'd pay that if you had mortgages. So you need far less houses to provide the same level of income.

I think that's about all that's in my brain right now. And it is far past time to walk The Dog. She's been very patient, but best not to push my luck--or her patience.

The Sunday afternoon post-siesta regaining momentum post. Not that much to do today. If I'd get going, I'd be done. But it's hard. So instead I'll snark about my friend. He is the most law-crazy person I know. He really needs to be in an HOA. When I was visiting, he was constantly telling me about all the rules and fines--fines for having your dog off-leash, jaywalking, speeding, apparently it is OK for your dog to be in the grass on the street side of the sidewalk, but not on the yard side of the sidewalk. I was like, if the police in your town have nothing better to do than write people $500 tickets for jaywalking, there must be no crime in your town. And who knows? Maybe he was right. But I saw plenty of people walking dogs off-leash and doing other things he warned me couldn't be done.

The reason I mention this is, like I said, after I left, he was making arrangements for someone to pick his daughter up from school. I suggested as a contingency plan, we take his car out and he could try driving. He was against that; rejected it outright. Now, as I said, this is an automatic transmission with all kinds of safety devices--cameras, a seat that vibrates if the car thinks you're getting to close to something. Apparently it killed his engine on him one time when someone ran a red light. Anyway, he called last night. He's up to walking 3 miles at a stretch(?) (Or in a day--I forget). He says he gets around his house without a cane. Then he mentioned making arrangements for people to run errands for him so I took the opportunity to again suggest that someone could run him down to the abandoned K-Mart parking lot down the street and he could try driving. His reply was that he was not allowed to drive for another 2 weeks and if he got in an accident, the first thing They'd ask him is if he was cleared to drive--and They would Know. Because The Insurance Company would tell Them.

OK. Where to begin? First off, how often do you get in accidents? As I said, it's an automatic and his hip replacement was on his right leg. You can brake with your left--which is probably the most important to avoiding accidents. For a lot of your driving you can just use the cruise control instead of the gas. And if you're up and walking, you sure ought to be able to drive. And again, his police department sure must have a lot more time on their hands than any one I know. The last time I was in an accident the police wouldn't even show up. And the time before that (I managed to get in 2 fender-benders about a year apart 5 years ago with my previous accident being in, like, 2009) the cops acted annoyed that I'd wasted their time and got away as quickly as they could. Also, why even ask permission to drive? If you don't ask permission, no one can tell you "no." And in the unlikely event that the cops asked you if you were cleared to drive, you could truthfully say "I don't know. I didn't know I had to be cleared to drive." Shit, he was probably in worse shape before he got his hip replaced and he drove then. I know he couldn't walk 3 miles with his old hip; couldn't even sleep for more than an hour at a time because it was so painful.

When I got my ACL repaired, my babysitter flaked on me. He almost didn't come back to pick me up from the operation and as soon as he got me to my house, he left instead of staying overnight. So by the next day I was walking a dog (with crutches and a big brace) by myself and driving a car--a manual transmission Mustang, at that--not long after. Because I had no choice. I'd get myself into the car, get the crutches in, get the brace off (tried leaving it on the first time and it's a miracle *I* wasn't in an accident), drove to where I was going, and put the brace back on.

Oh well, gotta make shit happen. Oh, one last thing: If you're my age, you probably had at least one elementary school teacher tell you "if there's a stupid law, you have to obey it until you can get it changed." This is wrong and terrible advice. It is literally unAmerican. Americans have ALWAYS ignored stupid laws. The posted speed limit these days and the tax on tea back in Colonial times. The attempted confiscation of arms at Lexington and Concorde and arrest of...I forget, Hamilton and Adams?...was literally the start of the Revolutionary War. A good number of our Founding Fathers were smugglers and tax cheats.

I have no idea where this is going. It could be a tight little piece about my early 20s. It could be a disjointed ramble from about 6th grade to the present. Most likely something in between--or both.

If I just put this all in a Word document--along with my Blue Room stuff from The Other Place--I'd have quite a head start on an autobiography, should I ever see fit to make one. But then there would be no audience--however small.

It's Fall. And it hit like a lightswitch. Kentucky weather is usually more fickle, but the last day of Summer was the 8th hottest day of the year and today was 10 degrees below normal--and there is a slight chance of frost in some areas this morning. My birthday is this week as well. And I just quit what was supposed to be my last job. So I'm in a transitory retrospective state. And I've been drinking and watching old Dr. Who. Yeah. This will probably ramble. But I'll try to be concise.

Somehow I got to thinking about my early 20s, living at the top (or was it the bottom) of the Nicollet Mall in Minneapolis. Just across I-94 from the Wrong Side of the Tracks. I got a place I was happy with. Then they decided to renovate, so they kicked everyone out and I moved a block or two across the street to a place that was a little seedier but in some ways nicer. Looking at it all on Google Maps, it has changed much. I don't see the first apartment. The second one is still there. The Jerusalem Cafe, home of great middle Eastern food and awesome Turkish coffee is an apartment. The supermarket I used to shop at is a vacant lot. The second apartment must've been built before electricity was reliable because--and I'm trying to remember the layout here--there was a window(?) in the bathroom? Even though the bathroom was on an inside wall. What they'd done was have this little 3' gap between apartments in the bathroom and there was a skylight at the top to let in natural light. Anyway, I'm rambling. I'd graduated college and moved to the Big City and was trying to execute my Plan.

It wasn't my first Plan. As far back as junior high--or maybe earlier--I was going to be a Scientist. And I was going to go to The University of Wisconsin. Not one of the crappy satellite ones like Eau Claire or La Crosse, THE University of Wisconsin. In Madison. But science wasn't very fun and no one encouraged me. And this helped me get lousy grades. And my family wasn't rich. And didn't know how to get financial aid (or wasn't willing). So in the end I went to the University of Wisconsin-Superior, where a couple of my high school friends went (actually one was across the state line at the University of Minnesota-Duluth, but close enough) and studied Art. Because while I was a borderline genius, no one ever encouraged me at that, but I did have an art teacher that encouraged me and my Mom was proud of my art. And my Dad had done some painting. Since I realized it was hard to make a living as an artist, I put together a minor in business. But UW-S was such a small school that courses had to be taken in order and some courses weren't offered every year and I'd already spent far too long in school. So since I'd done some theater, I marched back to the fine arts building and asked how soon I could graduate with a theater minor and that's how I got a BS in studio art with a minor in theater.

Which gets us back to the early 1990s. Minneapolis had a pretty good theater scene. I could move there, live with my favorite Aunt until I got my own place, and break into set design and construction. I could also sell freelance art to magazines. But selling art to magazines is harder than it seems. And you really appreciate people talking about getting rejection letters on TV talk shows when you've gotten them yourself. Also, Minneapolis was a union town. So to get into theater you joined the union and went to the bottom of the hiring list. And if no one else was available, you got a job. This didn't work so good, so I got various temp jobs and work at a bookstore and even as a janitor (but at a theater and art museum!) and The Plan fell by the wayside.

When I was a janitor I worked with a guy from Florida who was looking to leave the Twin Cities because it was too cold. I told him it wasn't so bad if you had the right clothes and he said that was the point: You shouldn't need special clothes to keep from dying when you go outside. This stuck with me. Along with comedian Rondell Sheridan, when he did a show at UW-S in the dead of winter and said you should move somewhere warm if you didn't like the cold. He said it funnier than that, but I've already rambled on long enough and don't want to get sidetracked into that story right now. My Dad grew up on a farm in rural Wisconsin. But when the War came he wound up in France. (I edited his autobiography.) That never would've happened except for the military. My first flight on a jet plane was to go see my younger brother graduate Boot Camp for the Marines in San Diego. Later he went to Okinawa. Historically, the military was a way for someone to move to a higher social standing. And to travel. Also, because the military was evil and needed to be fixed and the best way to fix something was from within, with the blessing of my brother, I talked to a recruiter about joining the Marines.

And we'll have to cover any more in another discussion.

On a completely different topic, I've gotten increasingly soft and squeamish in my old age and I've been glad I haven't had to kill anyone. But right now, if I met the person who burglarized my house a few years back, I think I'd shoot him to death without hesitation. Hell, when I got home and found the window open and found the ladder to the attic down and that, while most of my guns were missing, my holdout pistol was still there, I went into the attic with the intention of emptying the clip into the back without any warning if I found someone up there. (Because at the gun I was holding was the 2nd least powerful one I owned and I wasn't going to give someone a chance to get off a shot with a .45 or a .357 at me.)

It has been a very, VERY long time since I've gone Full Timelord. Just too hard. And messy. And annoying. But I feel tomorrow it must happen. Wool check trousers with suspenders. Doc Marten's boots. Fancy socks. French cuff shirt with "?" cufflinks. Waistcoat. Maybe even a bowtie. Because bowties are cool. It should be even cool enough for a coat. Throw in a sonic screwdriver, a TARDIS key, assorted rings, Jelly Babies, and I'm ready to save the universe from the Daleks. Or walk The Dog. Either one.

Yeah. I had a lawn to mow. Too much hassle to change clothes to mow the lawn. But soon!

So. As it happens, I've completed another orbit of the Sun today. I wanted to do a Birthday portrait (selfie) but I was too lazy to do the appropriate grooming. I briefly considered the aforementioned Full Timelord. But then considered the rest of the day, the time spent changing, and the realities of my dog and just went with more or less Hannibal Smith (we're in the brief window in Kentucky where a safari jacket is viable apparel). And it was a good call. Because I wound up tramping around in brambles and underbrush (is it trespassing if no one is there to see it?), which is much less unpleasant in a safari jacket, gloves, jeans, and combat boots than wool trousers and topcoat with a waistcoat and a tie. Whatever. I can't complain.

And apparently I'll be learning how to do a concrete pad. :/ Gravel floor in the little garage. First guy was like "we'll do all the grading and of course we'll have to jackhammer out this front bit..." and I knew where his quote was going to come in--about $4,000 more than I wanted to pay. Next guy was only $500 more than I wanted to pay but I still needed to dig out gravel--and I was getting ready to go to Wisconsin for a week. Once I was back and done with the excavating, I texted him to get on the calendar. He said he'd stop by and have another look at it Thursday or Friday. That was 2 weeks ago. Haven't heard from him since. So yesterday I called another guy and he said he'd be by in a half hour to have a look at it. Haven't heard from him since. So I guess I'll be rereading my "Reader's Digest Complete Do It Yourself Manual" and calling a ready-mix company to get a couple yards of concrete delivered. :/

Have you done this sort of thing before? It's not as straightforward as it seems. For a vehicle park IIRC the concrete needs to be at least 4 inches thick. And it needs to be on a proper base of crushed stone to allow for drainage and resistance to settling and cracking. You might even want to put some rebar in it for extra strength. The earth the slab is on, even if it's undisturbed ground, probably should be gone over with a tamper to make sure it's compacted properly. It's a lot of work.

Same with painting an A-Team van. And I wound up doing that myself and it came out well enough for my purposes. Or running electricity to this building. And I did that. I've put roofs on garages and tiled bathrooms. It's not rocket science. (LxWxD)/27=the number of yards of concrete you need. The ground is already pretty nicely level and compacted, on account of having been the gravel floor of a garage for around 80 years. And there's a concrete foundation. Have the concrete poured into the foundation, which will serve as a form, screed it with a board, then continue smoothing it with a...skimmer? I forget the term. Then let it dry. I'd love to pay someone to do it. Unfortunately the only people who will do it want between $2,500 and $5,000 and I can do it for around $500. Sooo....

The Cat is exhausting. He doesn't understand that, outside, he is nowhere near the top of the food chain. But he really enjoys being out, so I let him out. And sometimes he refuses to come in. Went out around 6. And from 7-8 I made an effort to get him back in and he absolutely refused. I mean, I kept going out to check on him, but there's been no sign of him since 8. Yesterday one of the neighbor's barn cats was stalking him and he refused to come in so I let it get a piece of him before intervening, to see if it would give him a little survival instinct. It did not. Last time I was out the feral white cat that's lived in the neighborhood for about a year was in the yard at one of The Cat's preferred hideouts. It ran off, but no sign of him. I'll give him one last shot before bed and then I'm afraid he's on his own.

Got up to use the bathroom around 5am so I did stick my nose out to look for him. And again briefly around 7:30. Then when I finally got up and got the coffee going, I went out for a good search. No sign of him anywhere. Of course this got The Dog's attention and she wanted to go Out. But not really. She needed to use the bathroom but didn't seem particularly happy about it so I decided to stay out in hopes that she'd lure The Cat out--or find him. After she'd peed in about 5 different places, she headed over to her dumping grounds so I decided to just go back inside when the little fucker magically appears from his lair under the deck (that I checked at least 7-8 times) like nothing happened. Although this time he was a little more willing to let me pick him up and bring him inside. Now he's chilling in my easy chair.

The Dog has been very low key since yesterday. And clingy. And sleeping a lot. She went back to bed after coming in. She's only 5 1/2 so now I'm worrying about that.

Between the two, I've decided it's good that I never became a parent. Because all the worrying would've eventually killed me.

Boring end of weekend wasting time post. If I did my bookkeeping instead of this, I could say I got everything done for the weekend. But it's dark out already and I've got a belly full of fried food and beer so...that's probably not happening.

New Dog is not Old Dog. New Dog is not big on car rides. At first I thought it was just because it was hot and the AC didn't work, but today was cool and she didn't want to go. Old Dog was also very ball motivated. To the point that, regularly on walks, she'd pop into a bush or a ditch and come out with a ball. Tennis ball, football, soccer ball, you name it. So I've got 2 big storage totes full of balls that New Dog could care less about.

So The Plan was to take them to the dog park. Although The Plan has been somewhat stymied by The Dog having no interest in going to the dog park. And since she'd rather walk around the neighborhood and that saves me driving time, I'm usually lazy and just take her for local walks. But today we went to the dog park. And it was good because they were about out of toys. I've still got at least one more load to bring but we didn't even fill up the toy bins with the first load.

Considered the taco place on the way home, but they don't have a drive-thru also, I didn't feel like keeping a dog away from my carne asada burrito for the entire drive--or mixing up a margarita when I got home. Anyway, I had my heart set on fish & chips.

Oh, since his outdoor overnight, The Cat had no interest in getting out of the house today and mostly just slept in my easy chair all day. When we got home, he briefly went out, but came back in. But then he wanted to play or something. Unfortunately it was after 7pm and I'd been thinking about fish & chips the whole way home.

I like frozen potatoes. They're less of a hassle than actually preparing a tuber. The little hash brown patties. French fries. Unfortunately you can't find any frozen potatoes in the supermarkets these days. I guess this is just the latest manifestation of this dystopian nightmare we're living in. So I bought a 3# bag of potatoes. And it's been kind of good. I've got a nice iron skillet and a big jar of olive oil. So I've been having homemade French fries with hamburgers and now I'm moving to fish & chips. Probably taking a break from frying after that. It's tasty, but almost more trouble than it is worth. Anyhow, since cats have short attention spans, he didn't want to play anymore after I was done eating. Still, if he gets riled up, I'd better play with him. Old Cat wasn't big on playing. She liked to be brushed 5 minutes in the morning and 5 minutes in the evening. But New Cat could care less about brushing, he wants to chase shit around.

Well, I guess I could take a shower and mix a cocktail and decide if I want to tackle any bookkeeping or not. Then I need to figure out what I'm doing with this upcoming week. I'm not working, so I'd better make sure I've got positive cash flow--or start looking for a job. And I've got a load of concrete showing up Friday morning, so I'd better be ready for that. Because once you've bought it you've got to take possession of it. And I really don't need a big pile of concrete anywhere on my property; I need a nice parking spot in my garage. And I'd rather not wreck a pair of boots and generally wing it as the concrete is setting.

Bah. If you're going to be a flake, just go all in. Guy that was going to do my concrete that didn't write down my address so I had to text it to him and then lost(?) broke(?) his phone in the 2-3 weeks between giving me an estimate and me being able to schedule him--so I had to send him my address a third time--wanted to come by one more time tomorrow or the next day to have another look. He did NOT come by. Or call. So, a week later, I just made other plans. Now, a week and a half after he said he'd be coming back for a second look, he texts "sorry, I got busy, I'll stop by tonight." So now I have to be a dick and tell him I couldn't wait so I scheduled someone else. If you're gonna disappear, just disappear. Don't come back and create an awkward situation.

OK. One of today's missions was to prep for this Friday morning pour. Got out my "Reader's Digest New Complete Do it Yourself Manual" and looked at the tools I need. At minimum a screed board and a bull float (that's the thing that does the final smoothing, not whatever I called it). You can make a bull float. But I don't have a 4 foot 1x8. And I definitely needed some rubber boots. I mean, I have some rubber boots. But I needed some that I can ruin.

The plan was to go to Wal*Mart for cheap, shitty rubber boots (since I'll be wearing them exactly once) but both big box hardware stores were on the way so I stopped into one to see if they had boots. And ready-made bull floats. They had both. But the boots were $30. And the fancy magnesium bull float was well over $100--and that wasn't even with a handle. So I'd be making one and going to Wal*Mart for boots.

Surprisingly, boots at Wal*Mart weren't that much cheaper. Ones with steel toes were also $30. But they did have them without steel toes for $20. (Concrete is caustic as fuck. Wear boots and gloves to work with it. Or buy 3 gallons of hand lotion to apply to your cracked and useless claws and watch your entire epidermis slough off so you look like a boiled pig.

I've got more reading, studying, and prep work to do, but this video:

removes a lot of worries. You don't need to make some kind of platform or mechanism. You just wade around in the concrete while you screed it. And then you need a handle for your bull float that is long enough to get to the back of the garage.

Oh, and the other thing: Yes, standard thickness for a garage floor is 4". Even for a very light duty garage. For the space I'm working in, that means I need 2 1/8 yards of concrete. But my ready-mix company only delivers in half yard increments. I opted for 2 yards instead of 2.5 yards, which makes for about a 3.7" thick floor. Would that missing 1/4" be a problem? Should I buy some bags to mix up in the wheelbarrow? I was out walking The Dog tonight and saw a concrete driveway were it went over a culvert and it looked suspiciously thin so I popped over to measure it. 3.5". For a driveway that's probably been in use for a half century or more. So I don't think my skimping on concrete will be a problem.

Of course I've now said all this out loud, so it will all probably blow up in my face and I'll have to burn everything down and hope insurance covers it. I don't know. We'll see.

I don't know how people manage to raise humans. A dog and a cat make me question my qualification to be responsible for other lives--and I'm actually a pretty smart guy.

The Dog has been a bit lethargic lately--and not eating as much as usual. Kind of funny poops too. So I'm debating a vet visit for that--although she just had her heartworm med for the month and that can make her a bit "off." Anyway, a trip to the vet usually winds up like the old "take 2 aspirin and call me in the morning" doctor joke--there's either nothing wrong or nothing they can do.

Meanwhile, The Cat. Playing with him this morning and I notice an imperfection in his fur. Turns out he's got a bald spot about the size of a dime on one of his haunches that has a nice laceration in the center of it. It isn't bleeding and doesn't look infected and certainly doesn't seem to be slowing him down, so I guess we'll just keep an eye on it. This morning he wanted to go Out with The Dog and when a squirrel came running out from his Lair under the deck, he leapt off the deck in hot pursuit, which makes me think he managed to get himself bitten by a squirrel.

I'm hiding out. A bit. I learned that the market rate for indoor car storage is around $150 a month on Neighbor.com. I've got 4 empty parking spots in my outbuildings. So potentially $600 a month just for not having my sheds full of clutter. But I haven't listed them yet. Because they're "not ready." They're probably ready. But I want to give them a thorough cleaning (and of course one needs a floor poured this week) and maybe get some more of the junk on the periphery cleaned up. And then there's the fence! I have a fenced yard. Chain link. It looks about how you'd think a 40" chain link fence at an 80 year old house would look. There's a magic trick for classing up an old rusty galvanized chain link fence: you get the fluffiest paint roller you can find and an appropriate amount of gloss black Rustoleum and roll it on. Then touch up the bits you couldn't get with the roller using a brush. It's simple, relatively cheap, and produces amazing results. It's also somewhat messy and unpleasant. But my rationale was that if you are renting out storage space, you want a slick-looking fence. Also, doing this was a way to avoid listing the spaces and having to deal with whatever happens after that. I've still got to go back and do the touch-up with the brush, but it looks a lot better.

There's so much to do at this place. Even if I manage to retire, I'll have ample stuff to keep me busy for a long time. At least that's what I figure.

What about possible liability when some claims (truthfully or untruthfully) that some how their care was damaged and they want compensation?