Monthly Archives: July 2019

Shades of happy.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Dementia, Laughter, tears

A neighbor drove by while I was walking the dog one morning. She stopped to say she missed seeing Peter out with Nobby. “I do too,” I said, “thanks.”

“How is he doing?”

“Better than most,” I told her. “We’re ‘lucky.'”

“Tell him Ron and I said ‘hello.'”

Another morning walk and another neighbor, Ann, stopped at the curb. “I’ve wanted to tell you how much I enjoy your blog,” she said. “I help someone who has Alzheimer’s. It’s tough all ’round…” she waved goodbye, then called out, “by the way, love your dog.”

Monday an email reminded me, as if I could forget, that my blog would be featured July 17—today— on the AlzAuthors’ website. Anyone who writes, who longs to be published, who doesn’t care if she ever earns a cent will understand what an absolute thrill this is.

Published!

When I took Nobby out yesterday I was still doing my happy dance from the previous day’s news. Yet another neighbor came along and, when Nobby bounced over for a cuddle, she remarked that her golden doodle was as happy as mine.

Any of my followers who are dealing with or affected by any of the dementias should look at AlzAuthors to read other writers who have advice, ideas or kind words on a subject that affects 500 thousand more people each year in the United States alone. You can learn more about AlzAuthors here https://www.facebook.com/AlzAuthors/  here  https://twitter.com/AlzAuthors and here https://www.instagram.com/alzauthors/

To be published on a national site and, more importantly, to be able to share, more broadly, our experiences, Peter’s and mine, well, it’s intoxicating! “Happy” doesn’t begin to describe my joy.

Header photo: Delicate old-fashioned hollyhock disappeared from my garden years ago. I spotted it recently, tucked among the branches of the Nashiki willow, in a different spot entirely, but still as pretty.

 

 

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

 

 

 

He who laughs last…

Posted on by under eye of beholder, Good news, Laughter

A number of conversational prompts loop through Peter’s brain — he’s concerned about how tall the trees are, he wonders at the numbers of cars in parking lots, he’s overly curious about what lies at the bottom of a hill behind the facility, and he constantly asks “How was work today?”

“I’ve been retired for 30 years, Peter.”

“Thirty years?” He’s astonished.

“I retired a couple months before Samantha was born, you know.”

“How old is she?”

“Uh-h, thirty!” He shakes his head. “And I’m eighty,” I say.

“EIGHTY?” He collapses with laughter. He sputters, his face is red and tears leak out the sides of his eyes as he collapses against the back of his chair. “EIGHTY?” He slaps his knee as he cackles.

I’m a bit miffed. “Don’t laugh so hard, bud,” I say, “you’re eighty-one!”

His eyes pop and he gasps. “No one told me! How did that happen? Eighty-one?” He thinks for a few seconds, then, quick as ever, says, “We look pretty good, don’t we?” And we both laugh uncontrollably, me at how quick, how sharp his retort, and him at his own joke about our unbelievable, hysterically funny ages.

Header photo: 1930’s era Packard is older than we are. And it’s punctuated with bullet holes.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

Laughs aside.

Posted on by under Laughs lost

My husband is nothing if not inventive. Over the past year he has created multiple, novel ways to corral his belongings. He’s wrapped his shirts and trousers in the plastic wastebasket liners, he’s lodged his toothbrush in its plastic container along with six tightly folded handkerchiefs, he’s used the tie-backs on his curtains to bind books together.

Like many residents, Peter packs his belongings to go home, sometimes several times a week; sometimes his room is tidy. He’s stuffed underwear in his shoes, and recently he crammed all of his clothes into a pair of trousers. It looked like the bottom half of a scarecrow, I’m told. If I’d been there I would have taken a picture.

Small items regularly disappear — nail brush, wooden pencils, socks — only to be fished out of his pockets an hour, a day, a week later. One day I noticed he had no sheets or pillow cases on his bed. He’d slept on the mattress with the mattress pad as a cover the night before. Didn’t stop him from sleeping soundly, I’m sure.

Lately, I’ve noticed he often wears two, long-sleeved dress shirts. He isn’t cold, he’ll say, he just forgot he already had a shirt on when he got dressed. One day he was wearing two belts, the end of one fastened to the buckle of the other. “Something’s wrong here,” he said with a silly look on his face.

The clever ways he keeps from taking his medications are not funny, but he’s such an impish personality that he gets away with his tricks almost as often as not. The doctor just increased one medication significantly to curb his too-high A1C. Full blown diabetes is knocking on dementia’s door. That is not laughable at all.

Header photo: Peter enjoys the laughs he creates.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist.