Author Archives: judithclarkewrites

‘So far, so good.’

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Dementia, Obsessive

The insurance company nurse comes twice a year to assess my husband. One of her questions is, Can he bathe himself, brush his teeth, toilet himself? She asks Peter, but looks to me for answers.

I know he scoffs silently at the mere mention of the topic.  My answer is always an enthusiastic yes. On that point I am — we are — way luckier than many who live with any form of dementia.

Peter has been taking multiple showers a day for the past year or so. This wasn’t always the case. I used to have to remind him he needed a shower, but now, if he sweats even a tiny bit, he reacts as if he’s been dipped in pond scum. “I’m all sweaty,” he’ll say as he races through the house and up the stairs.

He almost never puts on clean clothes afterwards. I don’t understand, but I don’t question, glad that I don’t have to help him bathe nor wash piles of clothes…yet. For some reason, wearing a shirt that is damp and stinky doesn’t bother him. It’s the sweat itself that is his bugaboo.

The rest of the personal hygiene issues aren’t issues yet. From the articles I’ve read, I know what’s coming.

Peter always says, if asked how he is, “So far, so good.”

“It could be worse,” is what I say if anyone asks me.

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2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

Mow and mow and mow the grass.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Chores, Dementia, Nag

Keep him doing chores that he can still do is my motto. Gives him a sense of purpose and helps me. My husband can still empty the dishwasher, clear up after dinner, sweep the terrace, mow the grass. He no longer hauls the garbage bins out to the street because he forgets which way they face. Easier for me to do it than to explain.

Each  of his chores has become problematic for both of us. When he empties the dishwasher I put away the odd things he doesn’t recognize — juicer, salad spinner, flour sifter — and after we eat I must put leftovers away or he’ll throw them out.

Version 2

Cotton-tailed trimmer.

Mowing the yard has become an all-day event. If I remind him that the grass needs cutting, and if he’s in the mood to do it, he’ll mow front and back, come in complaining how hot he is, take a shower, then go back outside and start to mow all over again. When I catch him to tell him he already mowed, he argues. I point out the freshly manicured lawn, but he doesn’t believe me. He is hot though, so he showers again, and tries to mow a third time.

Or not.

A week ago I couldn’t get him to cut the lawn at all. When the grass was nearly at mid-calf, I threatened. He mowed the outer edges of each section, but left the middles. He put the mower away. I asked him to finish mowing. He would not. Suddenly, he went out and started the mower. He was going round and round the front when it started raining. Blinding sheets of rain. He would not stop. He kept going and going and going, an Energizer bunny. He was drenched. “No reason to quit once I got so wet,” he said with a silly smile when he came in the back door.

He headed upstairs to take another shower.

 

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

‘When life gets you down … just keep swimming!’

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Dementia, Family, Laughter, Remember

Dory, the brilliant blue, wide-eyed tang fish who stars in “Finding Dory,” has a problem with memory loss much like my husband does. I’d forgotten that Dory was a supporting player in “Finding Nemo” (2003), so I didn’t realize forgetfulness was key to the storyline for the new movie when Leslie took us to see it.

Peter didn’t remember Nemo at all, even though we saw the movie in a theater and have watched the video several times. Nor did he remember “Finding Dory” on the Thursday after he’d seen it on Sunday. But he liked it all over again.

Dory, who hasn’t seen her parents in years, remembers the importance of family, but little else. We just enjoyed a week with family that was filled with raucous laughter and good food. Peter hasn’t forgotten the good times we’ve all had in the past, though specific memories have faded. He can’t even remember much about the past eight days.

Screen Shot 2016-07-10 at 5.17.39 PMAnytime either of is down in the dumps, I look for reasons to laugh. According to Dory, swimming would help too…if Peter knew how to swim. He can’t even float, except two feet below the surface. That’s always makes me laugh, though he doesn’t think it’s funny at all

Credit: Disney•Pixar “Finding Dory” (2016)

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A last hurrah?

Posted on by under Caregiver, Dementia, Good news

“Where have you been?” Peter asked. It was the wee hours of Monday morning and he was just getting into bed.

“Los Angeles…I just got back,” I said. “The plane was late.”

“Why were you there?”

“Columnists’ conference, remember? I marked it on the big calendar downstairs.”

“Hm-m,” he muttered and, lights out, he was asleep. So much for a welcome home hurrah.

Leslie had been in charge my four days away. She (and Carolynn, too) can handle Peter, often more easily than I can. She’d been asleep on the couch and went home as soon as I came in.

When Peter came downstairs next morning, I said, “Gooood morning,” as I do every day.

He affected his fake startled look, as he always does, and said, “Oh, hello…I thought you were away.”

“I came back…two o’clock this morning,”

“Where were you?”

“L.A.” I said, pointing to the calendar on the kitchen counter.

“Mm-m, that was a long time ago. I don’t remember.” The previous Thursday was ancient history in Peter’s mind

I didn’t expect him to remember, but still it rankled. “It was one of the most exciting things I’ve ever done,” I said. I wanted to tell him about it, but showed him photos on my phone instead.

“I’m sorry, there’s just nothing in my head anymore.” He sighed and knocked on his forehead with his fist.

“But it doesn’t sound hollow,” I said and we laughed.

I didn’t even try to tell him that I’d won the number two spot in my category. Or that the award came with two hundred dollars or that I sat next to my idol Leonard Pitts at dinner.

IMG_3374When I showed him this photo of Los Angeles’ infamous rush hour traffic, he asked, “Who would want to face that every day?”

“Not me,” I said. “Coming downstairs is as far as I want to travel to go to work.”

 

 

Header photo: Mid-night rose.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

Perfect do-nothing day.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Childlike, Family

“Do you want tea or coffee for ‘second breakfast’?” I asked my husband. “I’m fixing waffles.”

“What? Tea or coffee? What are you having? What are we having?”

“I’m having tea, we’re having waffles…and fruit, lots of fruit,” I told him.

“OK, tea then. What’s the occasion?” Peter asked.

“It’s Father’s Day.”

“You’re making me waffles?”

“Mmm-m,” I said, “it’s Father’s Day.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. It’s Father’s Day, do nothing until I tell you it’s ready.”

“I’m good at doing nothing,” he said.

“Yes, you are,” I said.

This day is perfect — a Crayola box of colors, balmy air, bright sun. I set the table outside, made a pot of tea, washed raspberries, blueberries and a peach, got out real butter and real maple syrup, and popped a whole package of frozen waffles into the toaster.

Peter ate as if he hadn’t had a meal in days. “I would like to have two birthdays every year…” he said, smacking his lips.

“This isn’t your birthday, it’s Father’s Day.”

“Not February? What is it then?

“June. It’s never warm like this in February,” I said.

“Well, I’d like two birthdays like this. This is good.”

“It’s still Father’s Day.”

“Are we doing anything special later?” He made a silly, little boy face.

“Yes, Leslie is taking you…and me…to a movie and dinner.”

“Wow, I’d like another birthday like this.”

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UnknownA card arrived from Carolynn yesterday. On the front, the unmistakeable silhouette of Mickey Mouse, Peter’s hero, and a “Hooray for Dad” message. He looked at it again and again, then put it next to his chair. When I looked at it this morning, I realized why he’s confused about today. The message says:

As far as dads go,
there’s not a more classic
character than you.
Hope your birthday’s
as special as you are.

Beneath that she wrote, I know you can’t remember all the cool things you did with Leslie and me…but we do! Happy Father’s Day!

Birthday? Father’s Day? Doesn’t matter. He’s loved by “his girls” and he’s happy.

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Mickey Mouse webgrab/Pinterest

Header photo: Crayola box colors in the garden.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

There’s always something worse.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Favorites, Laughter, tears

Peter asked his usual question, “What do I order here?” I gave my usual answer, “Beef.” We were at Lefty’s, a favorite restaurant, and we were hungry. I wasted no time ordering steak au poivre for him, Asian chicken salad for me.

He gazed out the big windows. “Looks like afternoon,” he said. “The sky is so blue.” Cloudless skies delight him.

“Technically, it is afternoon,” I said. “It’s not even five-thirty.”

“I never know what time it is anymore.” He looked at his watch. “Looks like daytime,” he said.

“It is daytime,” I said.

He followed the script engraved on his brain. “Any news from ‘upstate,’ or have I already asked?”

“Well, yes, you have, and, no, no news.”

“Any good movies on?” He realized that was another routine question and he smiled when I shook my head.

He looked at me, eyes questioning, mouth downturned. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, just thinking how I am now and how I used to be. I can’t even talk anymore.”

“You never talked,” I reminded him, “and besides, you’re doing OK, a lot better than some. There are worse things.”

“Worse for you maybe,” he said, with a teasing smile, “but not for me.” For some reason, that made us laugh and his downcast moment was erased. Forgotten.

When our meal arrived, he reached for the salt and pepper. As always, he salted and peppered liberally without first tasting his food. One of my pet peeves.

“You are peppering your steak au poivre,” I said.

He shrugged. “So?”

“It is pepper steak,” I said.

He laughed, I sneezed, we laughed together.


Unknown

Header photo: Willow glows at dawn.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

He doesn’t know what he doesn’t know.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Numbers count

Did anyone hear me yelling a few days ago? I yelled out of frustration with myself as much as with my husband…because once again he managed to confuse our so-called “smart” tv by pushing the wrong buttons on the remote. I’m not smart enough to know what’s wrong, so I can’t fix it.”

After stewing about the problem for days, I finally got smart and photographed the television screen with its various error messages. Then I gathered up the remotes and my smart phone and went to the shop where we bought the tv. I explained how the remote got bungled and asked if there was such a thing as a remote with on/off and channel/volume choices only? I laughed, but I wasn’t kidding.

The owner wasn’t kidding either when he suggested he might be able to disable the two problem buttons so they wouldn’t function at all.

“Go for it,” I said. Five minutes later he was done. I giggled when he told me he’d taped over the tiny printed circuit boards. “My husband was an electrical engineer for forty years,” I said. “At one time, problem-solving, printed circuit boards and codes were his expertise.” I put my sunglasses on quickly to hide the tears that flooded my eyes at the irony.

That evening, even with television viewing possible again, I suggested we go to a movie. “‘The Man Who Knew Infinity’ is playing,” I said. “Remember, we saw the previews…about a math genius. You thought it looked interesting.”

Peter nodded. “I do remember. Yes. Let’s go.” He was as surprised as I was that he remembered, but he’s always been numbers man. He can still count backwards by sevens from one hundred easily, a skill that is rated on Alzheimer’s assessments.

The movie was absolutely engrossing. One review gave it two stars, but I gave it five on a four-star scale. I peeked at Peter throughout. He never once nodded off. Every so often I asked if he understood what they were talking about because I certainly didn’t. He did.

On the way home, I asked again if he really understood all the terms — partitions, proofs, integers, numbers theory — gobbledygook to me. He laughed. “Course I did,” he said, “but that was way before my time.”

The brilliant minds of Srinivasa Ramanujan and G.H. Hardy (Dev Patel and Jeremy Irons) are beyond my ken, but I appreciate their story. I cried at the end. I almost never cry at movies.

The five partitions of the number four
1+1+1+1  |   1+1+2   |   1+3   |   2+2  |  4

Header photo: Outsmart the smart tv.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

The little things are getting bigger.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Helpful hints, Problems

It’s him asking over and over “why they’re digging up our driveway?” It’s not understanding that the plumber’s crew aren’t “looking for” anything. They’re replacing our sewer line, collapsed and choked by roots, after 60 years.

It’s knowing that telling him something will make no impression, as if I never said anything at all. It’s knowing that he won’t even see my note, underlined in red, that I’ve left to remind  him of an event, a date, a task.

It’s putting a shovel in the ground exactly where I want a hole dug for the azalea that was yanked out last week, knowing the shovel will be put away before the task is even started. It’s knowing he’ll ask why the azalea, jammed in a big flower pot, was sitting next to the shovel.

It’s me YELLING because once again he managed to confuse our so-called “smart” tv by pushing the wrong buttons on the remote. I’m not smart enough to know what’s wrong, so I can’t fix it.

IMG_3266I thought I’d come up with a brilliant way to avoid telling him things he’d forget, or writing notes he wouldn’t understand: I suggested he write a note to himself about how to turn the tv on and off, for example. He liked that and labored over the words. His own message worked for 24 hours. We’re lost without the tv, Peter because he watches anything, anytime, and me because he’s content and calm when it’s on.

It’s me begging him not to move the plumber’s drainpipe extension because it helps direct rainwater away from our not-yet-resurfaced driveway. I growl when I see that he’s moved it to where he wants it again. I had him insert metal garden stakes along the pipe to hold it where it’s supposed to rest, thus reminding him that it shouldn’t be moved. Worked so far.

It’s me, arguing when he said he did not fill in the hole he’d just dug or “plant” the weeds I’d just pulled. I know better than to argue.

Yes, I look for laughs every day, but days like this, there aren’t any.

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This is where the azalea once lived.

Header photo: The big dig.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

‘Forget about your worries and your strife…’

Posted on by under Childlike, Favorites

“Any good movies on?” is one of my husband’s litany of questions. Usually I shake my head. He no longer wants to see the kinds of movies I never liked — “Silence of the lambs,” “Godfather,” “Psycho,” “Rocky” — so I look for lighter choices. We’ve watched a lot of children’s movies lately — “Nanny McPhee,” “Babe,” “Charlotte’s Web” — light, laugh-inducing films.

Recently, I surprised him. “‘Jungle Book’ is getting good ratings,” I said. “We’ll go at 4:00, then eat out after.” His eyes lit up like a child’s.

We enjoyed the movie, even though Kaa, the snake, made me cringe. Throughout, Peter asked over and over how “they got the animals to do that?”

“They aren’t real,” I said again and again, “that’s special computer animation combined with real animals’ movements…””How do…?”

“I dunno’ how…it’s magic,” I said.

Afterwards, as promised, we went to our favorite restaurant. Peter ordered his usual, and me, mine. “That looks good,” he said of my suguk wrap, as I knew he would. “I’ll order that the next time,” he added as he tucked into his kebab.

“You say that every time,” I laughed. “You ordered this once and liked it.”

He nodded. “I remember,” he said. “But, I’m not going to say, ‘any good movies on’, because we just saw one, didn’t we?” His eyes twinkled. “See, I remembered.” He was quite pleased with himself.

“Wow, I’m amazed. And what was the movie?”

“HA! ‘Jungle Book’,” he said proudly. That moment, a tiny glimmer of clarity, made us chuckle. “But, how did they get the animals to do that?” he asked. Again.

Well, the briefest flash of light through fog is better than no light at all.

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Header photo: Mowgli and Bagheera in a scene from “Jungle Book” (2016)
Animation example: Screen Slam on YouTube (2016)

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

 

Why is there a bun in my oven?

Posted on by under Family, Laughter

There was a hamburger bun in the microwave oven when I opened it to warm my coffee. It was the second time this week.

I didn’t put it there, but I’m pretty sure I know who did. I can’t imagine what he had in mind.

imagesMy skinny little husband does eat as if he were eating for two, but a dried out bun in the oven was way beyond his new normal. I laughed.

No matter what, a good cup of coffee and a side of giggles really hit the spot at 10:30 on this miserable rainy May morning.

 

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist.