Remiss

So many rabbit holes I went down lately. And had to forego some pleasure (aka this blog) and explore other avenues of creative expression.

I went back to major "big piece creation" in knitting. I started a throw for my godson and his wife. A belated wedding gift. 

I had to make a tough decision about my friend here with Alzheimers/ Dementia. I don't know about other elders out there, but I find I can't tolerate too much stress in my life anymore. And keeping track of her or making arrangements with her were proving to be increasingly challenging. It's a dreadful disease, and I lived beside it a few times, most notably with one of my closest friends, Lana. Written about here.

With Susan (pseudonym) her dementia is different, often hostile, oblivious and defensive about her condition. I tell her I'll text her rather than phone, as she remembers texts better. "Ouch, not true," she says, "I just delete texts!"  Well......I spoke to another friend about the decision to detach and the frisson of guilt I was feeling when she reminded me that Susan would forget about me very quickly. And that is true. I haven't responded to her calls or her texts in the last few days. 

I note HP is no longer supporting my old expensive (at the time) workhorse of a laser printer, so I had to shop around, which took time. I will never deal with HP again. This time I got a scanner too so I could copy valuable documents for my siblings. We are sharing so much these days on Whatsapp. Pooling our mementoes as we all face the grim reaper.

Daughter and Grandgirl treated me big time for my upcoming birthday. Two theatre events (how I miss theatre) and a weekend away in a gorgeous inn by the lake. 

I feel I have a new lease on life after all the sickness and I am so grateful for this. We just never know how long we have and we need to maximise our remaining seconds on this planet.

The planet is in such a sorry state currently. Endless wars, the climate crisis. And a criminal cabal in the country south of us enriching themselves as the citizens get poorer and hungrier and without healthcare. I don't pay it as much mind as I used to, apart from occasional outrage on Bluesky, but I have moved away from all the political screaming and finger-pointing as it truly doesn't make anyone accountable for the myriad of crimes committed daily against the most vulnerable. Something massive died in many of us when concentration camps were normalized (for nearly a century now.)

So yeah, long-winded. I wind up with a picture of my orchids which bloom constantly and are staggeringly beautiful.

May there be more beauty in all of our days and less worry and stress.

 

 

Bits and Bobs

So far so good on the restricted form of eating I'm on. Not easy by any means but I am committed thus far. When it's restricted it's a matter of choosing wisely rather than slapdash. With that in mind, I made a few more meals and froze them. One a highly nutritious meatloaf. I have a very long table against one of my kitchen openings and on there I can chop veggies and use my mixer and my food processor when needed while sitting down. An 9 foot long table is a marvelous thing. And I use it a lot.

1-1-1-1-1-1

On my weekly call to Lana, my long time friend with dementia, she mentioned she was reading a book about her "memory failings". I said if the book is near, maybe she could read the title. She scrambled around and told me "Still Alice."  I know this is a novel about Alzheimer's (which I read years ago and saw the movie) but I don't get too excited about Lana's grasp of such things. I said, avoiding questions as I do, "I imagine you reading it in bed." She responded, "Yes, a page a night, it puts me to sleep." "It's all about your disease," I said. "It is?" she responded, "Oh that's very interesting. A book about my disease."

1-1-1-1-1-1

I've cut back on my writing workshops this week and am taking it easy due to the changes I am making in my lifestyle. Not overburdening myself or taking on too much. With this free time I am slowly cleaning up my office. Death Cleaning in other words. I try and not leave too much of a mess for those I leave behind. There are many YouTubes and books on this but briefly here you go to get you started if you already haven't:

1. Step 1: Let Your Loved Ones Know. ...
2. Step 2: Start With Less Personal Items. ...
3. Step 3: Gift Possessions Away Gradually. ...
4. Step 4: Keep Mementos for Yourself. ...
5. Step 5: Donate and Sell the Rest. ...
6. Step 6: Make a List of Important Documents and Passwords. ...
7. Step 7: Declutter Regularly.

Many of these I have done already but my closet needed an overhaul. If I haven't worn or used something in a year I am ruthless and have been for years. Two large garbage bags were filled and carted off by my helper who repurposes everything I give her. Still have loads to do mainly in photographs (boxes and boxes) and so much yarn.

But even a little bit of this decluttering is enormously satisfying.

The Clothes Line

 

Of all the many pictures (with resulting cards and prints) I have taken over the years this one has been the most popular. I had repeat orders  of hundreds of cards printed. And it was also featured in a calendar. The reason I am writing about this is because of Lana, my dear friend who has dementia/ Alzheimer's.

I sent her one of these cards a few weeks ago. I had sent one to her before when it was first published but of course there is no memory of that. Every day is fresh to her.

She was upset she was in lockdown when I called her on Monday night. She is confused in that she thinks she has Covid and hates her meals being delivered and misses her walks. She's in a luxury building and paces her room. Fifty feet long, she tells me. She counts the steps. Having seen pictures of the interior or her residence, I believe her. Enormous rooms.

"But," she said, "You sent me this card. And I put it under a small lamp beside my bed. And every night I stare at this picture after I've read the poem you had printed on the back and it puts me to sleep with a smile on my face."

Some Day on Clothes

The blues 

Dance through

His shirt

My skirt

Flit Lift

Snap Spin

And I couldn't stop crying when I got off the phone.

Beautiful Words

I called Lana, my friend with Alzheimer's tonight. She was overjoyed as always to hear my voice. And said she adored a card that I had sent her and showed it to everyone and described everything on it to me.

She sounded so alert and close to her old self.

She said she had felt good enough to go back to her old house and to have her car back in her life as driving was her passion. And she explained to her son that her leg was now back to normal, and she was back to normal, so time to go home, right?

She quotes their entire conversation verbatim to me, "Mum," he said to her, "I'm going to be completely honest with you. The problem hasn't been really about your leg. The problem has been your short term memory vanishing."

And on the phone to me she takes an enormous breath and stays silent.

"And," she said, "I had to accept that. I had to absorb that."

And then he said to her, "You will not be leaving here, Mum. This is where you are safe and have no worries."

"And Mum," he added, "I want you to know that as your light dims, my light will shine brighter to brighten up your darkness."

And we both cried.

I still am incredibly moved by these words, the courage and honesty and love behind them. And that they stayed with her so she could repeat them to me.

Lana's World

Outside of her new home.

Some of you have followed my posts on Lana, my long term friend who descended into the long goodbye of Dementia/Alzheimers. She is younger than me by 2-1/2 years which makes it all the more poignant.

Up to about a month or so ago she was still driving which alarmed me greatly. I kept in touch with her son and another friend of hers who checked on her regularly.

Then a few weeks ago she wasn't answering her phone and her son found her on the floor of her living room with a massively swollen right leg.

Community area of her new home.

He sprung into action. Got her to the hospital (she had blood clots) and immediately arranged for her to be admitted to a care facility. A very fancy care facility. Unaffordable to most but it turns out he's one of those quiet millionaires (real estate, stock market). Her house is worth a lot but he hasn't seen the need to sell it yet. She is very fortunate.

I call her once a week and enter her brand new world. She surprises me with her sharpness at times, asks about my writing, wants to hear all about the workshop but I'm very much in the now with her. All short term memory is wiped as with a blackboard eraser from her mind within a very short length of time.

It humbles me. She speaks of her surroundings - a chandelier in her room, a brand new TV screen installed by her son, a selection of framed pictures and photos from her former home. She laughs. "I wouldn't have chosen any of these myself" and she describes them to me. Her leg is shrinking. And she's walking the halls. 

Every floor is carpeted - a long cry from most "care" homes. It's like a luxurious hotel" she says. A privilege denied to many. And she knows it. She is incredibly grateful to her son who stepped up to the plate, so to speak. Their sometimes fractious past long forgotten.

It's extraordinarily peaceful talking to her for about 45 minutes every week. We are very much in the now. I never question her. Even asking her about dinner would be stressful but now and again she'll talk about the menu and I am astonished at the choices on offer and her memory in recalling the items - a long list.

She asks me to give her some memories which I do. Trip to Ireland, trip to New Brunswick, a couple of trips to Newfoundland and to her parents when they were alive, weekend retreats, volunteer community work we shared. She delights in each memory recalled for her.

"My grandson has my car!" she suddenly announces to me.

"You loved that car!" I answer.

"It was time," she says, "I'm OK with not driving again."

I am profoundly affected by this. She adored driving. And knew far more than I about cars.

I dread the day she forgets me but right now when I call her, she is bowled over with love for me. As I am for her.

Dementia and Alzheimer's and Nuns

I remember that Time article about nuns and Alzheimer's published in 2001. Clearly. Unfortunately, it is behind a paywall now so I can't access but if you're interested and a subscriber you can go ahead and do so. Nuns had not only generously co-operated with studies on these brain diseases but also donated their bodies, postmortem, to science in selfless efforts to assist further research. I remember the autopsies showed that even though advanced degradation of brain cells due to Alzheimer's had occurred in these nuns, other segments of their brains had taken over complex functions like needlework and crossword puzzles thus keeping the Alzheimer's unnoticed by those around them. The personalities of the nuns had much to do with their abilities in later years (90+). Many of them had kept journals from their teenage years exhibiting a positivism about life and a thirst for learning.

I did find a similar article in the New York Times but it's not as detailed as the Time essay - and I am relying on - ahem! - my memory about the original article.

Excerpt:

At 93, Sister Nicolette Welter still reads avidly, recently finishing a biography of Bishop James Patrick Shannon. She knits, crochets, plays rousing card games and, until a recent fall, was walking several miles a day with no cane or walker.

I was driven to write this by a visit to an old friend yesterday who is in a third level care home. She is 93 and until the last year or so was taking care of herself in her own home. Reading and playing complex card games and knitting sweaters for her pensioner sons. Then one of her sons died. And the family hadn't told her he was dying. And this shoved her over the edge into mental disarray which has remained.

My grandmother, then in her seventies, was similarly afflicted when my mother died. Within a short period she retreated to an alternative world where Mum was still with us and Granny, our darling granny, never surfaced again.

My aunt, a bridge playing, golfing entrepreneur in her nineties, vanished into her own bottomless dark hole when her youngest child died at 49.

As to my friend, she is like a skeleton in a wheelchair, her caustic P&V with which we were all familiar has vanished, replaced by this gaunt shell with haunted eyes and no memory of us, her former familiars, but a clear memory of her dead son visiting her yesterday.

An unknown percentage of these "long goodbye" diseases is down to circumstances surely? None of those nuns lost a child and I wonder if this has a huge bearing on our emotional and mental abilities in our later years. As I have witnessed, heartbreakingly, first hand.

Moving the Toothbrush

I am always one for fresh opportunities. I remember reading a few years ago that as we age we should challenge ourselves a little more each day to keep that vital creative spark going. Sleep on a different side of the bed. Move the toothbrush to the other side of the sink. And suit up and show up if something interests us.

I had a call the other day from an acquaintance.

"Would you be interested in a few hours of a different type of work from time to time?"

"Well... if it doesn't involve housework, maybe yes."

"The situation is this. You remember my elderly mother?"

"Oh yes! Mabel is delightful!"

"Well, she feels the same about you and she's staying with us now and we need the odd break in town so would you be able to companion her during those times, we would pay you, of course."

"With advance notice I don't see a problem."

"And I should also mention she is showing early signs of Alzheimer's or dementia. This is heart breaking for us all."

"Not a problem, maybe I can read to her, or see what she'd like to do."

Aging fascinates me. I love my elderly friends. What is elderly to me now? Over 80. Mabel is in her late eighties. I know that both physical failing and less mental agility can strike quite suddenly. Days are precious as we age. There are no guarantees.

I am so fortunate I am healthy enough to provide this kind of service. I even thought of a business name "Elders for Elders". Many have told me that most young minders can't relate at all to elder needs. And I want to learn. About me.

Yes, moving the toothbrush. I think I can do it.

Precious Aunt

Beloved Kit.

Oh sweet darling woman.

And I at your wedding so very long ago

Where the granddad sang

And my brother was stowed in a drawer

And you wore the softest of blues

Which tugged out your eyes

That sparkled and shone

For him. And all of us.

And you stood firm

And proud and strong

As you ran a business

And bore six children.

And stood stalwart

Like an icon for the

Rest of us girls

In our endless family.

And after all that you played

Bridge and golf

Up to your nineties

And shone some more

Like a beacon for the old.

With your nails always painted

And hair just so

And your clothes so glamourous.

And then, the bottom fell out.

Your youngest died his neverending

Death from cancer. And overnight

Your mind snapped shut.

And I saw the shell last week

Of what you had become.

Your smile intact, his name deleted.

From your thoughts, your life.

Only the names of those others

Long dead and gone, are now alive.

Your mother, my mother

Your husband, your father.

I miss you.

Away with the Fairies

I was returning a borrowed book to her.

I found her on her couch, the large screen teevee bellowing mightily into the oblivious air from its forbidding presence beside by the fireplace.

She shot up guiltily as soon as she saw me.

"How are you?" I asked, a little concerned. This woman is a mighty presence in the area, a recipient of the coveted Queen's recent Jubilee Medal. A spearhead of the Fisherman's Museum, a poet, a painter, a quilter, a historian, a published author. Prone on a couch in the middle of the afternoon? I would have said never.

"Can't go anywhere," she said plaintively, "My son is supposed to be fixing my car and took it to his place until he gets back from offshore, it's been weeks now."

"And nobody ever visits anymore."

I found that surprising. Another son and daughter-in-law and various nephews and nieces are scattered all around her.

She went to her fridge and hauled out a plate of fishcakes.

"Would you like one?" she proffered the plate. I demurred. Cold fishcake? Seriously? What's going on?

"I don't cook much, the family keep taking me over to their places and feeding me and then giving me all sorts of stuff, look!" The fridge was packed.

She had just said nobody visited. Alright.

I mentioned a mutual friend had her first grandchild. A girl. I told her the pictures were on Facebook.

"I've forgotten how to use my computer," she laughed.

"Was the grandchild a boy or a girl?" she asked me. I said girl.

We inspected some of her crochet which she hauled from her linen closet.

"What did they call the boy?" she asked me.

"What boy?"

"The grandchild."

"It was a girl"

"You said it was a boy."

"My mistake, a girl."

She took me over to the piano and all the pictures of her grandchildren.

"And this new grandchild you were talking about? Was it a boy or a girl?"

And I thought my heart would break.