He said, she said — 2

Posted on August 24, 2015 by admin

Cooking Up A Stew!

Alzheimer’s

It’s all about memory.
I shoulda just learned from it.

More of He said, She said
She was She and He was Me

Stirring It Up!

He said, You should heat the sauce separately.

She said, No, just pour it onto the hot spaghetti.

That’s silly, said he.

Oh, what do you know? she asked.

They were preparing supper. Together. Now that they were both retired, she wanted to do everything together.

Everything? he’d asked.

Yes.

Absolutely everything?

Yes.

But what about—

Everything, she insisted.

But—

Everything.

And so they were making supper. He’d chopped up the cabbage for a cole slaw and she’d set to boiling the spaghetti.

While chopping, he fumed about effectively being blocked from his traditional hobby: writing. Writing takes time and he’d always made time, especially when she was out selling real estate, at all hours of the day and night.

So now they were both in the house at the same time; all the time.

Secretly he longed for the silence of solitude. That feeling was followed at once by a pang of guilt. He slashed at the innocent cabbage.

You know what? she asked.

What? He fumed.

You’ll chop off your thumb if you do it that way, she said.

Good, said he, that way we’ll get some protein.

Duelling chefs -- CaptureFull credit: Found at: CIC Client New England Country Foods
https://www.google.com/search?q=dueling+chefs&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ved=0CDgQsARqFQoTCNWdquWswscCFUiYiAodOmkJqA&biw=1076&bih=618#imgrc=qTnNd3DMk8CGQM%3A

It was an argument is what it was.

The spaghetti was done. The sauce was cold. He poured it into a saucepan and turned on a burner.

NO-O-O-O-ooooo! she screamed.

Ye-e-e-e-s, he said, it’ll make it taste like roast candy.

She didn’t want any roast candy.

She refused to eat ANY supper.

He tried to eat it all, partly out of spite and partly by way of comfort food in an effort to make himself feel good.

Later, of course, he rued the day.

Shoulda listened, he said.

You shoulda listened to me, she thought to herself.

I heard that, he said.

Too bad, she thought.

Next time, he told himself, I’ll remember: It’s the disease, not her. Just go with the flow, stupid.

But he slept on the couch that night.

And all was well in the morning, for she came into the living room, spotted him, and demanded that he tell her why he was sleeping on the couch.

Oh, he groaned, just fell asleep here.

And she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Alzheimer’s. You just never know!

Indie Herb -- Story Teller

Indie Herb– Story Teller

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He Said, She Said — 1

Posted on August 21, 2015 by admin

She was She and He was Me

Alzheimer’s!

It’s all about memory.
I shoulda just learned from it.

Couple Arguing -- Capture

She said she wanted to go

To a movie.

I didn’t want to go.

You promised, she said.

When did I do that? I asked.

Never mind, she said, you did.

I don’t remember that, I said.

Oh you! She said.

You just don’t want to remember.

I don’t know about that

But I didn’t want to go.

I said, you promised me the night off.

When did I do that, she asked.

Never mind, said I, you just did.

I don’t remember doing that, she said.

Just goes to show, I said.

You just don’t want to go, she said.

 

Nailed!               Guilty -- Capture

 

It was just a silly argument!!!

I shoulda just said yes.

Because when I do get there,

I always enjoy myself.

Silly me.

She said: I coulda told ya that.

Oo-oO! But that woulda made you right.

She said, Darn right!

Okay I said, You’re right.

Well all right then, she said.

Always gotta get that last word in,

I thought. To my Self!

And she said: I heard that!

I could but make a face.

And she said: I saw that!

I coulda left it at that.

I shoulda left it at that.

But no! I hadda win one of these argy-bargies.

Just one.

For my self esteem.

Well, not that I needed a whole lot more of that normally.

I actually have enough of that.

But drat! These He said She saids…

Surely I could win one once.

But no. No self-esteem boost here.

If that’s the way you feel, she said…

And she left it at that.

Man loses argument -- Capture

And I slept on the couch that night.

Ah well! I know

That deep down

She really does love me.

’Cause she kissed me good night.

And therein lies a big dose of self esteem.

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Why Butterflies?

Posted on August 19, 2015 by admin

Why Butterflies?

Monarch in flight -- CaptureBooks, Blogs and Butterflies.

Books, yes. They’re coming.

Blogs? Yes. The blog is up and running.

But Butterflies? Why butterflies?

Because, when my wife was in the middle stages of Alzheimer’s disease, she flitted about like a butterfly – pestering me with ‘A’ question, fussing with this, fumbling with that, sorting her jewellery, pestering me with A question, fussing with this, fumbling with that, sorting her jewellery…

The comparison became quite obvious.

So, since poetry had become my outlet, I endeavoured to write a poem about that.

But it did not come easily. This was not one of those poems that “just comes,” or “writes itself.” I jotted down this thought, pursued that thread, thunk up alternate connective thoughts, changed the rhyme pattern…abandoned it.

Later, I tried again. I caught a phrase, noted a theme…I wrote and wrote.

Soon I had pages of “stuff,” false starts, completed verses, dissonant thoughts and lines…

I abandoned it.

Eventually, as the butterfly connection flitted about in my brain, I returned to my pages of “stuff.” I plowed through it. I grabbed onto a verse. It seemed to connect with another, unfinished thought/verse. I put them together. Something clicked and before I knew it, I was on a roll.

Came a point when it felt like I was finished. I bounced out of The Zone. Yep. It looked like a keeper, even though it included only a fraction of the “stuff” on those pages.

I worked on that to get the flow flowing just right, pattern to fit, theme and thought to work. I left it.

Later, I tried it on. I read it to The Group. The Group made a mistake. They displayed outright approval. Some members were visibly moved by it.

Okay. It’s a keeper. Such acknowledgment and affirmation cannot be denied.

Applause -- CaptureLike a Butterfly

But still, I had that leftover “stuff” on those pages.

Eventually I went back to it. I repeated the above process, more or less, and voila! I had a second butterfly poem.

Same procedure. Read it to The Group. The Group made a mistake. They displayed outright approval. Some members were visibly moved by it. Including a young man. So I figured I had a winner when he said after the meeting, “It was the butterfly that got me.”

My Butterfly

When I was putting my poems together as a book, and when I landed on the title, Chasing a Butterfly, I realized that I really needed a Title Poem.

And what shall I call this title poem, Herb?

Why,

Chasing a Butterfly,

of course.

And so, from a little girl chasing a butterfly across the meadow to a middle-aged woman chasing around like a butterfly, to an old woman in a wheelchair chasing a metaphorical butterfly…

A poem was born.

After all that, I decided to turn my poems into a play. I did that, and while doing so, I realized that I needed yet another butterfly poem. To “close it off.”

And so came the the need to let go. In the end, we need to let go.

To

Let the Butterfly Fly.

To free her, to celebrate her freedom, to free the mind, release her spirit…to let her fly…

To be free of guilt and shame and remorse…

And grief…

And that is why Butterflies.

Take a bow! -- Capture

Besides, both are endangered species.

Freeing the butterfly file -- CaptureCover Holder for Chasing A B'fly -- Captured-001

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What Happened to my Memory?

Posted on August 17, 2015 by admin

What happened to my memory – the story

 Last year, I thought I was doomed.What happened to my memory -- Capture

I was in good physical health, but my mind was going.

I recognized that, because my speech was beginning to falter. I began to struggle to find, not just the right word, but the simple descriptive noun to identify the subject I wanted to talk about. And then, the rest of the sentence tended to disappear from my mind as I wrestled with basic vocabulary.

How did I reach such a state?

I’d been caring for my wife, who had gone through this stage and degenerated to the last stage of that stage of Alzheimer’s – for years. Was it actually contagious? Was I, too, coming down with Alzheimer’s? How would I look after her if I couldn’t look after me?

I recognized that I was in trouble, and that trouble extended into deeper recesses of my memory. My verbs began to disappear too. I couldn’t remember events, or whether or not I’d seen this film with my son, or that episode of our favourite drama. When my son reminded me what the episode was about, I recalled much of it.

I resigned myself to the fact that I was suffering from Alzheimer’s, and that I would never get my book out before I became non compis mentis.

Here’s the state I was in:

 What happened to my memory?

What happened to my memory?

Where did it go?

Is it playing hide and seek?

It’s not where I peek.

Things are so slow

To come back to me now.

And no one knows how

To guide me back

To the sentience (sic) I just left…Hmm. -- Capture

Memory…

I know I had one…

Y-yesterday…

Where am I now?

Where did I go?

Why can’t I know?

There’s a word for that.

It says where you’re at

It’s a long word, it starts with an…errr…uh…

No, a re-

And it, it ends with a…an…an –er…

It’s re…hmmmm…er

Brr…

What happened to my…er…

You know…

That thing that tells you…

You know…what you…knew

What happened to my…

Memory…

Where did it go?

Rescued

BUT, one day my son threw his arm around my shoulder and said,

“Dad. I’m getting worried about you.”

He reminded me about his best friend’s mother. She had been taking Lipitor, on her doctor’s orders, to lower her bad cholesterol levels. After some years, she began to display signs of early or mild cognitive impairment, a sure sign of the onset of Dementia/Alzheimer’s.

This had shocked her and she stopped taking Lipitor.

She recovered. Fully. This summer she was at a function attended by my son and he reported that she was thriving.

I went to my doctor and told him I was dumping Litipor. After years of following doctor’s orders and filling each and every prescription for the stuff. He said, okay, let’s try that for a year and see how that works.

Pill head -- Capture

It’s been more than a year now, and it works just fine. I’m functioning at a pretty high level of competence again.

Lipitor is in the category of statins. Millions of people take them. Millions suffer from Dementia/Alzheimer’s. What, if any, connection there is to that general statistic, I don’t know. I know only my personal experience.

But one of hundreds of stories out there is one by a drug policy researcher at the University of Victoria in British Columbia, Alan Cassels.

In an article in the Common Ground magazine of Vancouver, B.C., (and soon available in Toronto and Ottawa in Ontario. www.commonground.ca) entitled New Cholesterol-lowering Drugs Coming, Watch for sleight-of-hand, he acknowledges the possible dangers of such drugs.

“And, of course,” he writes, “they’re not without a range of adverse effects, such as liver damage, muscle weakness, cognitive difficulties, diabetes and other risks.”

I will forever wonder if that’s what caused my Ann’s capture by Alzheimer’s, for she had been on Lipitor for decades.

Pill bottle and pills -- Capture

Confession: I had apparently become subject to another one of those “side effects,” pre-diabetic, over time. How big a role did Lipitor play in that? (Spoiler: I had also “suffered” a lifelong addiction to sweets, desserts, anything sugary.)

At one point they had me on a low to non fat diet. They even had me limited to one tablespoon of margarine. They probably meant per meal, but I was so incensed that I didn’t even finish reading the prescription (proscription?). I took it to mean per day. Either way, Hell, that was downright just plain miserly. I spent months being upset about that.

At another point, I wrote a little screed that went something like this: The doctor said your cholesterol is high, take Lipitor to get the bad guys, the LDL, down. Sounded reasonable. What did we know? What did the doctor know? Responsible writers out there, like Mr. Cassels, make a strong case about drug companies selling superstories to doctors when their sales people hawk their wares.

Why, I wrote, don’t our leaders protect us? Yes we want “cures,” but to let a pill out prematurely, and to have “side effects” like this, and like the Thalidomide affair, surely is criminal. Should heads roll?

It does give pause for thought. Repercussions of the pill on the patients and their families, repercussions on the pill makers.

So, there I am – healthier, no wealthier, but wiser.

Indie Herb image

Indie Herb

Take care.

 

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Never Too Old for Love

Posted on August 14, 2015 by admin

The spirit of today’s post is to capture the essence of love.
I found this “poster” on my Facebook page.

I do hope it is okay to re-post, especially as it is so inspiring.
It does express the heart of my work so tenderly.

 

 

CaptureCredit is

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Seeing Gandalph

Posted on August 12, 2015 by admin

What Sparks a Memory?

Sparkle of Memory -- Capture

GOING TO THE MOVIES

So, Sunday, my son treated me to a trip to the movies. We wanted to see Gandalph – I mean Ian McKellen in Mr. Holmes. It was showing in the VIP zone. No VIP zone in our closest movie house. Can’t say where we’ve been while all this was, but we were mildly surprised to learn that you could sit in the “theatre” seats, order and eat food there. What a concept, eh?

We wound up eating in the “lounge” first. Noisy. Smelled of stale pop corn. The seats were not any more comfortable for me than regular seats in the other “theatres,” as the ticket sales girl said they were, but we ate up the movie.

Mr. McKellen was, as always, masterful, playing a somewhat younger Holmes, and a more doddering one who was losing his prodigeous memory. Enjoyed the themes of loneliness and atonement (of sorts); enjoyed the precocious boy and the unhappy mom. And the bees.

Also enjoyed the more leisurely pace, a break from the shoot-’em-up, superspeed chase and crash – and extremely loud, noisy, break-your-eardrum sound effects. (At home I have to pump up the sound to get the dialogue, and down for the shoot-’em-up, superspeed chase and crash – and extremely loud, noisy, break-your-eardrum sound effects.) Huh!

After the movie, my son needed to Take Five for a smoke. We drifted around the HUGE parking lot, me getting away from the smoke, he trying to keep downwind. Here’s what we stumbled on to:

No Parking -- Capture

No Kidding?!

(Some people have blocked minds? Did they forget that this is a parking lot?)

Well, what this reminded me of was the time when my home town – up north – decided to pave it’s Main Street area.

As told to me, the town got estimates, called for tenders, wrote and signed the contract, and waited for smooth roads for the first time EVER!

The machines rolled in, the base was prepared, the merchants accepted the disruption, the customers shopped around the disturbance, and the pavement rolled on.

Everybody celebrated. We’re entering the modern age.

Come Winter.

Come the frost.

Come the contractions.

Some Spring.

Come up the newly laid pavement.

In pieces.

In chunks.

Did I say? My home town is in the northern half of my home province of Saskatchewan. They say the place was built on “swampy ground.” And this was back then, when we had real winters. You know, regular 35 degree below weather. You know, snow up to the top of the telephone poles. No kidding. You know, when you stepped outside and your nose tip snapped with the cold.

Well, I haven’t been back there in decades, but I’m told the old town is still there, and that things are pretty stable now. Even Main Street.

So I’m thinking, some memories are experiences best left in the past. I find no need to have my nose frozen yet again. I’m quite happy to live in this mild la-la land, thank you.

— —

PS: I would love to go back to check out the old haunts, but I fear I would be a stranger in a strange land now. I doubt that many of my schooltime friends and acquaintances would still be there. As the old joke says: That was a good place to be FROM! Still, lots of fond memories, and our collection of memories are us, or, put the other way, we are our memories. (Perhaps the psychologist counsellor might counsel: “So deal with them.” OK.)

So here’s a nostalgic shot of my home town’s city hall. The town became a city in 2009. In my time this building was the post office (you know what that system is doing to the service in our country now…).

ML City Hall, ex post office -- Capture  from the official website of Meadow Lake, SK.

It was here that we delivered the weekly newspaper, The Progress, every Thursday when we finished printing it. Those were good memories.

In this building there were also a few jail cells. One day when I was walking be with a friend, we heard someone calling for help. We looked around till we saw a pair of hands gripping the steel bars in the window. On closer examination, a nose, and a pair of eyes appeared, with a mouth pleading for us to contact someone on his behalf to “get me the hell out of here.” Sorry to say, we knew no such person, so we failed in the task. I’ve always wondered about his fate.

Going to the movies with my son. How great a treasure is that for the memory box?

Happy memories everybody.

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Memories are made of this

Posted on August 10, 2015 by admin

A trip to Tim Horton’s,

the original doughnut people.

 Doughnut display -- Capturecredit: underthehighchair.com; just an illustration.

It’s been a few days since my last venture into the Blosgosphere, One, to take care of a big bit of business, and Two, to have a rare, I mean a rare day off. I’ve been running tired, and I just knew it was time to obey my own advice: Take care of yourself, Boy! Yes, I wrote an advice piece on my former Bryce’s Blog for Seniors, addressed to care givers. Beware of Fatigue, I warned. For I knew wherof I spake. I’m still in care-giving mode, every day, and I still speak this advice — and my poem by that title will appear in my upcoming (it’s nearly up, and it is coming) book, “Chasing a Butterfly.”

— —

Even from its current incarnation, Tim Horton’s once again in U.S. hands, this time, again, with a giant hamburger chain, one gets nostalgic for the old days. Memories, memories. Display case after display case with a bewildering array of doughnuts:

Plain (that’s a rarity these days, it seems, although I did snag a box of plain Timbits — a taste of home, when my mom made doughnuts on the old wood-burning stove.) It only takes a whiff to waft you back in time. Ah! Childhood;

Chocolate iced, caramel iced, stuffed with Boston Cream Pie filling (ah, the sweet memories of teen-age years ordering that one when first out on one’s own and Mom wasn’t there to say tut-tut Son, watch that sweet tooth;

Doughnuts finished with sprinkles;

That all-time favourite, the Apple Fritter. Ah! A little piece of heaven. Memories of snagging two of those and a hot coffee on the way to work. Yessirree. Too bad they cut back on the apple;

Even my wife’s favourite, the “cream puff” doughnut that was similar in shape to the famous Long John (another of my favourites), chocolate-covered doughnut that was more like a hot-dog bun shape.

Creampuff doughnut -- Capture

Well, really, there were too many to chose from and I would stand there “forever,” just soaking in the atmosphere while customer group after customer group ate their way through the choices.

This time, however, there was only one display case with doughnuts. I spotted the plain Timbits right away. I stepped up to the order counter. Pause here: It’s been a while since I’ve been in a Tim Horton’s, so each time I venture in (Yes Mom, I DO have to “Watch that sweet tooth, Son” ), I have to learn the price structure, etc., as prices these days seem to be controlled by the Devil himself. There were no price boards displayed and no prices tagged on the displays.

Here’s how it went:

Me:        How much for half a dozen Timbits?

Clerk:    What’s that?

Me:        A six-pack.

Clerk:    Sorry, we don’t sell that here.

Me:        You know, half dozen?

Clerk:    I don’t know that.

Me:        Well, how do you sell them?

Clerk:    10, 15, 20.

Me: (slightly flummoxed, having expected an answer in my familiar old Imperial System of measurement. He was obviously speaking Metric. *Spark memory: When Canada went Metric, I was “too old” to be included in the transition, which seemed to have included only kids in Grades One to Five.* I sputtered.) Well, if you’re selling them by fives, you’ve obviously missed the first five.

Clerk:     I’m sorry sir, what is your order?

Me:        Twenty plain Timbits please.

Clerk:    Of course sir.

He rang the order in and his assistant collected my precious cargo. Mmmm. Still the greatest. Just like my Mom made…er almost Mom, almost.

Timbits -- Capture

Made up for the fact that my son walked me – WALKED me, mind you, walked ME, who lives at his computer – my son walked me clear across town to the nearest Tim Horton’s. This to get our traditional doughnut after a movie. The movie house we went to wasn’t anywhere near a Tim Horton’s – strange, I thought. Tim’s are everywhere. But then, the movie house is in another town. So we went home, then realized, we didn’t even get a doughnut. Hence, the walk.

And you know what? *Mm-mff-ff* I’m not even *munch-munch* stiff in the legs today. *smacking of lips*

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