My So-so Day

Posted on February 19, 2016 by admin

So-so_--_Have_a_pint_--_2016-02-18_1020

My So-so Day

How are you feeling, my friend asked me today.
“So-so,” I said, meaning, well I guess I’m okay.
Only so-so? My friend teased with a smile.
“Well, yeah,” said I, “but for me that’s a mile
Better than poorly and way better than glum.”

But so-so’s the best you can muster on a scale one to ten?
And you’ll feel better some day but you can’t say when?
“ ‘S’okay,” said I, “ ’cause sometimes my simple so-so
Is practically great compared, I’ll have you know.”

You’re so adorable, he said with a laugh.
“Now you’re just teasing,” said I, “and that is a gaff,
’Cause so-so or okay are way better than damnable,
And the good will that goes with it is downright cashable.”

So lend me a portion of that, my friend said in earnest.
“You’ll find that it pays with considerable interest,”
Said I with a smile and skipped off with a wave;
The good will I had bought was something to save.

Well I met him again and he said with a wave
Good day to ya my friend, how are you today?
I said “well I’m having a good day, I’ve had a good shave,
But my prospects I’m afraid are just so-so today.”

Well he said some kind words and patted my back,
And he bought me a pint and I felt like a man
’Cause he treated me quite like a person
And I knew on that day that my so-so never would worsen.

Well my friend gave me a hearty old-fashioned guffaw
And he slapped me on the  back and gave me a hug,
And agreed that my so-so wasn’t that damnable–
And he accepted my so-so as happiness graspable.

♥   We all get those so-so days, and in the world of Alzheimer’s, that’s okay. And that’s when a friend is a friend and a kind word and a hug are precious cargo. That, we can bear. Same goes outside the world of Alzheimer’s. After all, kindness is better than cruelty any time.

And we all should beware of unintended cruelty–This piece was prompted by an entry in myalzteam support group.

The lady was having a so-so day. And since so-so, and okay have been my constant companions — and were frequently challenged — I began to scribble. This is the outcome.

Picture Credit: from Missouri History Museum:  https://www.pinterest.com/mohistorymuseum/

 

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Beyond the Sunset

Posted on February 15, 2016 by admin

Beyond_the_Sunset_--_Ann_--_2016-02-15_0931

Ann Bryce   —   Oct 1928 – Feb 2016

 

Beyond the Sunset

H. W. Bryce

Beyond the sunset
Where angels meet to dance
Above the troubled clouds
There is calm, there is peace
Where all your troubles cease
And all your dreams are met
Beyond the sunset

Beyond the sunset
Where hopes are all fulfilled
Where cares and woes are laid to rest
And life beyond is ever best
That’s where the angels love to waltz
And never a word is spoken false

Beyond the sunset
That’s where I long to be
Maybe not tomorrow
But some day, I can wait to see,
But later on I’ll meet you there
Beyond the golden setting sun
Where your spirit’s free to run
Where you’ll never have a debt
Beyond the sunset

Earthly treasure never can compare
To what the sunset has to share
Up there in the purity of air
Where your reward is Everlasting Love
Beyond the sunset, to dance among the angels
Where your reward is Everlasting Love
Somewhere
Beyond the sunset
Beyond the sunset
Beyond the sea

Beyond the sunset
where angels meet to dance
That’s the place to be
You and I will dance.
Dance, dance…dance with the angels
There is no better place to be
Than out there beyond the sunset
Dancing, dancing with the angels
Dancing, dancing with the angels
Dancing, dancing, dancing…

Beyond_--_Sunset_pic_--_2016-02-15_1011

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/336644140874032839/

 

Posted in Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Dementia, Memoir, Poetry, Remembering | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Lumps of Clay

Posted on February 8, 2016 by admin

Made_of_Clay_--_Young_Woman_--_2016-02-08_0912

Made of Clay

Inspired by a phrase in myALZteam comment by D to Lana:
    “…the person you knew is molded into another identity…”

The Evil Sculptor

The Sculptor
The sculptor takes a frame and scoops some clay
He presses and prods it to form a human head
He scrapes up some clay and forms full fleshy cheeks
And molds clay into cheekbones and chin
He chooses a clay lump and models a cute nose
Shaping and forming and nursing the form…
Ah! Pretty young woman is born.

Young Woman
Young woman hale and hearty
Cheeks full and flush
In the prime of her life
Pregnant with being
So much to give
So  much to live

The Sculptor
The sculptor works and reworks lumps of cool clay
As he plies on the layers as folks lay on fat
And become placidly contented with life
Life without strife…Ah! The beauty this day.
He’s smug with with his statue
The woman is full, the face is mature
The sculptor has matched Mother Nature

Mature Woman
The sculptor works with his tools
With slow and efficient precision
His vision is clear, his technique unmistaken;
But his purpose not seen till the end of transition
And once he is done, he downs his small trowel
And smiles as he wipes his work hands on a towel.
Woman in full, fleshy and fresh.
Ah! Mother in prime. Clay

The Sculptor
A figure has slowly emerged on this day
A figure transformed from his lumps of cool clay
Thin frame with a face quite hollow and wan,
Its eyes do not sparkle, the flesh sags to the floor,
The youthful good looks have gone out the door
And what is now left is tired and sad
The clay that had held her is is gone back to the clay
The sculptor is done with his play

Old woman
Drawn and pale
Brittle and broken
Hollow of cheek and sadness of eye
Her prime long since gone
And her body all saggy, all skin,
All that is left is a small lump of clay
life no longer is shiny
Only a memory of youth
Sad realization of truth

The Sculptor
The sculptor stands back and admires his work
How he’d meticulously transformed those smiling brown eyes
How he’d chosen the right tool to scrape excess clay
From the face and the arms and the legs,
Chiseled the cheeks to built up the cheekbones…
How he admires his own clever work!
His chest nearly bursts he’s so filled with his pride.
And never once thought of the poor soul
Who’s dwelling inside.

 

Made_of_Clay_--_Old_Woman_--_2016-02-08_0914

This poem comes to you warts and all, just like life.
I thank the hugely talented artists for their extremely beautiful works.

Image credits:
Young woman in clay: Portrait Sculpting: Anatomy & Expressions in Clay by Philippe Faraut
https://www.pinterest.com/search/pins/?rs=ac&len=2&q=clay+sculpting+ideas&0=clay|autocomplete|1&1=sculpting|autocomplete|1&2=ideas|autocomplete|1
As pinned by:  ceramic forms by Michelle Maher
https://www.pinterest.com/ceramicforms/

Super close up of old lady by MarcSijan:
http://www.lilavert.com/blog_lilavert/sculptures-hyper-realistes-de-marc-sijan/
Date: 23/03/2014 Author: LilaVert I-I Comments: 0 Categories: art –
Artiste – Creation – News – Sculptures
Blog Graphiste / Sculptures, photos, Ver & Vie….

Posted in Alzheimer's, Blogging, Care Giving, Dementia, Memoir, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

Shopping Day 2

Posted on February 5, 2016 by admin

Shopping Day Blues

It’s enough to make you write broken poetry

Shopping_Day_2_--_Skeletons_--_2016-02-05_0728

What, indeed, is left after shopping day?

For Those Stuck at Home

Shopping definitely has become a chore. Our dollar’s dipping, control is slipping, and prices are higher than ever before. Hardly it’s worth it to go out through the door ’cause results have fallen right through the floor. What you get for your money won’t buy any honey that you need for baking the bread.

And to make things much worse, the weather refuses to be sunny and there’s an aching throb in your head. You almost don’t go ’cause you definitely know that comparing all the prices will take all the day, and even the deals will stack up so high that your wallet won’t be able to pay.

And ’cause your dollars grow wings and leave behind stings, you know you leave prices behind that will definitely grow.

Shopping Day. What a trial, and all the while, your loved one lies there at home, hunger in the belly, crying in the heart, and you wonder where to go if she doesn’t stay.

Looking after your Alzheimer’s person is hard enough without being driven into poverty.

Pity the poor people on welfare and fixed incomes; think of the homeless; heck, think of your wallet.

Shopping_Day_2_-_Flying_Dollars_--_2016-02-05_0726my plummeting dollar

What’s left after shopping day?

A shopper’s frustrated, jagged cry of despair

Never Were More Harder times

Does shopping day cause Dementia?
The dimensions of Dementia are so extreme
One of those extremes is Alzheimer’s
Turns you into mountain climbers
Make you feel there is no team

Make you think no use to deem
Your precious time your own
Scramble, scramble count the dimes
Never were more harder times

Damn, Damn, Damn, Damn, Damn,
Could never afford that juicy ham
Tempted to take and go on the lam
Dodge the cops like you’d dodge a raging ram

Cook that ham on a    camp fire
No better was to quell hunger’s desire

How do I dodge the crippling prices?
How can I afford to buy the rices?

How in the world can we co-exist with the richer few
When we’re left in the lurch to hoe and hew

Shopping, shopping, how I dread the shopping day
You spend an hour reading stickers
Could even give you the ALZ-hickers
Never were there harder there times
Damn, never were more harder times

How I dread that shopping day.

CREDITS:
Both images are CC0 Public Domain Free for commercial use No attribution required
Skeletons: https://pixabay.com/en/skeletal-flower-congratulations-601213/
Plunging Dollars: https://pixabay.com/en/money-wings-currency-dollar-symbol-48103/

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Shopping Day

Posted on February 1, 2016 by admin

Shopping Day -- Confused Shopper -- Capture

SHOPPING DAY!

A Stream of (un)consiousness
(Not a poem)

Store prices

(Read as a chant or a rap)

It’s shopping day. Oh my.
Gotta stock up for the whole next month
spend enough money you get a free gift,
like a 12-packo’  batteries
for those electronic gizmos
that you can’t afford
or buy as a special for only five bucks
guess it’s a deal but can’t afford, aw shucks.

Here’s my shopping list for next month:
EVERYthing! Every damned thing!
but What’s the use of a list? Guess I’ll just wing
it and look for real deals, try to avoid the sting.

Store prices, store prices
to afford these modern store prices,
well, aflluence doesn’t do it
you have to be extremely affluent;
for everything is extreme these days:
movie scripts, attitudes, price fixing…
prices extreme on the high
income extreme on the low
the more modern we get,
the harder on the po’
the harder is the row we have to hoe.

Shopping day
not even my fav-o-rit
never get enough of the items on my list
not even enough to get an ache in my wrist
when I carry it home. Not even a bit.

So
Here’s what I get for my money:
(chant)

3 pounds spuds, 2 apples,
1 package oat meal,
1 litre milk, 1 loaf bread
1 treat, bottle Snapple,
2 cans fava beans ’stead o’ meat
¼ pound margarine, ain’t that neat?
1 dz eggs
1 2-Lb package grain-ola
2 shopping bags to carry
at five cents each
nothing left to go to the beach

Cost?
This amount of money used to more than fill the cart
The difference represents this sorrow in my heart
Shopping Day -- tired Stick Man -- Capture
Store prices, store prices,
definition of inflation
wallet deflation
spirit depression
income reduction
life in crisis
life on a limb
debt to the brim
not smart to be prim
no strength left to grin
prices, prices,
prices are a sin
prices are a sin

Note:
Not meant to rhyme ’cause the experience don’t
gotta cut back ’cause the pricers won’t

Hate that darned old shopping day
however ya look at it, whichever way

Question is: How can I feed my loved one who sits in my care with Dementia?

Image Credits:

Both: Pixabay– CC0 Public Domain   Free for commercial use No attribution required

Top Image: https://pixabay.com/en/todo-list-despaired-man-person-sad-297195/

Bottom Image: https://pixabay.com/en/exhausted-tired-sad-stickman-151822/

 

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Posted in Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Dementia, Humor, Memoir, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Maybe Tomorrow

Posted on January 29, 2016 by admin

Maybe_Tomorrow_--_2016-01-19_1028

 

Maybe Tomorrow

She wants to go somewhere at sundown
A He Said, She Said episode

(And a song)

Maybe Tomorrow

She said I want to go home
He said But you are home
She said No. I don’t like this hotel
He said Hotel? This IS home
She said No, I have to go home
He said No, wait. Don’t go out there, you don’t even have a jacket on and it’s chilly out there
She said I need to check the stove
He said Stove? What’s wrong with the stove?
She saiid I’m afraid I left it on
He said Come back in. We’ll check it
She said I’m afraid I left in on
He said No you didn’t
She said I have to check it
He said Okay, here. Come on. Look, the stove is all turned off
She said Not that stove. The stove at home
He said But this is the stove at home. This is home
She said No. It isn’t

He looked at her. He looked her in the eye. Her eye was wild, her body language was frantic. What to do? Then it dawned on him.

He said Where are you, Love?
She said I’m here and I need to be there
He said Where is there?
She said England, of course. I have to get there
He said Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I get it.
She said Can we go? Now? Will you help me?
He said I’ll help you. But we’ve missed the bus to the airport.
Maybe tomorrow, okay?
She said But—But—
He said Tell you what. I’ll phone home for you, all right? I’ll ask about the stove
She said Yes

He dials a number on the phone.

He said Hello? Is this *Her* house? It is? Look, could you do me a favour and check the stove. *She* thinks she may have left the burners on. Yes, I’ll wait. (to Her) She’s checking, Love. It’ll be all right …Hello? The stove is all shut off? Good. Thank you.

He hangs up.

He said It’s all right, Love, the stove is all shut off
She said But I have to make sure
He said It’s okay now. The stove is safe. Okay?
She said Okay. But I want to go home
He said Okay, Love. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll check tomorrow. Okay?
She said Okay. Promise?
He said I promise
She said Keep your promise?
He said Keep my promise
She said Okay then. But we mustn’t be late
He said Okay. Why don’t we put your jewellery away now? We don’t want to lose it
She said Okay
—

 

Maybe_Tomorrow,_close_up_--_2016-01-29_0910

Maybe Tomorrow

Maybe tomorrow, things will be all right,
Maybe tomorrow my sun will be bright,
Maybe tomorrow will shine upon me
And sorrow, sad sorrow, will set     me     free.

I will remember the way that things were,
The good times, the glad times,
The times when we laughed,
And the bad times will fade like a hazy old blur.

I want to forget all the pain of today,
It’s no good now the way that things are,
I want to be far, oh so far from the here,
I want the pain to be gone and some bliss here to stay.

Maybe tomorrow we’ll find Paradise,
Maybe tomorrow we’ll live out our dream
And life will become all peaches and cream,
And peace will come with the toss of the dice.

Maybe tomorrow, all things will be all right.
Maybe tomorrow my sun will be bright,
Maybe tomorrow will shine upon me,
And sorrow, sad sorrow, will set     me     free.

—

Illustrations Credit:  Pixabay  CC0 Public Domain   Free for commercial use
No attribution required   via geralt /        Pixabay — woman old face portrait white person human

 

Posted in Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Dementia, Memoir, Nursing, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

I Had to Walk Away

Posted on January 25, 2016 by admin

Had to Walk Away

A humorous look at the quirks of memory

Oldsheimer's_--_2016-01-25_0716

 

Time to Walk Away

Made a trip to the store downtown
Found a thing that she was bound
To like. Whadya know? No wallet!
Changed my pants. It’s in that pocket.
Had to walk away.

Goin’ down the street when I meet
My neighor from the other beat,
Got to tellin’ about my bet…?
Well hell, I don’t remember yet.
Had to walk away.

Look in the mirror, what to see? —
Can’t recall for the life o’ me—
Two big purple yellow shiners;
No wonder looks, from other diners.
Had to walk away.

I reckon I have chores to do,
But what they are…My brain is goo.
Must be time for that…mem’ry pill.
Now where’s that slip to pay my bill?
Time to walk away.

Where is that list I thought I made?
Told me what to do if I had stayed?
Now what was that thing that she had said…
Something ’bout the mem’ry, sleep and bed?
Maybe best to walk away.

Remember this, remember that,
I can hardly remember where I’m at.
What a chore for my aching head,
My whole darn brain feels like a ton o’ lead.
My thoughts, they just walk away.

Such a trouble, such a trial,
The doc he say I’m in denial
My mem’ry has become a shorty–
Not good news, I’m only forty,
Long time yet to join the olds-timers
Guess I got a case o’ Olds-heimer’s
Time to walk away.
— —

Memory is such a precious thing.

Picture Credit: CC0 Public Domain – Free for commercial use – No attribution required
https://pixabay.com/en/winter-wintry-snow-away-walk-234851/

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Posted in Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Dementia, Humor, Memories, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment