Paris

THE LAST TIME I SAW PARIS

H. W. Bryce

The last time I saw Paris, Paris was at peace,
People strolled the Champs-Élysées
And coffeed in cafes
Young people chatted animate
Young mothers strolled their babes in prams
People gathered everywhere
And the River Seine flowed  free

The last time I saw Paris, the Eiffel Tower stood tall and proud
The young men soccered all the day
And the les filles they sang at work
Children spent the day at play
There where artists’ art could never tell a lie
Where the people nighted out, just to see a play
And the lights of Paris shone

Yes the last time I saw Paris, Paris was at peace
The sky was blue, Sacre-Coeur was white
And courage still was red
The last time I saw Paris, the flag flew there quite free

Oh the last time I saw Paris, they lived in liberty
They held equality and brotherhood
Closely to their hearts
They proudly sang La Marseillaise
Saluted their triumphal Arc
To protect their lands’ collective parts
And shared their gen’rous love

Yes the last time I saw Paris, Paris was at peace
The sky was blue, Sacre-Coeur was white
And courage still was red
The last time I saw Paris, the flag flew there quite free

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The Iron Age

The Iron Age

He Said, She Said — 8

It was the age of the iron when you still actually ironed your clothes
–Does anybody do that any more?
She was at great pains to find everything because she had forgotten where things were kept.

She said Where is the ironing board?
He said Prob’ly where you keep it.
She said Oh very funny. Where is that?
He said In the kitchen closet, you know, with the brooms and mops.
She said Where’s that?
He said The one next to the fridge.
She said This one? Oh, here it is. Why didn’t you say so?

She struggled to stand the ironing board on its legs. He swept out of his easy chair, where he’d been working on a new poem, and helped her set it up.

She looked around. She spotted the laundry basket of clean clothes she’d dragged into the kitchen. She studied it. Then she pulled out a sheet. After some struggling – He stood back and watched, having explained to their children earlier that she needed as much freedom as possible to do things herself, “So she won’t forget.”

She fought the sheet until she got it draped more or less flat across the ironing board.

She said Now what?

He waited. Then he made ironing motions.

She said Well, where is it?
He said In the closet. Oh, so sorry, you can’t reach that shelf. Sorry.

He reached up and took the iron down. He helped her fill it with water at the kitchen sink, the very reason she did the ironing in the kitchen.

They were set. But wait.

She said Where is the…the…you know…the rain thing

She made shaking motions as if shaking salt on a large steak.

He said Oh. Yes. The sprinkler
She said YES!

He rummaged around the top shelf of the kitchen closet and brought out a the ginger ale bottle with the sprinkler spout corked into it. He had to pull out the cork so she could fill the bottle with water, then push it back into place.

Finally, she began ironing. He stood there as if mesmerized by the repetitive motions. She ironed, she sprinkled, she maneuvered the sheet into an unironed place, ironed, sprinkled, ironed…

He said Why would you want to?Woman_ironing_--_www.bigreddirectory.com_--_2015-11-13_1002
She said Want to what?
He said Iron the sheets?
She said So it’s nice and neat and pretty to look at
He said Who would look at your sheets?
She said I would, you would
He said But they won’t stay ironed
She said Of course not
He said So what’s the point?

She aimed the hot flat of the iron in his direction and gave it a mock stab at him. He winced.

He said Ouch! My ego is singed
She said Good. Serves you right.

She struggled to maneuver the sheet over the ironing board to get at every part of it.

He said Here. Let me help you—
She said No. I’m not helpless.

But she did solicit his help to fold the more-or-less-ironed sheet into a neat square.

She said Well, don’t just stand there.  Help me.
He said Okay, okay.

He grabbed at the sheet as she waved it across the room as if billowing it over the bed. He missed grabbing it and the sheet floated to the floor, at her feet. When he bent over to get a grip on it, his hand brushed her ankle.

She gave him a “well-deserved” slap on the wrist.

She said Behave yourself.
He said, Yes Ma’am.

And he grinned at her. She made a mock moue.

She pulled an undershirt out of the basket and proceeded to iron that. That, too, was very neatly folded and put aside. She continued on, on her own now, having found her rhythm. Her motions became automatic.

He said I suppose you iron the socks too, do you?
She said How else do you put them on?

He shrugged: I shoulda known.

Oh, the iron-y!
— —
Image Credit:

free cartoon images:  We Do Ironing Clacton on Sea CO15, Clacton on Sea Hotel opening times …   www.bigreddirectory.com

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Across Our Land

 

Poppy,_Lest_we_forget_--_2015-11-10_2235

 

Across Our Land

H. W. Bryce

Across our land where peace has reigned
For decades now, the rumbles sound
Of discontent that echo from afar,
And threats are thrown our way again.
Do you hear beyond the robin’s song?

And to our vets, the old, the new—
Do you remember them?—
We swear we will defend the peace
You fought, and fight, so valiantly for!

Take peace in hand and keep it safe
And do not let it slip away,
For if you break the faith with peace,
Surely it will die; stand up now
Four square strong with them who fight for us,
Keep the faith where peace has reigned,
Defend the peace across our blessed land.

Image from Clip Art.

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We Had Dreams

WE HAD DREAMS

H. W. Bryce

Remembrance_--_2015-11-08_1208

We had dreams…

(a stream of consciousness)

We are old who have fought
For freedom. We had dreams.

We dreamed of peace,
Of warm, safe beds,
Of love and children,
Little kittens and puppy dogs,
A job, respect, and family love,
A sense of simple worth of self.

The torch has passed.
We now depend on you.
We wish our bodies
Were as strong as were our wills,
But alas, we age.
Keep the torch alight.

Fight off the blight
Of torpor and neglect.
Let your spirit reflect
The strength of your soul
And do your country proud.

So say we, the old who fought.
Live the lessons war has taught.
Precious is the peace,
A noble trust. Do not let it rust.

We are old who have fought.
Join with the young now in our footsteps
To protect the peace that we have wrought
with blood and sweat and tears
to tame the fears
brought on by treach’rous enemy.

Use well your freedom,
For you are young and vital;
Do not squander this your chance
To build a peaceful world.
Do not let the peace fade out.
Remember us, the old who fought.

Now our bodies wither,
But our minds do not;
Neither do our dreams.

We are old who have fought
For freedom. We had dreams.
For you. Fight for them.
— —

Image credit: https://pixabay.com/en/users/ClkerFreeVectorImages-3736/

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Early Warning

Early Warning System

The human condition has a built-in early warning alarm system. It’s called fight or flight.

We can often sense that danger is lurking, and our defences prepare themselves. It’s all very automatic.

But when it comes to personal disaster of the health kind, the system might suffer a power failure, and no alarm will go off.

Such is the case with Alzheimer’s. (So, too, apparently with other diseases. With cancer, for example. I have read of instances where the diagnosis came like a sudden thunder clap of surprise and shock. Even with pregnancy, but that is a whole different life.)

So when the disease finally rears its ugly head, we are, indeed, surprised, shocked, frightened. In the case of Alzheimer’s, this is common, even when we instinctively know that Alzheimer’s is at work in the background.

It lurks, doing its introductory damage in the shadows.

DEW_LINE_--_2015-11-06_0852

Early Warning System

There is no signal, the radar’s down,
Therefore there is no threat,
We detect no danger imminent,
Carry on, carry on.
Worry not, too busy now,
Just carry on, carry on.

There is no remote, it can’t be found,
The TV’s dead, there’s naught to do,
Oh look, it’s in the freezer.
Ha-ha! Silly we. We all forget, I’m bound.
So here there is no Early Warning sound.

There is no car, I’ve got the key, it’s lost.
Where can it have been driven to?
But wait, there is no self-drive cars just yet.
I know I parked it here, where has it gone?
But wait. We all confuse from time to time.
No worry. Ah! There it is.
This is no Early Warning sign.

What? No newspaper? You don’t want to read?
You must be tired. Of course. No worry.
What’s that? You don’t want the crossword puzzle?
How strange. Oh well, we’ll get your glasses checked.
That’s it, of course.
No Early Warning sign found here.
Carry on.

Be careful now you don’t cry wolf,
By seeing signs in everything.
Don’t you become obsessive ill,
You will be needed, later on.
And so the signs need weeded.
Shy off the crying wolf
And learn true signs of early warning.

Radar’s down, there is no signal,
Well, Peace has reigned so long;
We’ll have our Rangers on patrol
And they can sound the gong.

Dew_Line,_brain_--_2015-11-06_0943

But What to Do?

First, recognize the potential signs of creeping Alzheimer’s. While you seek professional advice, you could try to:

Keep her reading; puzzling, sewing, painting…whatever she has always done. Help her with it. Encourage her when she gets discouraged;

Try learning new things. A recent research article opined (in my words) that an idle mind is setting a trap for the predatory Alzheimer’s. He will jump right in and replace the wiring in the brain.

Meanwhile, you can join with others to keep the mind stimulated. For example, you could join a dance group. My brother and his wife did when they retired; they became leaders in a very huge and vibrant social group, all of the members of which miss them as much as we do. This kept them alive beyond their expected time left.

Square dancing, their choice for keeping active and doing something together, means you have to remember the steps, recognize and follow the music. You practise using your friends’ names and numbers. You keep track of times and places. All very elementary; all very, very important; all involving mental muscles that need exercise to stay fit.

Remember that remembering names is one of the hardest things for people with Alzheimer’s, especially in the advancing stages of the disease.

Besides which, all such activities are fun. And if you can’t have fun, well, no fun makes Jack a dull boy…

So keep an eye out for any early warning signs.

And get onto all of your professionals, politicians, petitioners…whoever. Get those research dollars in and add pressure. Sweat them till they find a cure…

Thing is, in the case of the missing remote, for e.g., we missed a key signal. We missed it because, a) it was funny; b) she took it in good humour; c) we were simply unaware (ignorant of the sad possibilities of such an ordinary thing being a warning sign); and, it was years before any real signs showed up. Because she was still active, sill functioning on all cylinders.

Who knew?

So be aware.

Do what you can. And then some. Your Loved One is loved because she/he is precious.
And you protect your treasures.

Don’t forget.

— —

Credits: Dew Line caption–Wikipedia.
Brain illustration: Clip Art–The Commons 20under20…

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An Angel’s Kiss

Angel Bliss

A Tear.  Or: Recipe of Love

He Said, She Said – 7

Tear_--_She_didn't_know_what_to_do_--_2015-11-04_1157

She started to find a recipe. She began to rummage through her cook books, through her unfiled sheaf of handwritten recipes. Something caught her eye, and she detoured. It was a shiny trinket they’d bought in Gastown. She picked it up and smiled, rubbed it lovingly with her thumb, put it in a recipe book and closed the cover.

She then turned and stared. She walked across the room and deposited the book in a sideboard drawer. She turned around, looked this way and that, stepped off, paused, turned and stepped off the other way.

She stopped. Her hands went up to her face and her face crinkled in despair.

She said There’s something in my eye.

He said It’s a tear. A tear is angel bliss. May I give you a kiss?

She said What for?

He said Because I love you.

She said, staring with blank eyes, That’s nice.

So he kissed her on the cheek. Her hand went to the kiss, and she wandered across the room. She looked back and smiled.

She said Angel…kiss. That’s nice.

He said I think you were looking for this.

He handed her one of her favourite cookbooks, which he’d opened to her favourite recipe. She looked at the page.

She said Oh, yes. That’s a good idea. Why don’t we make this for breakfast?

He said Oh, I think it would make a fine dessert after supper tonight.

She said No, for breakfast.

He said, Okay. You’re right. Scalloped potatoes would make a great breakfast. Why don’t we do it now?

She made fluttering moves with her hands and stuttered.

She said You start.

He said Sure. First we gather the bowls and mixers and all the ingredients…

She said Oh goody.

She rubbed her hands together with an eager look in her eyes.

And they set about to make the recipe. He helped her through it.

Yes, I believe in angels.

(Continued below the picture)

Tear--eye_in_sky_--2015-11-04_1143

Angel’s Bliss

H. W. Bryce

When you fear something so hard that a tear
Clambers your eyelid and slides down your ‘lash
To lay a kiss on  your cheek,
The one thing to remember is this:
That a kiss is angel bliss.
It’s a gift, to help you along,
And when it washes away all sadness and loss,
You will find your lost smile was not lost.

And when you are sad and you think you’ll never be glad
Ever again,
Remember the tear is an angel’s bliss,
A gift from the gods as a kiss.

A tear it is no loss,
What’s lost is the sadness it washes away
As it washes good feelings back in;
And there’s no room for melancholy to stay.

So smile though your tears and know the grieving will go
That the stars will come out for the night,
And the sun will gleam through your window again,
And the rain will renew your whole world.
A tear drop or rain, it’s all the same in the end,
And you will learn to bend with the wind.

When you are feeling alone
And you no longer can speak
And nobody can make any sense,
Pray for a kiss that is angel bliss,
That will make all the hurt to decease
And lead you to certainty and peace.

A kiss is a kiss and a teardrop is bliss
From the sweet lips of an angel with wings,
And it will help you to heal from life’s little stings,Tear_--_Stylized_tear_--_2015-11-04_1229
And you will rise with new strength from all this.

(See the quotation below)

— —

Image credits:
Tear: Eye in the Sky– from HubPages, :”The Teardrop Poems,” via Google Image Results for…
Tear: Creative Self-portrait Photography, Nicole Mason Photography

Tear: The crying eye;  Imperfecto como soy…Imperfect as I am

Me: “Imperfect as I am” — Yes. This is how you have to accept your Loved One with Alzheimer’s.

— —

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Lifestyle

LIFESTYLE in a Care Home

So what style can we have in a care home?

Well, in ours, there is plenty of entertainment. Singers, musicians, dancers all come in to spend time with the residents. They always put on a great show. Some sing the old songs for the old folk, the popular songs: like Roll Out the Barrel. Some lead songs from decades past, music the oldsters can relate to, remember with fondness, the wartime songs: Lily Marlene, Keep the Home Fires Burning. Ofttimes there is overlap of the eras in such songs.

There is classical piano, there are the Silver Tone singers, the grey hair crowd.

Remembering is so-o-o important. And so, many of the residents sing along.

There are games, also provided by the recreation staff. Thursday is Bingo Night. Other nights they play Pass the Quarter, Black Jack, Uno, and so on. Often it’s players choice.
They have Pub Hour, Hallowe’en Party, and Birthday Party.

They have family visits galore and inter-generational times when the wee ones come in and do crafts and make general personal connections with the folks in the home.

And in between, hugs and chats, and coffee time in the Garden Café…people make friends. Two people will find a connection and hook up for chats and walks, and sun times in the lovely garden.

These folks are stylin’. (see below)

Recently there was a talent show. The younger personalities within the oldsters came out and shone. Everybody has something to share: Style! Singing, harmonic-in’, dancin’, even some stellar art and lots of joke tellin’. These folks have spunk. It pulls them out of any purple funk. Depression is no longer possible.

And all of this really does ease the burden, and it is a pleasure to go in for lengthy visits, for the staff members are all bright and cheerful, and they enable all residents to enjoy their time.

They have medical staff, foot care people, massage ladies, dentistry folk…all come in to assist in the care giving and the comforting.

And, oh yes, they have ‘Stylin’ ’.

*In the September 2015 issue of Senior Living our of Victoria, B.C., there is tribute to the launching of the Provincial Family Caregiver Program, under the Ministry of Health. The magazine says “After 26 years, we have provincial program funding for the first time.” It calls this a milestone for caregivers in B.C.

STYLIN’

H. W. Bryce

The old folks are sittin’ ’round,Old_Folks_Stylin'_--_2015-11-02_0914
Their hinges are a-creakin’,
Their limbs are feelin’ like they’re bound
While ol’ man Willy, he’s a freakin’–
And moanin’ is their only sound,
Long time since their ‘willin’ has bin found.

Along comes Suzie from the ‘rec’
With her ever cheerful smile,
She oozes energy, pep talk and cheer,
And the old folks they sit up, take note…
Well now they’re up and movin’ round
Almost in sync with the tunes they’re playin’
And whadya know they’re stylin’!

We’re stylin’, we’re stylin’,
Looky man, see us go, we’re stylin’.
Edith’s singin’, Mabel’s clappin’ hands,
Old Joe is strummin’ air guitar
See Sister Mellie’s fingers boogyin’
And Slim is dancin’ in his chair,
We’re stylin’. Yes we’re stylin’.
Stylin’ man, we’re stylin’.

The old folks are up and movin’ ’round,
They’re talkin’ talk and reminiscin’,
The whole darn place is full of sound
Their aches and pains are in remission
Everyone in the hole darn place is smilin’
Cause the old folks’, they’re a stylin’!

Stylin’, stylin’, we may be old but we are stylin’,
Stylin’, stylin’ you just cannot beat the whilin’
Quite so much as when you’re up and stylin’.
Stylin’, stylin’, ye just gotta get up and start your stylin’.


Photo Credit:
https://www.pinterest.com/source/i.imgur.com/Tess Ackheim

Tess Ackheim writes: This made me tear up…i only have one grandma left…and I work in a long term care facility….older folks need to know they’re loved…

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