Red

red
it’s the color of summer
fragrant red roses dancing in the breeze
luscious red tomatoes clinging to the vine
bright red ketchup spurting from a hotdog bun
sweet red watermelon juice dripping down my face
a spoonful of ripe red strawberries oozing over vanilla ice cream
deep red cherry pie
a ruby red kiss at sunset

ouch!

painful red sunburn

which is why I’m inside writing about Summer
instead of outside enjoying it

tio stib

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My Dementia Diary 69 – 6501

There are about 6500 spoken languages on Planet Earth.

Based on what I heard come out of my wife’s mouth this morning, I believe there are now 6501.

“Tu mencha ki mo laga pimo meo woo?”

Some might dismiss such an utterance as mindless babble, but as she seemed to be waiting expectantly for an answer, I pondered what I’d just heard.

One possibility is that dementia had restructured her brain’s neural pathways so that she is now communicating telepathically with a life form in a far away galaxy. Following this language logic, I responded-

“Fongu ma blata wo bela vandu urgono!”

I held my breath, hoping my Earthling accent had not spoiled the alien dialect.

She hugged me and turned back to her coloring book.

I smiled. My “of course I love you, dear,” response had gotten through.

Yes, it has been suggested that these strange sounds may not be attempts to communicate with extraterrestrial beings.

dementia may be scrambling my own neural pathways. My retort is-

“Bong atu singu!”

tio stib

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My Life as a Hummingbird

flying, flitting, hovering
buzzing up, around
sometimes upside down
drunk with ambrosia
the sweet nectar of tropical hibiscus
the wildflower buffet of an alpine meadow
a fickle lover
of bright colored beauty

every day a road trip
a life of joyous adventure

When I’m reincarnated
I’m coming back as a hummingbird

assuming I have a say in the matter

tio stib

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My Dementia Diary 68 – Imaginary People

My wife is spending more and more time in conversations with imaginary people. We’ll be eating at the dining table and she’ll suddenly start talking to her son. As he’s in Spain, I doubt he can hear her. She’ll walk outside and begin babbling with an unseen audience in the garden. Perhaps I’m being presumptive, perhaps she does see the people who are not there. She’ll be sitting at her desk working on a coloring project and I’ll hear her sharing drawings with her mother, who is watching television in Mexico.

At first, these conversations bothered me, feeling like another downward step with her deteriorating dementia. Then, I considered the positive side of such conversations-

First, one can have these conversations whenever one pleases, no waiting for family to call or a neighbor to knock on the door.

Next, by initiating such interactions, one gets to choose the subject of the conversation. And no need to wait until someone finishes their boring monologue before you jump in.

Also, these imaginary people, whether they be a parent, a friend, or a world famous celebrity , are going to listen to you, no matter what.

Equally important, if you don’t like the feedback you’re getting from these folks, you can simply abandon them without feeling rude or guilty. Heck, it’s your imagination.

I think my wife has adopted a perfectly reasonable strategy for dealing with a reality that does not fulfill her needs. She simply creates one that does.

If you don’t like your reality, make a new one. Seems like some wise person has already pointed this out, but please let this be my “ah ha” moment as I’m in need of some self gratification.

Do you think this blog and pretending that imaginary people all over the world care enough about me to listen to my thoughts is a similar alternate reality exercise?

Hey, it’s my delusion and I’m hanging on to it.

tio stib

You might also enjoy: Control Freaking, My Dementia Diary

 

Shape Shifting

the mirror of life stares back at me
a history of those times once free
the many men I’d tried to be
the many worlds I’d longed to see
so many new realities
I lived in hopes of finding me

some were good and some were bad
there were happy times and sad
joyful moments and some quite mad
questing for the dreams I had

some lasted days, some only hours
some grew from seeds to lovely flowers
but then the moment finally came
when each went up in spirit’s flame

was I born a vagabond
to never settle down for long
to never truly quite belong
heart pulled on by distant song

lovers, friends, and passersby
I’ve known them all
said my goodbyes
but now, as I face the end
I wonder if I’ll fly again

the caterpillar exists to eat
the pupa then goes off to sleep
and in its sacred, silky place
transforms into a different face

and so I build my new cocoon
as life within me starts to swoon
in hopes that with the coming moon
I will stretch my wings once more
and fly away to distant shores

so begins my every day
shape shifting in the cosmic play

tio stib
2016, 2018, 2019

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My Dementia Diary 67 – Feeling Normal

We have two dear friends, neighbors down the street, who are quite resourceful at finding fun things to do on the cheap. This past week, they asked if we’d like to go to a free noontime concert.

“You bet!”

Friday noon found us in the center of a sunny downtown rooftop garden. comfortably shaded by trees, we sat on the lawn directly in front of the stage. While his wife took mine over to greet a mama duck and her ducklings in a nearby pond, my friend described the setting. 

It was magical, a garden paradise filled with trees and flowers surrounded by towering office buildings and All around us, the buzz of voices as the lawn filled up with other concertgoers.

The wives returned, the tuna sandwiches were passed out, and we munched happily to the delightful sounds of latin jazz. 

For a moment, there was no blindness, no dementia, just us in the midst of happy people enjoying summer music on a glorious day.

Sometimes, it’s just nice to feel normal.

tio stib

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My Dementia Diary 66 – Retreating

For months, we’ve been retreating, letting go, moving on, saying “adios” to activities, friendships, and family events that no longer fit us.

I say “we’ve been retreating,” but, in truth, it’s only me.

 there is usually a moment of realization, a painful awareness that our life no longer matches up with the lives of others. I decide to stop attending a particular gathering because the combination of my blindness and my wife’s diminishing attention span makes it awkward for us to participate. I decide to avoid family get togethers because the adults can’t deal with my babbling wife and the kids find us boring. I stop visiting friends because my wife’s constant need for attention makes conversation with others impossible.

More and more, we are by ourselves in our small world. Yes, we are fortunate that this world is comfortable, safe, and offers us pleasant opportunities to walk amidst beautiful surroundings. We are also fortunate that there are a few warm hearted, compassionate folks who welcome us into their lives. Still, I can’t pretend that I don’t find this retreat process depressing. 

More and More, I feel like I’m backing into the future, spending more time looking behind than ahead, thinking more about all the things we can no longer do, than appreciating the possibilities we still have.

Yes, I have an attitude problem. I am still struggling with letting go of what blindness keeps me from doing and accepting the reality of my wife’s dementia. In dark moments, find comfort in the stories of other bloggers in similar situations and their supportive feedback.

I have survived and grown through many perilous and difficult times and trust these experiences have prepared me for the challenges I now face.

But I’ve never climbed a mountain like this before.

tio stib

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