My Dementia Diary 26 – Over the Rainbow

Some years ago, I was listening to the radio and the announcer said he’d just heard the most amazing voice and he had to share it. The voice was that of Israel Kamakawiwo’ole, an Hawaiian giant known as “Iz” to his many fans. I listened to his rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and “It’s a Beautiful World” and cried. I felt like I was hearing Heaven singing to me. 

I often turn to music for solace and inspiration and count among my many blessings my collection of musical artist friends.

Here’s Iz singing as he plays the ukulele, which nearly disappears in his huge hands.

Yes, I do believe each of us has a special gift to share with the world.

tio stib

You might also enjoy: My Dementia Diary 25 – Life in Reverse, My Dementia Diary

The Lost American Porch

I once lived in a small town
in a small house with a front porch
a sheltered space protecting the entry door
a spot where I would hang out
sitting on a chair, sometimes the steps
drink a beer or lemonade
and simply enjoy the world passing by

a horn would honk, a friendly wave
kids would call out as they passed on their bicycles
neighbors walking dogs, hurrying home from work
“Hello!” 
“Good evening!”
“Nice to feel summer again.”
“Yes, aren’t the roses beautiful?”
“How’s your garden?”
“Beans and peas are up.”
“Going fishing Saturday?”
“Yup.”

these words and waves were the gold threads 
that wove a sense of connectedness , a feeling of belonging
through my life, a fabric seen and felt but not recognized in the moment

I’ve since moved, to bigger places, more complicated worlds
houses that now greet the street with cavernous carports
yawning doorways for cars beside small openings seldom used by people
and these places lack porches, no commitment to connect to the outside world
no attempt to simply sit and watch, to hear, to feel the pulse of community

I do miss the lost American porch

I miss the Americans who used to wave and talk as they passed by

tio stib

You might also enjoy: Finding Home, Let’s Voyage Into the New American House

My Dementia Diary 17 – Hiding the Cookies

My wife’s mind forgets many things but not cookies. when we enter the grocery store, “cookies?” is the first word off her lips, and she knows exactly where to find them in the bakery. Admittedly, I too have a fondness for such sweets, especially the chocolate chip ones, which is why cookies often find their way into our grocery bag.

The challenge comes when we return home, when we must resist the urge to eat all the sweets at once. I’ve tried rationing them, handing out a small amount each day, but, I soon discovered that the cookies were disappearing faster than my rationing had anticipated. Obviously, they were being eaten at other times. Obviously, my wife’s cookie needs were overriding my desire to limit caloric intake.

I decided to hide the cookie tin. First, I placed it in the cupboard, behind the cereal. The cookies kept disappearing. then, I put the tin on top of the refrigerator, assuming my wife would not see them. A few minutes later, she came up and offered me several. It’s hard to be secretive in a single room apartment.

My latest hiding place is in the oven, an appliance we never use. So far, the cookie stash has remained a secret, and the tin may even last the week. Apparently, the phrase “out of sight, out of mind,” bears some truth.

However, I no longer can blame my wife for the continuing cookie disappearance.

tio stib

You might also enjoy: My dementia Diary 16 – Good News, Bad News, Where Is My Solitude?, My Dementia Diary

Insomnia

there are moments when
I dream in peace
a mind released to roam
then others when
the clock grinds on
and night becomes a tomb

I lay now in eternal night
awaiting mindless deep
a craving need to somehow get
a decent hour’s sleep

tio stib
2015, 2018

You might also enjoy: Veiled Vision, Life Journey Poems & Prose

My Dementia Diary 16 – Good News, Bad News, Where is My Solitude

For years, I dreamed of a partner with whom I could share all of life, the joys and the hardships, someone who would be willing and able to take off on a moment’s notice to places unknown simply because it seemed to be a great idea at the time.

Finally, I was blessed with just this partner, and, for one year, we had the magic life together that I’d always dreamed of.

That was a year of unsurpassed bliss and those memories still bring me smiles. However, as so often happens, our road together took an unexpected turn. I lost my sight and she began losing her mind.

And, so, we’ve adapted.

We no longer drive miles from home, but limit our roaming to walking local walking wanderings. It has gotten to the point that I no longer feel comfortable leaving her alone, and, as I’m her only caregiver, this means we’re together all the time, always. Fortunately, my wife has a naturally cheerful disposition and she’s easily guided into whatever activity we need to be doing, from daily walks to grocery shopping. The biggest challenge is my personality, the fact that, for most of my life, I’ve enjoyed times of solitude.

While I’ve treasured sharing adventures with friends, from sailing trips to hikes to new restaurants, when no one was available, I went off on my own. And I loved it!! As has been often shared by others, solitude is not loneliness, it is the beauty and peace of being alone. I have fond recollections of such solitude times, from solo hikes and sailing trips to simply sitting on a beach at sunset. Quiet moments when I could hear stars talking to each other.

Given my wife’s new need for constant companionship, I am finding new ways to give myself the gift of solitude. As she has the envious ability to fall asleep in seconds, I often listen to those imagined stars deep into the night waiting for drowsiness to creep over my mind. Or, I’ll sit outside in the morning sunshine, letting the sweet scent of nearby Jasmine float through me, recalling other dreams of times gone by.

Solitude is soul food, and, as always, it’s up to me to feed myself.

tio stib

You might also enjoy: My Dementia Diary

My Dementia Diary 15 – Ice cream

There is one thing my wife’s mind continues to remember with humorous frequency.

Ice cream.

She will forget what I told her five minutes ago, forget birthdays, including her own, but she does not forget ice cream. In the middle of the afternoon, when it’s time for a break, she will approach and coyly ask,

“ice cream?”

Hard to say “no” to such childlike innocence. And, so, we walk down to our favorite ice cream stop at the local pharmacy. She’s all smiles, giggling and excited, even though she’ll ask me several times on the way

“where are we going?”

she doesn’t remember a favorite flavor, but tries to pronounce all the names at the ice cream counter. animal Circus. cookie dough. Pistachio. Butter Pecan, and on, and on. She can’t make up her mind so I’ll pick one for her, knowing all that matters is an ice cream cone in hand.

then we wander out  to sit on a sun drenched bench and savor our treats, one delicious lick at a time. 

And I say a silent prayer of gratitude that she can still come to me and ask,

“ice cream?”

tiostib

You might also enjoy: My Dementia Diary

 

Published on the Saturday Evening Post

Surprise! I’ve received the welcome news that my short story, “Almost heaven,” has been published on the Saturday Evening Post. Wow! Makes an oft rejected writer’s day.

Here’s the link-

“Almost Heaven” in The Saturday Evening Post 

Good writing!

tio stib