Pop likes his meals on time, on his time. Sometimes if I have an errand to run when he needs his lunch, I'll pack him a sack lunch to take in the vehicle so he can eat on the road. Sitting comfortably in shot gun position I hear the following:
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle; paper bag open.
Unlock the zip lock bag and take a bite of sandwich.
Ziiiiiiiip the bag back up.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Zip lock back into the sack.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Bag closed.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Bag opened.
Ziiiiiiiip. Take another bite of sandwich.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Zip lock back into the sack.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Bag closed.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Bag opened.
Ziiiiiiiip. Take a bite of chips.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Zip lock back into the sack.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Bag opened.
Ziiiiiiiip. Take a bite of chips.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Zip lock back into the sack.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Paper bag opened.
Ziiiiiiiip. Take a bite of chips.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Zip lock back into the sack.
Then I hear crinkle, crinkle, crinkle and the sack is placed neatly in his lap. He has completed round one.
15 minutes later:
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle; paper bag open.
Unlock the zip lock bag and take a bite of sandwich.
Ziiiiiiiip the bag back up.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Zip lock back into the sack.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Bag closed.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Bag opened.
Ziiiiiiiip. Take another bite of sandwich.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Zip lock back into the sack.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Bag closed.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Bag opened.
Ziiiiiiiip. Take a bite of chips.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Zip lock back into the sack.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Bag opened.
Ziiiiiiiip. Take a bite of chips.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Zip lock back into the sack.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Paper bag opened.
Ziiiiiiiip. Take a bite of chips.
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Zip lock back into the sack.
By this time I want to just scream, "Eat the whole darn sandwich! Eat the whole bag of chips! Please, can the sound effects and put the darn empty sack on the floor! ... But I don't.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Friday, April 2, 2010
I recognize Those Jeans
Pulling up in the driveway I see Pop out on his "track," the loop in our front yard, preparing to take one of his many daily walks. "Pop, can you help me bring in these groceries?" I ask. He approaches and I notice the jeans he is wearing. Something doesn't look right.
Trying not to look conspicuous, I examine the pants as he walks away from me. Through the hips they fit rather nicely but I note that they are way too long. Across the left back thigh are smeared, white, finger prints which look like paint. And across the front right thigh are the same white finger prints. There is no mistaking it, those are MY painting jeans he is wearing!
Yesterday I had a sack of clothes going to the thrift store sitting by the front door but I really don't think I put those jeans in that bag. That means that some time while I was out grocery shopping this morning he found his way into my closet, searched through my clothes and found my painting jeans.
Many questions come to mind when dealing with dementia that really have no answer. But the questions do linger. I'm sure he came out of his room this morning dressed in his own jeans. So when and why did he change into mine? In my husband's and my closet are jeans for both him and me. Why did my dad happen to select this particular pair, mine? Also, they were hanging among other obviously women's clothing. Was that not a clue that perhaps he was in the wrong closet or at least on the wrong side of the closet?
Two weeks ago it was my green jacket he was wearing. Today, my painting jeans. Knowing that my dad is obviously no longer thinking clearly I don't want to sound disrespectful. But after these two incidents there are some rather humorous mental pictures that came to my mind ... like ... what's next? My undies?
Trying not to look conspicuous, I examine the pants as he walks away from me. Through the hips they fit rather nicely but I note that they are way too long. Across the left back thigh are smeared, white, finger prints which look like paint. And across the front right thigh are the same white finger prints. There is no mistaking it, those are MY painting jeans he is wearing!
Yesterday I had a sack of clothes going to the thrift store sitting by the front door but I really don't think I put those jeans in that bag. That means that some time while I was out grocery shopping this morning he found his way into my closet, searched through my clothes and found my painting jeans.
Many questions come to mind when dealing with dementia that really have no answer. But the questions do linger. I'm sure he came out of his room this morning dressed in his own jeans. So when and why did he change into mine? In my husband's and my closet are jeans for both him and me. Why did my dad happen to select this particular pair, mine? Also, they were hanging among other obviously women's clothing. Was that not a clue that perhaps he was in the wrong closet or at least on the wrong side of the closet?
Two weeks ago it was my green jacket he was wearing. Today, my painting jeans. Knowing that my dad is obviously no longer thinking clearly I don't want to sound disrespectful. But after these two incidents there are some rather humorous mental pictures that came to my mind ... like ... what's next? My undies?
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Life In Minature
As I mentioned in a previous blog, Pop takes his life in small portions. I attributed this idiosyncrasy to the fact that he grew up in the depression which appears to have left its mark on his psyche, ingraining in him the need to live life frugally, compactly. In his present state of mind, all of those idiosyncrasies seem to be exaggerated. Occasionally his approach to life manifests itself in exasperating ways. Like yesterday when I was outside working in my shed preparing for a staging job.
Pop was at my heels, as usual, wanting to help in some capacity. Seeing me lifting always sets him into a rescue mode. For example, usually when I return from grocery shopping he brings in the bags for me, one bag hanging from each arm making several trips back and forth to the vehicle. It always makes me a bit nervous because he can barely get his frail form up the steps with his loads and he looks like a breeze could blow him over. Yesterday I was packing, loading and lifting and he wanted to help; an impossibility. There really was nothing I could think of to give him to do. But I didn't want to turn him away. Realizing how thirsty I was I decided to get him to retrieve a nice, cold glass of water for me, making him feel useful and to help quench my parched tongue.
With a bounce in his step he headed for the house on his mission. Soon I heard the crunch, crunch of his footsteps coming up behind me. Looking forward to a nice big gulp I looked up to see him gingerly making his way toward me extending what looked like a thimble of water. He had found the smallest glass in the cupboard and when completely filled, it allowed for about two little swallows. What did I expect? Pop lives his life in miniature.
Pop was at my heels, as usual, wanting to help in some capacity. Seeing me lifting always sets him into a rescue mode. For example, usually when I return from grocery shopping he brings in the bags for me, one bag hanging from each arm making several trips back and forth to the vehicle. It always makes me a bit nervous because he can barely get his frail form up the steps with his loads and he looks like a breeze could blow him over. Yesterday I was packing, loading and lifting and he wanted to help; an impossibility. There really was nothing I could think of to give him to do. But I didn't want to turn him away. Realizing how thirsty I was I decided to get him to retrieve a nice, cold glass of water for me, making him feel useful and to help quench my parched tongue.
With a bounce in his step he headed for the house on his mission. Soon I heard the crunch, crunch of his footsteps coming up behind me. Looking forward to a nice big gulp I looked up to see him gingerly making his way toward me extending what looked like a thimble of water. He had found the smallest glass in the cupboard and when completely filled, it allowed for about two little swallows. What did I expect? Pop lives his life in miniature.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
No Privacy Around Here
Startled, I turned in the direction of Pop's voice to find him standing in the doorway of my bathroom. "It's going to be a cooooold night tonight," he said. I agreed with his weather forecast but what startled me was his sudden and unexpected appearance in my bathroom where I had just finished showering and was drying my hair. No knock on the door. No, "Is the coast clear." No, "Can I come in?" He just sort of appeared. This was the second time that I had stupidly left my bathroom door unlocked. The first time he stopped in for a "chat" I narrowly missed being caught in my birthday suit. I guess you can call me a slow learner because there's no privacy around here!
To him our bedroom and bathroom are just rooms to be used and enjoyed at will. If the sunshine has created a cozy resting place on our love seat in our bedroom, just go on in and enjoy it, is his line of thinking. And if you can't find your own bathroom, a toilet is a toilet, so use the one you are able to find. I guess you might call this an "open door policy" in the truest sense of the word. If our bedroom door is not closed, it is fare game. If it is closed, the sign on the door stating "Wink and Judy's room" sends him on his way to find another place to relax or to potty.
In the reverse, one evening after succeeding in getting him to take his weekly bath, I was enjoying a few quiet moments in our family room in front of the TV. Oblivious to the fact that there were others in the house, out he came in HIS birthday suit. There was no towel wrapped around his lower torso - actually it would have been nice if there had been a towel wrapped from the armpits down to the ankles but no such luck - no peeking out of the door to see if anyone was around. Out he strolled heading for his bedroom next door. Fortunately for me, one of our rather large over stuffed chairs blocked my view from his waist down saving me from seeing more then I think my eyes could handle.
To him our bedroom and bathroom are just rooms to be used and enjoyed at will. If the sunshine has created a cozy resting place on our love seat in our bedroom, just go on in and enjoy it, is his line of thinking. And if you can't find your own bathroom, a toilet is a toilet, so use the one you are able to find. I guess you might call this an "open door policy" in the truest sense of the word. If our bedroom door is not closed, it is fare game. If it is closed, the sign on the door stating "Wink and Judy's room" sends him on his way to find another place to relax or to potty.
In the reverse, one evening after succeeding in getting him to take his weekly bath, I was enjoying a few quiet moments in our family room in front of the TV. Oblivious to the fact that there were others in the house, out he came in HIS birthday suit. There was no towel wrapped around his lower torso - actually it would have been nice if there had been a towel wrapped from the armpits down to the ankles but no such luck - no peeking out of the door to see if anyone was around. Out he strolled heading for his bedroom next door. Fortunately for me, one of our rather large over stuffed chairs blocked my view from his waist down saving me from seeing more then I think my eyes could handle.
Friday, March 26, 2010
"Good Dinner. Thank You, Don"
For those of us who have had children, we remember all of the little home made cards, notes and pictures that our children wrote or drew for us in their scribbly little hand. To this day I have many tucked away in my sock drawer or archived under my mittens and caps. Recently one of those types of notes appeared on our kitchen table, on a napkin in balloon letters, with a hint of my dad's very distinctive hand writing, a message to the cook. "Good Dinner. Thank you, Don.". He even remembered the punctuation. Amazing!
There are days when my husband and I notice that Pop is going down hill and with concern we comment about his future. And then ... out of no where he will do something like this, an obvious cranial exercise and sentiment that just blows us away. Anecdotes of this type are what brings moments of brightness into our life with him; moments of laughter and amazement at what he still can do. I'm sure when he wrote that note he had no idea how much it would surprise us, bring smiles to our faces, and praise to God for the mysteries of the mind and its capabilities even under duress.
This little note, so artistically printed on a simple table napkin will be one of those memories that I will stash away under my socks or mittens.
There are days when my husband and I notice that Pop is going down hill and with concern we comment about his future. And then ... out of no where he will do something like this, an obvious cranial exercise and sentiment that just blows us away. Anecdotes of this type are what brings moments of brightness into our life with him; moments of laughter and amazement at what he still can do. I'm sure when he wrote that note he had no idea how much it would surprise us, bring smiles to our faces, and praise to God for the mysteries of the mind and its capabilities even under duress.
This little note, so artistically printed on a simple table napkin will be one of those memories that I will stash away under my socks or mittens.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Pop Calling on the Neighbors
When Pop came to live with us a little over 18 months ago, we were living in our house in South West Austin. Built of creamy white Texas limestone it is located at the end of a cul-de-sac flanked by two other homes built out of the same creamy rock.
Pop has always been very faithful to his walks and shortly after arriving he launched into his daily ritual. Because of the lack of traffic in the cul-de-sac, I felt quite safe letting him make his jaunts unattended. But wanting to be on the safe side, I would occasionally peak out the front door or window checking on him to be sure everything was OK. Usually I would see him making his rounds or returning at a nice even pace up the driveway to our house.
One day as my dad came casually strolling back in, hardly had he gotten in the door when my phone rang. Picking up the receiver I heard a rather disturbed voice on the other end, my neighbor to the left of us. As the story unfolded I learned that just moments before, her children, screaming at the top of their lungs came running to her while she was in the shower. Their terrifying tale was of an old man at the front door trying to "break and enter."
I guess the sound of the children's cries from the other side of the door caused my dad to realize his mistake. Moving on to the next driveway, ours, he made it safely home leaving behind the two very frightened kids and a rather irritated mom.
Not wanting to risk arrest and a jail sentence for him, I watched more carefully when he took his walks. But easier said then done. In a few days ring, ring, ring went my telephone again from my neighbor. "Oh, no," I thought to myself. The story this time was that his "breaking and entering" occurred through the garage. Coming into the house he forced his feeble frame over a baby gate and peaked in around a corner. Looking up from their play the children saw the same elderly face peering in at them. Alerted by their cries, mom looked up and all three of them shrieked in surprise.
Apparently this incident made a lasting impression, penetrating the boundaries of his forgetful mind, because, thankfully, the phone calls from her ceased. Thinking that these embarrassing visits had been nipped in the bud, I relaxed.
Several weeks later my door bell rang. Opening it I found on the porch my other neighbor on the other side of our house and beside her was ... Pop. Same story, other house.
Now the Lord must have been getting a pretty good chuckle out of all of this. In His mercy He recognized that aside from binding and gagging my dad I didn't have a rational solution for keeping the old guy from eventually getting himself arrested. Because soon we were to move out of the Texas limestone house into another on 10 acres of land. Set about a football field off of the main road, this new home has a nice little circular driveway out front proving to be the perfect little track for my dad's daily walks. And most importantly ... NO NEIGHBORS for Pop to go calling on.
Pop has always been very faithful to his walks and shortly after arriving he launched into his daily ritual. Because of the lack of traffic in the cul-de-sac, I felt quite safe letting him make his jaunts unattended. But wanting to be on the safe side, I would occasionally peak out the front door or window checking on him to be sure everything was OK. Usually I would see him making his rounds or returning at a nice even pace up the driveway to our house.
One day as my dad came casually strolling back in, hardly had he gotten in the door when my phone rang. Picking up the receiver I heard a rather disturbed voice on the other end, my neighbor to the left of us. As the story unfolded I learned that just moments before, her children, screaming at the top of their lungs came running to her while she was in the shower. Their terrifying tale was of an old man at the front door trying to "break and enter."
I guess the sound of the children's cries from the other side of the door caused my dad to realize his mistake. Moving on to the next driveway, ours, he made it safely home leaving behind the two very frightened kids and a rather irritated mom.
Not wanting to risk arrest and a jail sentence for him, I watched more carefully when he took his walks. But easier said then done. In a few days ring, ring, ring went my telephone again from my neighbor. "Oh, no," I thought to myself. The story this time was that his "breaking and entering" occurred through the garage. Coming into the house he forced his feeble frame over a baby gate and peaked in around a corner. Looking up from their play the children saw the same elderly face peering in at them. Alerted by their cries, mom looked up and all three of them shrieked in surprise.
Apparently this incident made a lasting impression, penetrating the boundaries of his forgetful mind, because, thankfully, the phone calls from her ceased. Thinking that these embarrassing visits had been nipped in the bud, I relaxed.
Several weeks later my door bell rang. Opening it I found on the porch my other neighbor on the other side of our house and beside her was ... Pop. Same story, other house.
Now the Lord must have been getting a pretty good chuckle out of all of this. In His mercy He recognized that aside from binding and gagging my dad I didn't have a rational solution for keeping the old guy from eventually getting himself arrested. Because soon we were to move out of the Texas limestone house into another on 10 acres of land. Set about a football field off of the main road, this new home has a nice little circular driveway out front proving to be the perfect little track for my dad's daily walks. And most importantly ... NO NEIGHBORS for Pop to go calling on.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Half Truths and Cunning
How does one get their father with memory issues to do what he doesn't want to do, what can't be explained or what can't be remembered? The answer -- half truths and cunning.
Half Truth #1 -- Extending his left hand he points to his pinky-finger and says, "My ring. It is gone." "Yes, I know. You lost it, Pop," I say. He seems to accept the news without great consternation which surprises me considering the ring is nearly as old as he is and has great sentimental value. I am relieved. In reality I have found the ring on a couple of occasions around the house. Once between a chair cushion and the arm of the chair and another on the floor. Realizing it was just a matter of time before it would be permanently lost if I didn't do something, I tucked it safely away in a drawer without his knowledge.
Half Truth #2 -- Taking him anywhere that he does not want to go, for example the doctor or the dentist, can produce a litany of repetitive questions from the front door of our house all the way to the doctors office creating unnecessary stress for both of us. So I have learned that asking him if he'd like to go for a "ride," just leaving out the doctor part, works quite well. We have a pleasant drive together and once we arrive at our destination I explain to him why we are there.
Cunning -- "Pop, I have some errands to run. Would you like to go for a drive with me?" "Nope. I think I'll just stay here," comes the response. OK. I can't drag him to the vehicle and I can't leave him home alone. Solution, I wait 10 minutes and present the same offer all over again. "Pop, I've got some errands to run. Would you like to go for a drive with me?" "Oh, sure," comes the reply. Given enough time the first negative response is forgotten and I usually get the positive that I need.
I believe you call this a win-win.
Half Truth #1 -- Extending his left hand he points to his pinky-finger and says, "My ring. It is gone." "Yes, I know. You lost it, Pop," I say. He seems to accept the news without great consternation which surprises me considering the ring is nearly as old as he is and has great sentimental value. I am relieved. In reality I have found the ring on a couple of occasions around the house. Once between a chair cushion and the arm of the chair and another on the floor. Realizing it was just a matter of time before it would be permanently lost if I didn't do something, I tucked it safely away in a drawer without his knowledge.
Half Truth #2 -- Taking him anywhere that he does not want to go, for example the doctor or the dentist, can produce a litany of repetitive questions from the front door of our house all the way to the doctors office creating unnecessary stress for both of us. So I have learned that asking him if he'd like to go for a "ride," just leaving out the doctor part, works quite well. We have a pleasant drive together and once we arrive at our destination I explain to him why we are there.
Cunning -- "Pop, I have some errands to run. Would you like to go for a drive with me?" "Nope. I think I'll just stay here," comes the response. OK. I can't drag him to the vehicle and I can't leave him home alone. Solution, I wait 10 minutes and present the same offer all over again. "Pop, I've got some errands to run. Would you like to go for a drive with me?" "Oh, sure," comes the reply. Given enough time the first negative response is forgotten and I usually get the positive that I need.
I believe you call this a win-win.
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