[Magdalen] Life is all about getting up in the morning

[Allan Carr]

Out house is one story so there's not much chance of Camille falling when
she wanders around. When i realize she's wandering and go for her, she
usually says something about someone wanting her to do something or go
somewhere or a like statement and i reassure her that it's someone in her
dream and no one here. I then take her to bed which is in another room than
mine because  she has fecal incontinence and, even with a pull up, can soil
the bed.

She goes to a day care center for Alzheimer's patients three days a week.
The other two days she still gives an afternoon to the church thrift shop
or goes to a women's spirituality group. They women in both are her old
friends so I think they're as worth while for her as the Alzheimer's group.
We have a caregiver eight hours a day, fortunately paid by our long term
care insurance, who takes her there in the morning and brings her back in
the afternoon.

We've had a little toy poodle, Joey, for thirteen years. Now in September,
monsoon breezes are coming up the grade from the beach cities so I often
delay his walk until noon or so and there's still some breeze. After the
walk I have a latte with the caregiver up to when it's near time to get
Camille, so sometimes Joey goes into the facility with our caregiver, much
to the delight of the patients inside.

Today in passing, the caregiver mentioned that Camille doesn't recognize
her if she walks in without Joey but does recognize her if she has Joey. I
didn't know that and it saddened me.

On Tue, Sep 9, 2014 at 7:59 AM, Lynn Ronkainen <ichthys89 at comcast.net>
wrote:

> this came across my 'e-desk' just now and after reading thought I would
> share. It brought to mind all of our lives in various permutations and the
> chances and cares of the world that we all are called to deal with.
> peace
> Lynn
>
>
> Life is all about getting up in the morning  /  by Michael Leach    |
> Sep. 9, 2014 Soul Seeing
>
> "Be willing to be a beginner every single morning." -- Meister Eckhart
>
> The first click is at 7:30 a.m. Someone is singing.
>
> If you wanna get to heaven
> Get out of this world
> You're the voyager
> You're the voyager ...
>
> It's Groundhog Day.
>
> Every day is just the same but totally different.
>
> I reach over Vickie, hit the snooze button, pull the cover up to her neck,
> cuddle up and stroke her hair. Before I know it, my mouth falls open and my
> brain is numb again.
>
> Click.
>
> You're the voyager ...
>
> I stumble out of bed and turn off the radio. "Stay. I'll go first."
>
> I sit on the edge of the bed with my arms on my knees and my head down
> like a boxer after a tough round.
>
> It started around 2 a.m. when the ceiling light in the hallway blinked on,
> sensing that someone was wandering around like Lady Macbeth. A kiddie gate
> near the stairs prevents Vickie from falling down, so I don't rush. "You're
> sleepwalking, sweetie." I put my arm around her and lead her to the
> bathroom, then tuck her back in. We spoon and I caress her face, lightly
> over the eyebrow, circling the hollow near her temple, smoothing her hair.
> She's asleep in less than a minute. It takes me longer. There'll be two
> more voyages before the morning's first click. Alzheimer's is like that.
>
> But now I'm up. The rest of my day depends on how I begin it. I open the
> blinds to let in the light. The sky is overcast. "Good morning, sunshine,"
> I call over. "It's a beautiful day."
>
> "Mm hmm," she answers.
>
> I sit next to the night table that has an open copy of the new Jack
> Reacher thriller and a Miracles magazine. This is a good time for most
> people to meditate but I never meditate because I can't keep the chattering
> monkey in my brain still for two seconds. So I just sit and watch my
> thoughts pass by without judging them and then the thought comes that life
> is all about getting up in the morning and meeting needs as they appear,
> without fuss, moment by moment. Maybe that's what love is, too.
>
> I was going to write a book back in the 1970s about living in the present
> moment but didn't because I only had about three good double-spaced pages
> in me. Plus, if you think about it, the only real moment we can focus on is
> the one that happens next. The present one is always in the past.
>
> So I sit by Vickie and sing to her in a whispery voice, "Good morning,
> sunshine, the earth says hello ..."
>
> "G' morning, Sooshi," she says.
>
> "It's time to start our day." I pull down the cover as she pulls herself
> up. We both sit on the side of the bed. "My feet," she says, "where are my
> feet?"
>
> "Over here." I reach for her fluffy pink slippers and put them on her like
> Cinderella. Her feet are still pretty at 68. Mine are disgusting, like a
> dinosaur's.
>
> Next Vickie looks in the bathroom mirror and says, "My hair!" She looks
> like an electrocuted chicken. I tell her, "It's OK. The aliens came last
> night. They parked their ship in the backyard and abducted you. They took
> samples of your hair because it's so beautiful they want to grow it on
> their planet."
>
> This is a routine we go through every morning. It's always the same but
> always different because each time we react to everything like it's
> happening for the first time, which for Vickie it is. I heard the actress
> Aubrey Plaza improvising with Jon Stewart the other night, and when he
> complimented her, she said, "All of life is improv, isn't it?"
>
> We go through our familiar liturgy of hygiene and getting dressed, Vickie
> first. It takes about as long as an early morning Mass by a priest and an
> altar boy who want to get it right even if nobody's watching. We hug before
> we go downstairs, and I say, "You done good, sweetie," and she says, "Thank
> you," two words she has always remembered, and I remember Meister Eckhart's
> saying, "If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you,
> it will be enough."
>
> We go down to the kitchen where I slice bananas for our corn flakes, put a
> straw in Vickie's chocolate Boost, and take a swig from a carton of OJ.
> I've brought down my Miracles magazine to read while we eat.
>
> "Listen to this, sweetie. It's kids on what love means. Rebecca, age 8:
> 'When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her
> toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when
> his hands got arthritis too.' "
>
> Vickie is pointing past me, through the sliding glass doors, onto the
> patio. I know what she's looking at. Our Lady of the Garden, the little
> sculpture of our Blessed Mother that sits in the garden Vickie tended for
> decades before she could no longer.
>
> "Yes, she's beautiful. She's looking after your garden and after us."
>
> Vickie smiles. Nothing makes me smile more.
>
> I read the last entry to myself. Terri, age 4: "Love is what makes you
> smile when you're tired."
>
> [Michael Leach shepherds Soul Seeing for NCR and books for Orbis Books.]
>
>
>
>
>
>
> website: www.ichthysdesigns.com
>
> When I stand before God at the end of my life I would hope that I have not
> a single bit of talent left and could say, "I used everything You gave me."
> attributed to Erma Bombeck
>
> Thomas Merton writes, "People may spend their whole lives climbing the
> ladder of success only to find, once they reach the top, that the ladder is
> leaning against the wrong wall."
>



-- 
Allan Carr