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An Unusual Start This Morning

I was taking my walk around the house this morning when I noticed Kate start to get out of bed. That was about 7:15. I went to the bedroom. She sat up straight and said, “Good Morning!” She had a big smile on her face and seemed unusually alert. She sounded as though she had been awake and up for quite a while. Of course, I knew she hadn’t. I walked to her side of the bed. She reached her hand out for mine to lift her into a sitting position with her feet hanging over the side of the bed. She said, “You know it’s funny.” Then she paused as she tried to think of what she wanted to say. I wish I could remember exactly what she said, but here is the gist of it.

She began to talk about school children. She said they are really smart, and they know they are smart. She said they wanted to learn. At first, she appeared to be talking about learning in general, but she moved into her specialty as an English teacher and use of the English language. All of her teaching was primarily with high school students, but it sounded like she was probably talking about elementary school students. It was never clear. She emphasized that their parents were eager for them to learn as well. She talked a lot about her relationship with the students and her efforts to build that relationship as a means to being a more effective teacher.

After a few minutes, I decided this wasn’t going to be a short conversation. I sat down on the bed beside her and listened. The only comments I made were facilitative ones. “It sounds like they really want to learn.” “The teachers really seem to care.” “It sounds like you’re doing the right thing.” There was a clock on the bedside table. When I first looked at it, the time was 7:20. We closed the conversation when it was 8:08. My intention was to see how long she would talk, but when she slowed up a bit, I asked what she would like to do “now.” She wanted to get dressed. I suggested a shower, and she accepted that. The conversation was over.

I found three things of interest about this conversation. The first was how alert she seemed to be from the moment I entered the bedroom. That is very unusual. She displayed no sign of grogginess at all. She was cheerful and alert. The second thing is that the way she spoke didn’t sound like the way she would talk to me. I never asked, but I’m not sure she recognized me. In fact, when I led her to the bathroom, she wanted me to leave before she took off her night gown. She apparently forgot that when I offered to start the shower for her because she took off her gown and got into the shower before I walked out.

The third thing is that the nature of her conversation was very much like what I have heard her say on other occasions. One of those times she was talking with the woman who gives her a massage. That time, however, she was talking as though she were a teacher in a school in another country. I’ve always thought it might be Africa or South America because those are both places where we have visited schools. It also reminds me of several dreams she had as far back as four or five years. She occasionally would talk in her sleep. She talked like she was speaking to a class and giving instructions.

It’s now 9:10. She is out of the shower and back in bed. I think I’ll let her rest until sometime after 10:00. I expect she will be back to normal although it is hard for me to know or say what “normal” is these days.

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Confusion Over the Weekend

Saturday night, we watched the last half of a PROMS concert in London. It was an entire program of music by Rodgers and Hammerstein. We have watched it before, but this time Kate was more engaged. That was evident by the fact that she put her iPad down to watch. She enjoyed it and everything seemed quite normal.

When the program was over, Kate went to the bathroom to brush her teeth before coming to bed. When she came out, she saw me and looked puzzled. She said, “Where is he?” I said, “Who?” She said, “You know who.” I walked closer to her. She pointed in the direction of the family room and said, “Is he in there?” I said, “Who are you looking for?” She said, “Richard.” I said, “I’m Richard. I’m your husband.” She said, “No, you’re not.” I decided not to pursue it any further and gave her night gown to her. She didn’t ask any more questions.

Just before midnight, Kate woke up. She moved over right next to me. She apparently had had a dream and was frightened. I said, “It’s all right. I am right here with you. Nothing’s going to happen.” She said, “What about my mother?” I told her she was safe, that I wouldn’t let anything happen to her either. She gradually relaxed. That began a conversation that lasted over an hour.

She said, “I’m glad I have you.” I told her I felt the same way and that we had been together a long time. She wanted to know how long. I told her we had been married almost fifty-six years, and we had had a good marriage. She agreed. As we moved from  our marriage to other questions about family, she asked, “What is your name?” She was loaded with other questions. She asked about our children, their names, where they lived, what they did. She also asked what kind of work she did. I told her about her teaching school, becoming a school librarian, and working as a volunteer church librarian for nineteen years.

She said, “What’s my mother’s name?” I said, “Elizabeth Franklin. She was a special lady.” She picked up on “was” and said, “Is she gone?” Most of the time I answer honestly, but this time she really seemed worried. I said, “No, she is fine.” Then she said, “What’s my father’s name?” I said, “Carl Franklin. He’s a good man.”  She said, “What’s his name again?” I told her. Then she said, “What’s my mother’s name?” I told her. She asked where they lived. After I told her, she wanted to know where we live.

The last time I looked at the clock it was a couple of minutes after 1:00. Not long after that, we were both asleep.

Just before 8:00 yesterday morning, she started to get up. I got to the bedroom as she was getting out of bed. She looked at me and gave me a big smile. Then she said, “I’m so glad to see you.” The way she said it, I could tell she thought I was someone else. I gave her a hug, and she hugged back. I asked if I could help her. She looked puzzled. I said, “I thought maybe you wanted to go to the bathroom.” She said, “I’d like some clothes first.” I said, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll get some clothes while you go to the bathroom.” I started to walk her to the bathroom when she said, “I look forward to being with you guys.” I walked her to the bathroom and left to get her clothes. When I came back, she appeared to know me.

The rest of the day went well although there were other moments of confusion. For a while at lunch, she didn’t recognize me as her husband. I made reference to our children. She couldn’t believe we were married. I showed her a few pictures of Jesse and Kevin, and she changed her mind. I don’t know if she simply accepted that or if she really remembered. It was impossible to know for sure. I only know that she seemed more accepting.

After lunch, I watched the Master’s with the sound off. I played music that I knew Kate enjoys. She lay down to rest but never went to sleep. She enjoyed the music.

The biggest problem of the day occurred when we attended a drop-in at the home of a couple we have met at Casa Bella on jazz nights. They usually sit at our table, and I have enjoyed talking with them. Kate has not had the same connection. I accepted the invitation with the intention of putting in an appearance and then coming home. I hadn’t anticipated exactly how Kate would respond, but she has gotten along so well in other situations I decided to try. Big mistake. We were in a completely different part of town in a home in which we had never visited before. Along with that, there were a large number of people. It turned out that the primary connection was jazz. I saw several people I knew from other places in the community, but Kate didn’t know anyone. That included the people we really did know. The arrangement of the house was confusing to her. She didn’t know where she should go or what to do. A couple of times when I was engaged in a conversation, she walked away. She was quite uneasy and ready to leave almost from the time we arrived. There was nothing redeeming for her. I got something for us to eat, paid our respect to our hosts, and left. I have avoided social gatherings like this for quite some time. This experience confirmed what I suspected. It’s just too much for her.

We relaxed when we got home. She sat down with her “Big Sister” album. I asked if she would like me to look through it with her. I was hoping (and expecting) she would say yes. She didn’t. After a while, I noticed she was as excited about the album as she usually is. That’s when I discovered that she was confused about what to do with it. She had been treating it like her iPad with the puzzles app. She kept touching the photos, but nothing happened. Even after I explained the problem, she couldn’t catch on. I suggested she take a break and work with her iPad. She was glad to do that and worked on it for the remainder of the evening.

During the past couple of weeks, I have referred to how cheerful Kate has been. That hasn’t been true the past couple of days, especially yesterday. Like everything else, I can’t be sure exactly what accounts for the change; however, I always wonder if she isn’t feeling a bit discouraged about how she is doing. She is still sharp enough to recognize that she is not all right. Whatever the explanation, I know it is harder for me to be upbeat when she is not.

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Another Anxiety Attack

In the past I’ve suggested that it is hard to predict exactly what lies ahead in our future. That is true for everyone, but it seems to be especially noticeable in the lives of people living with Alzheimer’s. It certainly is for us. I was reminded of that around 6:30 this morning. I had just gotten up and entered our bathroom when I heard Kate say, “Hey.” I opened the bathroom door and saw that she was sitting up in bed looking at me. She looked as if something were wrong. I asked if she were all right. She said, “I don’t know. I want to go to the bathroom.” She was shaking and uneasy on her feet. She held my hand most of the way to the bathroom before she felt secure enough to let go. On the way, she asked, “Where are we?” I told her we were at our own home in Knoxville.

When she got up from the toilet, she wanted to brush her teeth. As she walked to the sink, she said, “I’m not myself.” She repeated that several times over the next few minutes. She finished brushing and said, “I’ll be glad when this is all over.” I’ve heard her say this several times in the past and don’t know what she means. I’ve asked before though not this time. She always says, “You know.” Over the next few minutes she said, “I’m not myself. I don’t know what’s going on with me.” I can’t remember what it was, but she said something else that was a clear recognition that something is wrong with her.

I took the approach of comforting her without any attempted explanations. When she said, “I’m not myself,” I said, “I can tell that, but I want you to know that I am here to help you. I will always be with you.” We walked back to the bed. I helped her in. I told her I would stay in bed with her. She said, “Oh, good.”

For the next forty-five minutes, we lay in bed facing each other. She wanted to hold my hand. We spoke very little. She asked my name one time. I said, “Richard. Richard Creighton, and I am your husband. You are Kate Creighton, my wife of almost fifty-six years.” She looked puzzled but didn’t say anything. In a while, she said she was feeling better. When I could tell that she was asleep, I got up. She is still sleeping as I finish this post.

These attacks and milder experiences of knowing something is wrong remind me of my mother who had dementia. I remember so well her saying, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t remember anything.” I also recall times when I’ve heard people say, “At least, she doesn’t know.” I’ve realized all along that people with dementia often know that something is wrong even if they don’t know what it is. And it bothers them. What I didn’t expect was that Kate would have these experiences so late in her journey. At this point, I doubt that she has a concept of Alzheimer’s or dementia, but she is able to tell that “I’m not myself.” Those are the moments that are hardest for her. They are for me as well.

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A Taste of This Morning’s Conversation

At almost 9:00 this morning, I saw that Kate was getting out of bed. I went to her and asked what I could do for her. She asked me to get her clothes. I asked if she wanted to take a shower first. She did, and we walked to the bathroom. As I started to get the shower ready for her, she took off her night gown, and we had the following conversation.

Kate:              “What is your name?”

Richard:        “Richard.”

Kate:              “What’s your full name?”

Richard:        “Richard Lee Creighton.”

Kate:              “What’s my name?”

Richard:        “Katherine Franklin Creighton.”

Kate:              “That sounds right. And who are you?”

Richard:        “I’m your husband.”

Kate:              “Noooo.”

Richard:        “Let’s talk about that later. Why don’t you take your shower now.”

Kate:              (Getting into the shower) “Who are you?”

Richard:        “Do you think I’m a friendly guy?”

Kate:              “Yes.”

Richard:        “I’m your husband.”

Kate:              (Puzzled look) “Okay. <pause> What’s your name?”

Richard:        “Richard Lee Creighton.”

Kate:              “What should I call you?”

Richard:        “Richard.”

After her shower, she went back to bed for about forty-five minutes. Then she got up to dress. She didn’t ask my name or who I am. She acted as though she knew. I wanted to ask but didn’t. I think she knew.

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Some Things Work. Some Don’t

I’ve often thought that a large part of caregiving is either preventing or solving problems. I haven’t tried to keep a tally of my victories and losses, but we seem to have gotten along reasonably well. Of course, one of the reasons is that I keep discovering things that Kate can’t do. That’s when I grasp that I am the one who has to change and adapt to what she is able to do.

In yesterday’s post, I mentioned that I had taken photos of the primary screens that she faces when working her jigsaw puzzles. I thought that was a pretty clever idea. When I shot each photo, I put my index finger on or up against the button or place she needs to touch in order to pull up the next screen. How could I go wrong?

It’s not really hard at all, to go wrong that is. All you have to do is think like someone who doesn’t have Alzheimer’s (that would be me) instead of one who does. Kate couldn’t connect my photos with what she was seeing on her iPad even though they were almost identical except for my finger in the photos. I worked slowly with her for about fifteen minutes before I could see that what I was doing was causing her more frustration than the problem I was trying to solve. It is actually much simpler for her to ask me what she should do next than to translate my pictures and do it herself. When I stopped to think about it, her system was working for her all along. I was really addressing my problem of having to get up from my chair to help her.

Her most critical problem seems to be her eyesight. That’s true whether she is looking at the screen on the iPad or my photo of the screen. That relates to her Alzheimer’s and not to the physical properties of her eyes. As well as I can understand it, her problem is knowing where to focus her attention. She is faced with an array of stimuli and is confused about which one(s) to attend to. She does, however, choose the correct ones most of the time. I’m guessing that because there are times when she goes for a good while without asking for help. Other times I see that she has chosen the correct one. I don’t know how to explain that. It’s as though she knows one minute and forgets in another.

One of the most frequent problems she encounters occurs when she touches a button for the store located in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. When she does that, she is presented with a large collection of puzzle packs for purchase. When she touches a puzzle pack, she gets a screen asking for the password. Then she is stuck because she doesn’t know it. That is a time for help. The button for the store is small enough that I am surprised that she sees it. She often can’t see the button that says “Play” that scatters the pieces so that she can reassemble the puzzle. It is about three times the size of the button for the store. I think there are so many pictures of other colorful puzzles behind the “Play” button it is too difficult for her to see the green button she should touch. I think I will continue showing her what to do each time she runs into a problem. In time, that may help her learn to touch the correc button more often than she is currently doing, but, perhaps, it won’t. She depends so heavily on her puzzles for entertainment I will do everything I can to help her continue with this pastime.

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A Confusing Start

About 8:15 this morning, I saw on the video cam that Kate was still in bed but awake and looking around the room. I went to the bedroom and sat down on the bed. She looked puzzled. I said, “It looks like you’re confused.” She nodded in agreement. Then she said, “Who are you?” I said, “Do I look like someone who is friendly?” She said. “Yes.” Then I told her my name. She asked her name. I said, “Kate Creighton and you’re very special to me.” She looked surprised and said, “Who are you?” I told her that I was her husband. This was one of those times when she couldn’t quite fathom that. I recited some of the things that have helped her in the past – our meeting at TCU, our courtship, our marriage, information about her parents. None of this meant anything to her. I finally got out the “Big Sister” photo album. As always, she liked the photo of her and her brother on the cover, but she didn’t recognize who they were. She asked who the boy was. When I told her that was Ken, her brother, I pointed to her picture and asked who that was. She said, “Me.” She looked at a few other pictures and didn’t recognize anyone. She said she was tired and wanted to rest.

I asked if she would like me to sit in the room with her. She said, “Oh, yes.” I took that as a good sign. Even if she didn’t know my name or that I was her husband, she seemed to feel more secure if I stayed with her.

About forty-five minutes later, I got up to get something from the kitchen. I saw that her eyes were open and said hello. She smiled and gave me a little chuckle. I told her I was glad to see her. She smiled again. I can’t be sure, but I think she recognized me. Then she dozed off again. I’m going to be optimistic that she’ll be fine when she wakes up.

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Update on Sleep and Mood

It was a year ago that I first noticed a change in Kate’s sleep pattern. Until that time she went to bed early, generally about 8:00. In the morning, she got up between 7:30 and 8:30. Last spring, she started sleeping later. In conversations with her doctor, I took her off Trazadone. That enabled her to stay up a little longer, and she was more awake at lunch than before. In general, she still sleeps later. Recently, however, she has been more erratic in the time she gets up. Most days I wake her. I usually start that process around 10:00 or 10:30. Other times she surprises me by getting up early.

In the past week or so, she has gotten up earlier than usual. She was up before 8:00 Saturday. We arrived at Panera shortly after 8:30. That was two days in a row, and the third time we had been there in the past week. Prior to that it had been months since we had been there that many times in a week. A year ago, we went there almost every day.

What should I expect next? I don’t know. She was up early enough yesterday to get to Panera again, and she was upbeat. She appears quite normal until she asks a question that gives her away or until she encounters a problem on her iPad. For example, she was up before 8:00 this morning and wanted to take a shower. She seemed fine, but she asked where the bathroom was. I showed her. She was cheerful and related to me very naturally. I could have assumed that she knew me. As I helped her into the shower, she said, “What is your name?” I told her and left her in the shower.

When she was finished, she got back in bed. I sat down on the bed beside her. We chatted a minute or two. Then she said, “Who are you?” I said, “Do I look like someone you know?” She said, “I don’t know.” I said, “Well, do you think of me as friendly?” Again she said, “I don’t know.” I said, “The way you are talking to me sounds like you must think I’m friendly.” She hesitated and said, “Yes, I do.” I went on to explain that we are married and that we met at the home of one of her high school friends when we were students at TCU. That was the first moment that she seemed to fully accept that I am her husband. Despite these questions, she spoke with me as naturally as though she knew my name and understood that I am her husband. She did express surprise when I told her we were married, but she never looked confused. Only her words conveyed that. She was never afraid or concerned about not remembering who I am. She has only experienced an anxiety or panic attack a few times in connection with not knowing where she is or who she is. I am grateful for that.

I don’t know how long this will last, but it may not be long until she changes again. Right now, it almost seems like we are living as though she does not have Alzheimer’s. Of course, that is not literally so, but it is a happy time. We’ll enjoy these moments as long as it is possible.

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Midnight Delusion

Over the course of her Alzheimer’s Kate has experienced a variety of delusions. Most notably that has involved a belief that our home was her childhood home in Texas, a prior home in which we lived, or a B&B or hotel. Quite a few times she has also believed that we were going to have house guests when we weren’t.

Around midnight yesterday, she had another delusion that is much less common. In fact, I think this may have been the first or second time she has had such an experience. She said something that woke me up. I asked if she was all right. She said, “What do I need to do?” I didn’t understand and said, “Right now you don’t need to do anything. You can relax and go back to sleep.” That didn’t satisfy her. She said, “What are we going to do about him?” I told her I didn’t know who she was talking about. She couldn’t remember “his” name, but said he was someone I used to work with. I started naming people I thought were most likely. I couldn’t get the right person.

We finally gave up that line of questioning and focused on what she seemed to be concerned about. It took a lot of probing, but I learned that she thought someone who had worked with me was trying to get back at me by threatening to harm her. I suggested that it sounded like she may have had a dream. She insisted it was not a dream but acknowledged that it sounded like it could have been.

I didn’t try to tell her otherwise. I shifted gears to comfort her without dealing with who the person was and what he was trying to do or whether it was a dream or a reality. I told her I would be with her and would protect her from any harm. I used that assurance to divert her attention by talking about us and our relationship. That offered us more to talk about than if I had focused solely on telling I would protect her. This didn’t have an immediate effect. She kept bringing up the man who was trying to get at me through her. I persisted, and gradually, over what seemed like an hour but was probably 30-40 minutes, she relaxed and went to sleep. By that time, she may have forgotten about “the man” altogether.

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Another Day of “Happy-Sad” Moments

For the second day in a row, Kate got up early. I was especially glad because she had a 10:30 appointment with her ophthalmologist. It was her final follow-up visit after her cataract surgery. I planned to wake her about 9:00. I knew even that might cause her to rush. I also assumed we wouldn’t have time to get her a muffin before the appointment. It turned out we didn’t need to rush at all. She got up at 8:00. That enabled us to stop by Panera for her muffin and work a few jigsaw puzzles before hand. We were early enough to see several people in the Catholic group that comes regularly after morning mass. It has been several months since we have seen the Baptists who have Bible study on Tuesdays from 9:30 to 10:30. I have heard indirectly that they have been asking about us.

The good news about the doctor’s appointment is that she said Kate’s eye had healed nicely. She also removed a stitch she had put in to protect the implant if Kate had forgotten she wasn’t supposed to rub her eye. That turned out to be a good plan. Testing her eyesight is almost impossible. Although she tested at 20/50 a month ago, she didn’t do as well two weeks ago. Yesterday was even worse. It is hard for her to know how to follow instructions and where to focus. They finally took her to another room where they were able to test her through digital technology.

Yesterday afternoon, we drove to North Carolina, to attend a show at the Flatrock Playhouse. On the way, Kate repeatedly asked where we were and where we were going. At this stage of her Alzheimer’s, it is simply impossible for her to remember things like this. Her brain won’t “allow” it. We also had one of those conversations in which we talk about about our marriage, our families, and the many experiences we have had followed by her asking my name and her name. As usual, she asked without any sense of frustration or concern. She just wanted to know. I never mind her asking. It’s those times she is troubled by not knowing that bother me. We had one of those later in the evening.

We made this trip at the invitation of a couple we know from Casa Bella. We have attended one other show at the Playhouse with them in the fall. Kate, of course, never remembers them, but she enjoys being with them. They are friendly people, and she feels comfortable with them. Last night’s performance was the comedienne Jeanne Robertson. This was the first time time in our marriage that we had attended a performance by a comic other than as part of a variety show on a cruise. Kate doesn’t generally take to comedians, and I was worried that she wouldn’t enjoy her. Before accepting the invitation I looked at a couple of YouTube segments of some of her other shows and decided it was worth a chance. I’m glad I did. Kate thoroughly enjoyed it. I am sure she didn’t understand much of it, but a good comedian is successful for much more than the exact words. She enjoyed it so much that I was a bit surprised when we saw Robertson in the lobby talking with others who had attended, and Kate had no idea who she was. That was true even after I explained that she was the one we had seen on stage in the auditorium.

As we walked to dinner and from dinner to the Playhouse, Kate whispered to me, “Where are we?” She repeated her question a number of times as well as when we went to our hotel for the night. When we got to our room, she said, “I sure am glad I’m with you. I have no idea where I am.” That was the beginning of a lengthy conversation that continued off and on for about an hour. She said, “I want you to know how much I appreciate what you do for me.” I told her that everything I do for her is because I love her. She was a bit teary but never broke into a full cry.

During the early part of the conversation, it sounded like she understood that she has Alzheimer’s. She said things like, “You’re the only one who knows what I am going through, and I even have trouble remembering your name. I do sometimes, but . . .” As she talked a little more, I learned that she was disturbed because she has lost “so many of my family.” She was worried that she had not done enough for them. I tried to encourage her. I reminded her of the way she had cared for her mother and how good we both felt about having her in our home the last years of her life.

On this particular trip she seemed to be less at ease in a strange place than at any other time. I’ve been looking for this on our previous trips but haven’t observed it. I’m not even sure about this one, but a few times she said, “I’ll be glad when we get home.” One of the reasons it is hard to determine if it is uneasiness about being in a strange place is that she sometime says the same thing when we are at home. In those cases, I don’t know if she thinks we are in Texas and wants to go to Knoxville or if she understands we are in Knoxville and wants to go home to Texas.

When I got ready to shower, she asked if it would be all right if she worked on her iPad. I told her that would be fine. She said, “Are you sure?” I told her this was a time she could relax and do whatever she wanted. I reminded her that we had no commitments in the morning, and she could sleep as late as she wanted.

It wasn’t until we turned out the lights and were in bed that she said, “Thank you. I’m beginning to relax now.” She continued to talk for a while. Then she drifted off to sleep. She slept until 5:00 this morning when she got up to go to the bathroom. When she got back in bed, she wanted to know “Where are we?” I told her, but she asked several more times. It took her a good while to get back to sleep. It is now 9:45. She is still sleeping soundly. If she doesn’t wake before, I will get her up around 11:00 so that we can get home early in the afternoon.

Considering everything, it was a very good day. She was in a good humor and enjoyed herself. She seems comfortable with the friends who invited us and loved the show last night. What more could I ask this long after her diagnosis? We continue to have good times. How fortunate we are.

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A Day of Uplifting Social Experiences

At 9:40 yesterday morning, I saw on the video cam that Kate was up and walking back to bed. I went to her and discovered that she had gone to the bathroom next to our bedroom. I said, “I see you’re up.” She said, “For the moment.” She pulled back the covers and got back into bed. She said, “Is that all right?” I said, “That’s fine.”

An hour later at 10:45, I brought her clothes to her, and we had the following conversation.

Richard:        “Today is a special day. It’s your daddy’s birthday.”

Kate:              (She smiled.) “What’s his name?”

Richard:        “Carl Franklin. He was a good man and he loved his little girl.”

Kate:              “Who are you?” (In a very natural, conversational tone)

Richard:        “Before I tell you, do you recognize me?”

Kate:             “Sure. You have a nice voice. I know other people tell you that.”

Richard:        “I’m Richard Creighton, and I’m your husband.”

Kate:              “How did we meet?”

Richard:        “We met at a friend’s house on a Sunday evening in September, 1960.”

Apart from her memory loss, she was very relaxed and seemed just fine. She expressed no uneasiness about not knowing my name or my being her husband.

When she was ready, we went to lunch. On the way, she asked me where we were four or five times and several times on the way home. We had a very pleasant lunch at Carla’s. We hadn’t seen the hostess in a couple of weeks. I asked where she had been. She told us that she and her siblings had moved their mother from Guam where the family had grown up. During our meal, an acquaintance took a table next to ours. She was meeting friends who had not yet arrived. She sat down at our table and we chatted until her friends arrived. We don’t know her that well. She is French but spent most of her youth in Egypt where her father was a dentist. It was nice getting to know her a little better.

Although we eat lunch there almost every Tuesday, Kate commented on the restaurant as though she had never been there before. They serve gelato that we both love, but she never remembers that. It seems like her sense of taste is not nearly as strong as her other senses. <g>

When we returned home, Kate asked me what she “could do now.” I told her we could go into the family room where she could work on her iPad. She said that would be fine. She wanted to know where she should sit. I pointed to a chair and told her she usually sat there so that she could look outside to the back yard. I put her iPad on the chair. She walked over, picked it up and said, “What’s this?” I told her that was her iPad. I took it from her and said, “Let me show you what you can do with it.” I opened the cover and touched the icon for her puzzle app. As it started to load, I said, “Now watch what happens.” I showed her a selection of puzzles of flowers and said, “When you touch one of them, it will break into pieces that you can put together.” She looked amazed and said, “That’s neat.” It was as if she had never seen it before. It is hard to believe this is possible when she spends as much as 6 hours a day working such puzzles.

While she was working on her iPad, I tuned into a station featuring the music of Frank Sinatra and other singers of his period. The first song was “New York, New York.” I can’t remember the last time we heard that song, but she recognized it before she heard the first words. A little later, we heard Rosemary Clooney singing “Mambo Italiano.” She chuckled in recognition as it played. I said, “This is ‘Old-fashioned’ music. She said, “I love it.” As much as I’ve observed the power of music for her, I was still taken aback by how quickly she recognized these old songs when shortly before she hadn’t even remembered what her iPad can do.

After a while, I suggested we go to Barnes & Noble. She liked the idea. I was happy about that. I felt it would be good for both of us to get out of the house. That worked out well. We had conversations with two different people. One is a member of our church who meets with a group of other men each Tuesday afternoon. The other is a young woman who tutors students there almost every weekday. We often chat with her in between or before her students arrive.

Kate began to have problems working her puzzles, and I suggested it was a good time to break for dinner. We went to Bonefish Grill where we know the hostess and several servers who speak to us even when they are not serving us. It is the only restaurant we frequent where we don’t have just one server that we request each time. That has made for an added bit of social activity when we dine there – even when we don’t see other people we know. Before taking our seats, Kate wanted to go to the restroom. I walked her to the door and walked back to my seat where I could see her when she came out. The servers look out for her as well. Last night our server was walking back to the kitchen when Kate came out of the restroom. She walked Kate back to our table. Eating out turned out to be another social experience for us.

As we were winding down the day at home, our son Kevin called. It was nice way to end our day.  It was a good day. That doesn’t mean there was any improvement in Kate’s condition, but I felt we had a day of more uplifting experiences than some recent days. That keeps us going.