Eating cake and crying in dreams
Farmers market moves back into downtown
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I rely on routines to keep me going and try to adjust to the variations each day brings. Bella was up at 2 Saturday morning and heading for the staircase. I got to her as she struggled with the gate at the top.
“Hey Sweetie,” I said, and turned on the light on the landing.
“Ow,” she said.
I hugged her.
“What do you want to do?” I said.
“I want to go to bed. But that light,” she said.
I turned it off as she walked back to the bedroom. I tucked her in and found my way in the dark to my side of the bed. I covered myself up and arranged my arms and legs.
A couple of hours more, I told myself. Don’t think about it, just rest —
I woke up at 3:27, flooded with relief, because in the middle of a bad dream, it came to me that Bella was wearing a bracelet transmitter, which meant I could find her in the foreign city where I’d lost her. Meanwhile, wracked by fear and grief, I had been crying and fallen down in the roadway.
I went downstairs, plugged in the coffee pot, put a piece of bread in the toaster and crossed into the family room to say good morning to our bunny, Beans.
I heard the kitchen door open and saw Bella at the refrigerator.
“Do we have anything to eat?” she said.
“Want a piece of toast with butter and honey?”
“Sure,” she said.
I sat with her at the butcher block and sipped my coffee, then took her upstairs when she finished the toast and tucked her in.
“I’m going back down to drink my coffee, then I’ll come up to write. I’ll be right here,” I said.
“OK,” she said.
I went back downstairs and put in a new piece of toast, sitting on the couch in the family room, Beans perched at my feet, then tiptoed upstairs to the office.
Bella had come downstairs early Wednesday also, the day after her 66th birthday. I pulled out of the fridge the strawberry and cream cake that Zo and Ciaira had brought over, and we sat at the butcher block while she ate a piece.
“I’d like to record us for a podcast, is that all right?” I said.
“Sure.” She shrugged.
I taped us for about 12 minutes of bleary talk and long pauses, during which I am trying to make sense of what she is saying.
Here is the first five minutes:
After that, the button got pushed by mistake, so I had to start a new file. Here is the next seven minutes:
Living with someone with Alzheimer’s disease entails an ongoing effort at normalization. Even people we meet on the street take part.
A hug from Bella on the sidewalk? “Thank you,” says the stranger she just embraced.
Inserting Ringo into every conversation? “Of course,” say our friends. “He’s a great dog.”
Dropping dishes in the coffee shop? A glance, a tiny pause and the happy chatter resumes.
At home, we live by the second, jumping from thought to thought like they’re ice floes on a frozen bay.
The disease does not seem to progress, but forests of association have been felled, years of memories carved out until the landscape of our lives is transformed.
Each day, we start over.
Wanderings
We took a walk on the Feeder Canal trail early in the week, crossing over the new footbridge to Water Street, then wending our way back to our car along the new row of houses above the canal. Along the way, we spotted this very well camouflaged bunny next to the trail:
We also heard this buzzing, which the Merlin app did not recognize as a bird. It sounds high-pitched for a cicada, but perhaps it’s a high-pitched cicada:
Friday, we had a Halfway Brook day, as Ringo enjoyed a swim in the brook during a walk in Cole’s Woods, and later, we crossed the brook on a bridge while walking along Queensbury’s Halfway Brook Trail, from the trailhead on Peggy Ann Road.
Saturday morning, we went to the season’s first farmers market in downtown and bought a couple of bottles of jun kombucha; a locally raised whole chicken for roasting; dog treats; and a jar of blueberry jam. A lot more was on sale.
May we all approach our challenges with such grace and compassion. Day at a time.
I can only hope that at some point in my life I find someone who loves me the way you love Bella. ❤️