Garrison Keillor and I were both awakened after a fall…

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This is not a sermon, just a fact: since I cut out alcohol 22 years ago, I’ve often awoken in the middle of the night with beautiful ideas, which is a golden gift for a writer, better than emeralds. Tuesday night, for example, I woke at 3 a.m., next to my sleeping wife, arose, dressed, slipped out of our hotel room in Minneapolis, and sat in the lobby with my laptop and started writing a book with a ten-word title about happiness. I’m a happy man, I am qualified. Last week I did two shows, just outside D.C. and in Vermont, two serious locations, and I made those people laugh so hard, they were glad they’d brought an extra pair of pants. I went to Minnesota hoping to solve a Medicare problem that I’d spent years on the phone about, listening to mind-numbing music on Hold, waiting to talk to a clueless functionary working from home, TV blaring in the background, dogs barking, and in Minnesota I went to an office, sat across the desk from a human being, the way we used to do, and he solved it in a matter of minutes. And he thanked me for my patience. Life is good.

   

I’ve been waiting a long time to become as old as I am and it was worth the wait. You couldn’t pay me enough to go back to being young again. I did dumber things than you’d think possible for a university graduate. That’s why I excused myself from the jury — paying off a porn star and claiming it as a business expense? Heck, I’ve made accounting mistakes, too. But — this is the beautiful 3 a.m. idea — you’ve got to have some disasters, the kind you walk away from, to notice the bluebird on your shoulder. My disaster was a series of falls I took while walking around Manhattan. I’m 81. I used to have a good jump shot from the free-throw circle, I have hit for extra bases in softball, but that was a long time ago. Now, as I walk through LaGuardia, men driving passenger carts stop and offer me a ride. I decline. They say, “Are you sure?”

I fell twice crossing 89th Street, once in the middle of the street, once at the curb. I misjudged the step, crashed down on my hands and knees and chin, and once I walked into a tree branch on the path around the Central Park Reservoir and got plonked on my keister, and each time strangers rushed to my side to ask if I was okay and I said I was and jumped up but now I see these falls were a turning point in my life. Once you come crashing down, there is no longer a need to have a smart opinion about everything; you’re simply part of the human race. Your job is to be a biped rather than a quad. As Scripture says, It is God who has made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.And so long as you can stand up and baa, you can do comedy. I have a good sense of sentence structure and my vocabulary is exemplary. Thanks to my aunts Elsie and Margaret, I speak clearly. They listened to me recite my verse in Sunday school and said, “We could understand every word.” From Ephesians and Ecclesiastes to stand-up comedy is a hop and a jump.

 

   

Life is so enjoyable once you no longer need to be cool. Once in an ER I sat in a curtained alcove in a blue gown and my undies and was closely examined by a neurologist who wrote something on her clipboard and I asked to see it and she gave it to me. It said, “Very pleasant 80 y.o. male, tall, well-developed, well-nourished, flat affect, awake, alert, and appropriate.” It described me so well, especially the “awake, alert, and appropriate” but I took exception to the “flat affect” — I felt euphoric. The embolism had landed in a rural grassy part of my brain, far from the bustling neuron metropolis, and when I considered other possible outcomes (O.P.O.), it was exhilarating.

So I feel awakened, more alert to the beauties of life, and the appropriate thing is to write about them. I don’t need to fall down again or be examined by a neurologist. I need to go do my work. I retired years ago and I’ve been busier ever since. Gotta run. Bye.

   

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Garrison Keillor is in his Brisk Verse era. Buy his latest book and see for yourself!

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The world is completion and cycles to be embraced…

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I’ll bet you know people like this………………………..

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There are nine things elders with dementia want you to know…

Arguing
Insisting you are right because, well, you know better. You don’t have dementia. People living with dementia (PLWD) have an increasingly limited ability to understand the world as we see it. Therefore, we need to learn to see the world from their view. When we do this, we don’t argue if they say that they haven’t eaten all day even though lunch was an hour ago. We just say, “Really? Then we’d better get you a snack.”


Expecting everyone with dementia – or even everyone with dementia of the Alzheimer’s type – to be the same
Your uncle’s trajectory with the disease will be different than your dad’s or your friend’s husband. Everyone with dementia is as much an individual as everyone who doesn’t have dementia. Yes, there are guidelines and behaviors to watch for, but each person will respond differently. Remember, too, that each day will be different. Some days are easier than others. That’s the nature of the dementia care-giving.

Shaming
Although it’s tempting to point your finger at the person with dementia, I have never seen shaming to achieve positive results. They can’t help their behavior. Shaming is rarely a good reaction toward anyone, but it’s especially egregious when the person cannot help their behavior. Redirect. Distract. Lovingly find out what’s wrong. Just don’t shame.


Treating people living with dementia like children
This type of behavior can be sneaky because our care partner needs us to speak more slowly. More simply. More carefully. That does not mean that we should talk down to them. Remember that their intelligence has not deteriorated. What has changed is their ability to understand the complexity of the world as others see it, as well as their ability to verbally express themselves.

Stripping people living with dementia of their dignity by doing everything for them
Honor what they can do rather than stress what they can’t do. Work with them. Allow as much autonomy as reasonable. There are times when dignity comes before safety. This is something to discuss early in the process. Try to find a balance between reasonable safety and preservation of choice and dignity

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Assuming that they are wrong when they tell you someone is stealing from them or physically or emotionally abusing them
It’s appalling, but abuse can happen in any care setting. Listen carefully and with respect. Then investigate to the best of your ability. Look for signs of physical abuse, emotional abuse, and financial abuse if the person’s complaints seem to warrant that.


Assuming that they are right when they tell you someone is stealing from them or abusing them
Caregivers can be routinely accused of taking things, such as hearing aids or clothing, because the person living with dementia can’t find what is needed. This is a human reaction, if a bit paranoid, even for those of us without dementia. However, paranoia can be a symptom of dementia. Listen to the story with respect and love. Try to find the missing object without making a fuss. With accusations of physical abuse, don’t jump to conclusions, but do listen and consider all options because, yes, abuse happens

Reaching for drugs to settle difficult behaviors
Try first to understand the reason behind this behavior. What we need to do is go through a mental check list. Do they seem warm enough? Could they be thirsty? Could they be in pain? Try to find out why they are upset. Determining the underlying cause can often take care of what is viewed as problem behavior.


Categorically refusing drugs
People living with dementia can have pain just as you or I can have pain. If you hurt that badly you’d complain, too. You’d also, most likely, accept appropriate medication. There are people living with dementia who have mental illnesses that don’t go away once dementia sets in. While dosages of any medication must be very carefully controlled when someone has dementia, often a low dose of the proper medication for their pain or mental illness is not only appropriate, but humane.

What does the Obelisk suggest? A challenge I must conquer?

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Tongue Twister#27 Grief

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It’s grief that drags us down:
not gravity;

Yet each loss is grave
Leads to our grave
And is a grievous weight of soul

Not to be born alone
But woven into silken weaves
To warm and stroke and shelter:

I am a shawl for you.

Jeanne