Paula - Meanderings

New Decade, New Hope

Another year has come and now gone..

The Christmas experiment of taking my Bert to our home for Christmas with the family turned out very well. It was a wonderful day for all of us. All the angst and what ifs and worry about a failed dinner, confusion, anxiety and the many issues that could occur when caring for a beloved husband and father in the grips of Alzheimer disease fizzled into nothingness.

We tend to worry too much.

Now 2020 is here. Again the hullabaloo of making resolutions assaults the airwaves. I pay no attention. At the dawn of 2019 I chose the word ‘light’ to be my guiding star. I will keep it going. Heck, I may never change it!

I do believe in the yin and yang of existence. I believe we need both to keep balance. I know that without darkness, without evil we would not know light or goodness.

Of course, 2019 brought its darkness. There were many ‘firsts’ in my life that came unwanted, unbidden. There were some I eagerly embraced. Through it all the light kept on shining.

This momentous dawning of not only a new year but a new decade gives me pause as, with the help of every news medium, I am bombarded with reminders of the momentous events that happened in the last decade. There were some amazing stories both good and bad. Surely this coming decade will be an entangling of the same. After all, we know the only constant in life is change.

So here we are entering the third decade of the twenty-first century. I look back at my own third decade and realize it was a momentous one in my life. However, I have no desire to return to it. In this new decade I am looking forward, still blinded, unknowing, but hoping for the best. The future is clothed in mystery and that is how it should be.

During 2019, I learnt to not dwell too much on the ifs and what ifs. I know that life will go on as it usually does. Much will happen as the world inexorably unfolds and the history of this time is recorded. Some events will affect me personally as my own history continues. Some will affect all of us and be worthy of note because we are part of this world and part of the universe. We will laugh. We will cry. I hope the laughter is more abundant than the tears.

As Doris Day sang: “Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be.”

I am also aware that each of us has the power to make a difference to many. What we do and how we do it will attest to our strength and belief in ourselves to do good or evil or do nothing at all. We just have to choose and choice is what makes us human.

My choice for the new year and the new decade is to savour the many moments of joy, no matter how small, to treat others as I would like to be treated, that all I do will be fuelled by love, to keep on learning, to live in hope and yes, to continue to seek the light knowing that the stars are brightest in the darkest night.

The Meander: I wish good Health, Joy and Peace to all. Happy New Year! Happy New Decade!

Season’s Greetings

As in former years I am left wondering where the year went. It seems as if I was just writing my Christmas letter of 2018 and looking forward to a bright 2019.

And as in former years this 2019 has seen its highs and lows.

Throughout the year my belief that there is always a silver lining remained. Even the fact of my Bert being away from me had its silver linings. He went into a home I had chosen. A good choice still and one reason I have been able to concentrate on loving while a team of professionals help with the caregiving. The staff is awesome!

Also, if my Bert was still living at home I would not have been able to attend the funeral of my dear childhood friend in Atlanta. That was a perfect storm of highs and lows.

My gratitude gene got a good workout throughout this year. I am so grateful to our son and daughter-in-law who even with busy lives help to fill in the gaps, the Lifeliners and their invaluable support, and to the friends and neighbours who surround us with little acts of kindness every day. How could I not be grateful.

2019 was a packed year and yet I still wonder where it went. There is an experiment in the offing. My Bert is coming home for Christmas. How will that go? No one knows. Unlike the waffling about the anniversary celebration, there is no hesitation here. My Bert loves to go out and has regular outings with visiting friends and bi-monthly restaurant lunches with the family. Spending Christmas in our own home is a no brainer. We are planning a Bert’s Christmas. We hope it will be smooth sailing but are prepared to roll with the punches whatever happens.

All in all 2019 was filled with more highs than lows. Between those two extremes life went on as usual. There were funerals to attend, love and marriages and new babies to celebrate. We dealt with the ordinary tasks of daily living and revelled in the many moments of joy.

It is Christmas time, the holiday season of hope. It is an awesome time!

May you have the Spirit of Christmas which is Peace

The Gladness of Christmas which is Hope

The Heart of Christmas which is Love.

Wishing you health and happiness and happy meanderings in 2020 !

Channeling Jessye Norman

On hearing the news of Jessye Norman’s death I experienced a soft waft of regret similar to other such news of the passing of great women and men whom I admired.

But there was something a little more for this passing.

I love music, all kinds of music and among my fondest memories is my grandmother and the 78 recording of Marian Anderson singing Ave Maria. Her voice came from a gramophone record player with the name His Master’s Voice written on the case. Here was my introduction to classical operatic singing.

Since my grandmother was a highly religious woman and a church organist to boot I thought His Master’s Voice was coming straight from the Master himself, God; that if I could somehow get my voice onto the black disk turning on the gramophone I would begin to sound just like that.

I first met Jessie Norman through a televised BBC performance. Just one look was all it took for me to fall in love. The majesty, the presence, the grandeur, and then THAT VOICE!

Fast forward many years later and Bert and I had the privilege of attending a Jessie Norman concert with friends in Philadelphia. There was thunderous applause at the dramatic entrance. At the end there was a moment of complete silence before the audience stood giving repeated ovations. We had been transported and needed that moment to regroup.

Later still I was to work with a colleague who was actually a friend of Jessye Norman. He was a gentle soul who gave me the ultimate compliment. He told me I resembled Jessye Norman whenever I wore my hair up. The ‘librarian’s bun’ became my ‘Jessye Norman do’.

As soon as I walked in he would exclaim: “Here comes Jessye Norman.” I would laugh but I was immensely flattered too.

Then the ultimate Jessie Norman life experience occurred far from home. My Bert and I were visiting his brother and a favourite niece and her family in Sweden.

Alcohol is very expensive in Sweden but cheap in Denmark. It is normal to see many Swedes crossing from Helsingborg, Sweden to Helsingor (Elsinore), Denmark a 20 minute ferry ride to pick up a supply of alcohol.

We decided to do the alcohol run accompanied by our niece and her husband. It was a simple plan. We would leave early, take the ferry over to Helsingor/Elsinore, have lunch there, go buy booze and get a ferry back.

Of course, I had to make the trip just a little bit more complicated.

Although we had been to Sweden and taken this ferry ride many times we had never visited Kronborg Castle, a major tourist attraction in Helsingor. This literature student was going to correct that. Kronborg Castle in Helsingor is Elsinore Castle. Elsinore is the anglicized version of Helsingor and the home of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Here was my chance to walk in Hamlet’s footsteps. Who knows, perhaps I would find a secluded rampart to quietly recite Hamlet’s soliloquy: “To be or not to be…” NOT!

Everyone agreed we would add a visit to Kronborg Castle.

We were standing on the ramparts looking over the moat on three sides of the castle when we noticed a Danish family in close but animated conversation looking over to our small group. There was a mother and father, two children and two more adults all talking with an air of excitement, all looking over at us.

Finally, they approached and the man said: “Excuse me. We are wondering if you are Jessye Norman.” I was flabbergasted. For a moment I had no words. I am sure I stuttered as I explained I was not but was immensely flattered and considered it a special compliment. I think I babbled.

The girl said she thought I was Ms. Norman as I resembled her. Then she told me they had gone to her concert that weekend in Copenhagen.

I told them I was a fan and we had a brief conversation before parting. I walked on air the rest of the day.

That incident came immediately to mind when I heard of Jessye Norman’s passing.

I have been listening to her and have been grateful to an email buddy who sent me a playlist of her recordings and the BBC’s Hard Talk interview.

I have been overdosing on all things Jessie Norman and decided to share my Bert’s favourite song Ave Maria with him. So with the help of You Tube we listened together. He leaned forward to make the image clearer.

As Jessie Norman breathed the last notes, my Bert looked up, smiled at me and said: “She looks like you.”

Well, case closed.

Here was another moment of joy. My heart soared.

The meander: I have just played the CD Spirituals in Concert with Jessye Norman and Kathleen Battle. I looked at the cover photo and with a bit of ego I thought well, maybe a little. Then, as I listened to the singing, my soul was lifted. I breathed. Music will do that to you.

RIP Jessie Norman. Your voice was indeed a heavenly gift.

A Precious Gift

It was almost two weeks after my Bert and I had been apart that I got a call reminding me of an appointment. It came from someone I consider to be a friend though I met her only because my Bert has Alzheimer disease. As we confirmed the appointment she ended by saying: “I will also be bringing a special gift for you.”

“Oh? What is it?

“I cannot tell you. It’s a surprise.”

I was curious. I like getting gifts. Who doesn’t?

The day arrived. My friend came in with a big smile.

I had waited in anticipation so after the hugs and the greetings I said: “OK, what is it?”

“This is a gift from your friends at the Adult Day Programme. It is a CD of Bert and the music therapist singing Paula’s Song. They worked together and Bert helped her with the words. He insisted on some of them and with a bit of coaching and patience they made up this song for you. They recorded it. You can hear Bert singing on it to you. It truly is from him to you.”

She handed me a CD case. On the cover there is a wedding picture of Bert and myself. There is a white column on the left that says “DEAR PAULA”. On opening the case there is the CD with the title “Paula’s Song”. On the left hand side behind the photograph are the words of the song. It is a familiar tune.

Chorus

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,

You make me happy when skies are grey.

You’ll never know dear how much I love you,

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

She’s always happy, my beauty lady

We stick together like a lock

You make me happy, oh dear Paula

I do love you oh so much

Chorus

You’re always with me my favorite person

We have travelled all the world

You’re always smiling, and you are happy

You bring joy to all of my world.

Chorus

Sometimes, love, the world ain’t easy

Please take care and watch your step

Don’t go out late, love, and please be careful

I want you safe and here with me.

I read the words. Tears trembled on my cheeks but did not fall. Through my blurred vision a voice heard in my heart told me this was from my Bert to me. These were his words made coherent by a music therapist who concentrated on his love and with patience got him to articulate it in this, my song, Paula’s song.

It was almost three weeks before I listened to the CD. As expected, it left me in tears. I heard my Bert with my senses. I saw him, I felt him. In my mind I could see how patiently he worked with the therapist to put this all together. I heard the hesitant voice on the verses except for a few words here and there. The vocals are stronger and clearer as he sang the well known tune and words of the chorus. I heard him in my heart.

I miss the goodbye ritual we did as I left him with that amazing staff at the Adult Day Programme with his final words always being:” See you soon, my Paula. Drive carefully.”

He took care of me. He still takes care of me in the limited but so precious ways he can. Now he has given me the number one song of the century that for me will never go off the charts. I see myself playing this when I am lonely, when I miss my Bert, when I think of my loss and I will smile through the tears. My Bert is the one that can always make me happy.

How can I thank the staff for this gift? I cannot, but I will always be grateful for this most precious gift of my Bert’s voice singing his song for me and to me.

The Meander: I have learned throughout this journey that some of the best caregivers are the staff and workers who care for our loved ones. The staff of our Adult Day Programme is among the best caregivers I know. My Bert and I thank you for this tangible and most precious gift of your tender loving care.

It’s Little things

I still put too much water in the kettle for just one cup of tea.

Yikes! The 403 highway is heavy for this time of day. I better go over into the High Occupancy Vehicle (HOV) lane. That one is really moving. Stop! You need two people in the car to do that.

I am setting two places at the table, but there is only one eating.

I wake up between 1:30 a.m. and 2 a.m. every night expecting to hear the new language I call Bertish. But I am met with silence. I turn around and I fall asleep again. Ah! That’s a difference and that is good. I need to sleep.

The book is engrossing but a glance at the clock tells me it is 7:10 a.m. I better put it down and get cracking as the personal support worker (PSW) is coming at 8 and it takes a while to get myself prepared for the day and my Bert ready for his daily routine. No, no, my Bert is not with me. There is no PSW on the way. You can read another chapter I tell myself but I don’t. Instead I get out of bed. I have not gotten used to indulging myself as yet.

I go into the laundry room. I want to separate the wash. I don’t have to as there is so little there in the hamper. They are all mine. I can wait another day or three before I have a full load.

One whole hour has passed and I have not heard: “I love you. You don’t know how much I love you. I love you from here and around the world 15 million times.” I do not utter a sigh nor think here we go again. I miss it now. Oh, how I miss that now.

The waitress brings the bill. I look at it and I wonder if she brought me the wrong one. I pause too long and she says: “Is something wrong?” I shake my head. “No, it is fine,” I answer. How do I explain that I am eating alone in a restaurant for the first time in a very long time? A bill for one seems so small. I want to see an amount for two. I give her a large tip. She smiles as she says thank you.

The yogurt my Bert loves is on special at our local grocery store. I begin to pick up a package of 12 small cartons. That is the size he has every morning at breakfast. I stop. I move along and pick up the one I like. I hurry from the store. My list is not complete. I have to sit in the car a while. I breathe. I drive the short distance home. Tomorrow I will finish the shopping.

I wonder when it will stop becoming ‘his side of the bed and his place at the table.’

I open the hall closet and his long metal shoehorn hangs there. There is a hitch in my breathing but I will not move it. I will not put it away. I cannot put anything else away. I have already put my heart away.

I need to get something from an accessibility outlet that will pull up the long zipper at the back of my favourite dress. My Bert took such pleasure in doing that simple task for me. He was my helper.

I wash one dinner plate, one fork, one spoon, one knife, one cup, one saucer, one glass, one bowl – one is such a lonely number.

The sunset is magnificent this evening. This was a ‘together thing’. Today I drew in the light and colours of the sunset, alone.

The Meander: Yes, I now recognize the sound, the many sounds of silence. Silence is loudest in lonesomeness. It is eloquent in emptiness.

Thank You, My Bert

I awake to the mumbling and an incomprehensible rant that is Bertish, the newly invented language of my Bert.

For a minute I lay still hoping that it will end soon. I am so tired I cannot see. One gesticulating hand hits me on the shoulder and coming out of the half sleep-half awake state, I realize that I cannot see because it is 2:15 a.m. therefore it is dark. Duh! Einstein.

A thought insinuates: If I could have known the future, if I could have seen this part of the journey would I still have married my Bert?

I was mortified that my immediate answer was not a resounding yes. Then being me I mentally started a pros and cons list and needless to say the pros far outweighed the cons.

I thought of our life together so far and marvelled at the adventure. I knew when tragedy struck I would not have wanted anyone else beside me. We weathered the storms together and climbed the highest peaks together. We laughed, we cried, always together.

My Bert knew before I did how to transform “I” and “Me” to “We” and “Us”. It is a transformation I cherish. We did not become one but as a team we were as one. That is the glory of love.

I realized that whatever is in our future my Bert was and will be always my Bert.

Yet thoughts do not come and go in an instant, they tend to linger with me and the question lingered. It bothered me that I actually let that thought in. I made a conscious effort to look dispassionately at my late night musing.

First I forgave myself. I am only human.

Secondly I realized that being tired and at the point of caregiver burnout such a lapse was inevitable. I am not Job. My patience is limited.

Thirdly I faced the futility of the thought. No-one knows the future so the question is moot.

Then the conclusion: How wonderful that the future is hidden. The worst thing about the future is that we do not know what it will bring. The best thing about the future is that we do not know what it will bring so we can look forward to it with hope. We can dream of a brighter day.

Then, as if the universe felt my troubled state and wanted to mitigate my self- flagellation it smiled on me.

In my mailbox there was a large envelope. It contained among congratulatory messages a notification of the Heroes in the Home Caregiver Recognition Award presented by the Local Health Integration Network.

It was the right time, coming at my hour of greatest need. What a lift and how serendipitous.

All caregivers deserve an award such as this because we are all heroes in the home. We give care fueled by love to those near and dear to us, sometimes at enormous cost to ourselves.

We never asked for this particular job. It is one challenge we would gladly forgo. We just do what we must do. We have no choice. It is part of the package. It is one leg of the journey. We accept it and hope the future will be less dramatic and traumatic.

The Meander: I have been honoured because my Bert first honoured me. My nominator Ana, and the people who surround us see beyond my Bert’s dependency. They see the love. Thank you, Ana. Thank you, HNHB-LHIN. Thank you, my Bert. “YES! I would do it all over again.”

The Dorians

Among the pleasures of travelling are meeting new people, seeing new sites, speaking in a different language or trying to do so, eating new and interesting delicacies, daring to do.

My Bert and I have made some wonderful friends from our years of travelling and we have mingled with some very interesting characters.

Dorians refer to two such fascinating persons. It is not their real name but the characteristics they show put them in this exclusive category.

My first Dorian I met on The QEII, that venerable former flagship of the Cunard Line. It is now sitting at a dock in Dubai awaiting a retrofit into a new seven star hotel. A rebirth I may not live to see as plans are on hold as the owners are either stressed for cash and/or courting investors for the project.

On a cruise ship, or any ship for that matter, the Captain is the boss, the head honcho, a veritable god of all he surveys. We passengers may be paying his salary but on board his or her vessel we are mere peons that must obey all orders of the great master.

We were on a world tour. We would be spending 115 days on board the QEII. We would experience two such exalted personnel, as we knew from experience that the Captain we meet on boarding the ship in New York would change places with another Captain in Sydney, Australia.

It was the Captain’s Welcome party. We were in line for the official introduction to the Master of the ship. The hostesses went down the line, asked your name(s), then you would be presented by name to his majestic awesomeness.

Remember this is the QEII. Pomp and circumstance is a hallmark. The British are champions at this.

It is our turn. I look into this minor god and I try not to do a double take as I see before me a compact man, of medium height. He had dark hair, blue eyes, was polished and adorned with so many medals and gold braid that there was a luminescent halo surrounding his entire frame.

All well and good but what distracted me was that he looked as if he could be my son. How could one so young be Captain of this great ship?

He extended his hand said: “Welcome on board.” I could not help it I looked right into his eyes and said: “Where do you keep your picture.” He raised one eyebrow and with a calm insouciance and a devilish smile said: “It will be up to you to find it, but I assure you it will look the same.” We laughed.

For the rest of his time on board it was our running joke. There were plenty of opportunities to carry it on because as world cruisers the cocktail parties, dinners and opportunities to mingle with the Captain and ship’s officers were twice as many as for those who were doing cruise segments only.

When he had his farewell dinner we greeted each with slight regret that our inside joke was over. In addition to the usual pat phrases of farewell he said: “You will have to ask Oscar where I keep the portrait.” My answer: “I will keep on looking. Oscar is too Wilde for me.” There were quite a few in hearing distance who wondered what the heck we were talking about.

My next Dorian was again the boss of the luxury sailing yacht the Wind Surf. This luxury cruiser was tiny compared to the QEll but no less grand with an intimate, relaxed, and marvelous ambiance.

Prior to the official formal affair we were invited to a meet and greet hosted by the cruise director. It would be an introduction to Windstar Cruises and this particular yacht.

He was telling us about the sails being raised or lowered accompanied by music when a young man dressed in casual sailor’s whites came by. Immediately the cruise director stopped his spiel, went over to the young man and said something to him. He came back to the microphone and said:

“Ladies and gentlemen may I present the Master, Captain of our vessel.” Well knock me down with a feather. Master? Captain? The fellow behind me said: “They are hiring babies now.”

The Master took the microphone and his first words were: “First let me answer the question you all have in mind. Yes, I am old enough to Captain this yacht.” Everyone laughed. You could see some of us including Bert trying to see the stripes to confirm he really was the Captain. Another Dorian!

That night at the formal Captain’s welcome dinner the young fellow was resplendent in his dress uniform, medals flashing, epaulettes set just so. I looked at him and sighed. Despite his assurance he still looked too young to be our Captain. Should I go looking for another hidden picture that was aging sight unseen?

I think all 295 passengers were on deck as our Captain docked at Santorini. He had to parallel park our vessel in between two much larger vessels. We were holding our breaths in trepidation when we saw where he had to go. We wondered if we should go for our life jackets.

He made it in one maneuver. He lined up the yacht perfectly in the middle. He erased any doubts that were left of his capabilities. A spontaneous cheer went up.

The Meander: My Bert and I have been to all corners of the world. We have seen the touristy sites and wandered along paths less travelled. We have been blessed. I have so many travel stories but the ones that stay uppermost are the ones about the people we have met. The Dorians are etched on the canvass of my mind.

Kaleidoscopes

It was my birthday. There was a party. I got presents. The best and the most wonderful present was a kaleidoscope.

How magical. Every colour of the rainbow and every hue imaginable, jumbled, tumbled, scattered, reformed then rearranging themselves into fantastical patterns, symmetrical, ordered, pleasing. Awesome!

Disorder tamed and changed into order. A chaotic profusion of wild, disparate colours gathered and sequenced into beauty, a moving spectacle that you controlled simple by a turn, a little shake, the merest tremor and new patterns emerged.

Every different settling was new, surprising, and magical. There were enumerable moments of discovery filled with joy.

I have a new kaleidoscope. I am desperately twisting, turning, and shaking seeking its order. I want the chaos of my life in this kaleidoscope to fall seamlessly into place, into an order I can understand. My new kaleidoscope is faulty. No matter how I turn and shake and try to encourage it to form Tiffany glass creations of beauty and unity, I fail.

I can see bits and pieces scattering as they fall but they refuse to coalesce and, if a few do by chance, the result is disordered. It is a fusion of confusion. A hodgepodge of the past familiar intermingled with hiccups and blanks of the present. What is created is strange to me though the pieces are familiar. I have failed the course of making sense out of nonsense.

My Bert is my new kaleidoscope. The beautiful patterns we used to make together are now no more. He is a mirror that has lost its ability to reflect; a dancer without coordination.

As a child I wanted to go into the kaleidoscope to see how it worked. I wish I could go into my Bert’s brain to see how it is, see how it works and to see if there is anything I can do to fix it. Then again: “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

The Meander: I kept my childhood kaleidoscope for a long time. It delighted and entertained. Then I lost it. My Bert and I have known each other for 52 years and have been married for 50 years and counting. I suppose that is a long time. He still tries to delight and entertain. It is an effort. I have not lost him. Not yet.

Deck Encounter

We sat on deck, looking out on a calm sea that shimmered in the moonlight.

We were six, two couples plus a mother and adult son. We had met on a cruise eight years before and we had been travelling together ever since.

We were a compatible lot and conversation never lagged.

This night was the Captain’s welcome reception and dinner. We had all dressed up, joined the line to meet the Captain, drank the champagne and had a very nice dinner.

We sighed in contentment.

We were rehashing the jokes of the entertainer, a comedian, who was quite good when a young man came in sight. Wow!

He was tall, dark, and handsome with full sensuous lips, deep blue eyes, a high forehead from which his hair fell in soft waves to his shoulders. Yes, all the clichéd descriptions of the hero one could find in Mills and Boon and Harlequin romance novels were rolled into one eye-popping package and walking towards us. He was the epitome of male pulchritude.

“Oooh! I would never say no to any request from this one!” Pat remarked sotto voce.

“MOTHER!” exclaimed Francis in such a shocked voice we all burst into laughter.

The young man turned and said: “That must have been a good one.” With uncharacteristic boldness I said: “Come over and join us and we will share it with you.”

“Thanks, I will.” He pulled out a chair came over and said: “Hi, I am Sean.”

We introduced ourselves. Gary, the only smoker in our group had noticed the cigarette case Sean had pocketed before he accepted our invitation. He suggested they have a smoke.

Sean accepted and he and Gary moved closer to the rail and ashtrays. We surmised Sean had come out for air and a smoke before returning to his date/fiancée/wife/partner.

Cigarette done, Penny, Gary’s wife told Sean about our plans to go listen to the Jazz trio in the Piano Bar. She invited him to join us.

There was a slight hesitation before Sean confirmed he was waiting for someone but maybe they would accompany us to the Piano bar also, if we did not mind.

Pat, our master of sotto voce whispered to Penny: “I should have known that someone who looks like that would be not alone.” It was said with such a mixture of regret, desire and a hint of peevishness that Francis uttered a groan.

The conversation flowed and then Sean told us he was waiting for his parents. He explained that they all had early dinner together but his parents liked to go to relax with a cocktail before catching the later show. He was quite happy with that arrangement because then his mother could pretend he did not smoke and he could have a cigarette without her telling him what a nasty habit it was.

“I am with your mother. Gary is the only smoker in our group and he gets the ‘nasty habit’ lecture on a daily basis even from the former smokers here.”

He smiled and said: “Well, then if you tell me not to smoke, I won’t.”

Before I could reply, a door opened and the first people coming from the late show drifted towards our corner. Sean got up, went towards the door and said:”They’re coming.”

He looked downwards, we looked up.

Coming towards us was the most striking couple.

Little people. Very Little People.

Both were resplendent in their formal wear. Both had the biggest smile when they saw Sean. Sean bent down, hugged both and said: “Mum and Dad, I want to introduce you to some people.” They came forward hands held out.

“Hello, I am Mary and this is Hector, my husband. You have met our son Sean. I bet he was out here grabbing a smoke. Nasty habit that.”

How gracious and how adroitly she had put us at ease. Yet, we could not help it; we gaped even as we smiled. I looked up at Sean and looked down at his parents in wonder. I knelt, opened my arms and hugged them. I was immediately embarrassed. I thought I had committed a faux pas that I should not have done that. As usual my Bert came to my rescue as he said: ‘”Don’t mind her. She is a hugger.”

“That she is,” said Penny.

“So are we,” said Hector. He and Mary were so gracious. They hugged back.

The moment passed. We moved to the Piano Bar.

The Meander: I have often said that our travel experiences have been so varied that should I write them all out I would need to create a number of books. One would be about the people we have met. Sean was 6ft 4 inches tall. His Mom was 3ft 8 inches and his dad 3ft 11 inches. They taught us so much!

I will not forget the sight of Sean dancing with his Mum.

We were shipboard companions only and after that just ships that passed in the night. It is often like that, but for a moment in time the stars aligned to hand us a remarkable travel story.

Chatterbox

I have been called many things over my lifetime but chatterbox is not one of them. Yet lately that is what I call myself, to myself. Why would I do that?

I am Canadian so I will blame the weather. This has been a particularly harsh winter. There has been much wailing and gnashing of teeth (mine) as my Bert, whose only contribution to our travel adventures was: “Where are we going next?” uttered before we had unpacked the bags from our last trip, is no longer allowed to travel. I had no idea that I would miss our travels, our winters away in some warm place or on a ship so very much. So here we were stuck in winter in our wonderful but COLD country.

My Bert would often say that Canada is the best country in the world except for the weather. I agreed, but would temper my enthusiasm with the thought that if Canada had perfect weather it would be perfect and there is no such thing.

Here is another observation that my Bert would voice often: “Paula is always telling me that I talk too much but she talks too.” “Yes, I talk but not anywhere as much as you and in any case you are such a talker, someone has to be the listener” I would answer. Then with a laugh he would say: ‘That is why we have the best marriage. I talk and you listen.” That was said with a tone to make it unbelievable. Yet, all that was true.

My Bert is really an open book and loves to talk. Many a time we have been to a restaurant and before dinner is completed the entire wait staff knew more than they should about us, from how we met right up to our present situation. I would be kicking him under the table to tell him to be quiet to no avail. I would be ignored. I would then have to become the interpreter, rephrasing or correcting or echoing my Bert’s pronouncements and also becoming a listener.

Oh, how we talked together. My Bert had such stories to tell! We are both curious about our world, our country, people, places and things. My Bert devoured news and current affairs. I read and we talked about everything. Our conversations encompassed silly things, weighty things, family things and couple things. We agreed, we disagreed and agreed to disagree and we laughed.

Oh, how I miss that talking together. Now, trying to have a conversation is a Herculean task. I give up any thought of having a sustained conversation. In the absence of that verbal communion I have become the chatterbox. The sentences are made up of the basic noun and verb. Heck, it could be just one word. I get back one word in return and sometimes the word returned is completely out of context. When my Bert attempts to express a thought it ends abruptly halfway and I try to finish it. Sometimes I succeed but that is becoming more difficult as time passes. It is difficult to enter Alzheimer world when a thought is unfinished.

The inanity is mind numbing. When does speaking become just noise? When does it lose its main function of communicating? It tests my patience and it saddens me to see him struggle to find the words. I think he knows what he would like to say but it takes a valiant effort to get it out. Sometimes he just gives up. The frustration is apparent. He begins to pick at his fingernails and mumbles.

How can I relieve the anxiety? I say: “Don’t worry. Tell me tomorrow.” Then I will rub noses or give a hug. These now are the best communication tools. There is no need for words then.

The Meander: Should anyone be looking for ‘tomorrow’, ‘soon’, ‘later’ please check with a caregiver for a loved one with dementia. We have usurped them. We are wearing them out completely. “When do we go to Breda?” That is Bert’s birth city in The Netherlands. “Tomorrow.” “When are the kids coming?” They left maybe ten minutes prior. “Soon.” “Are we going to bed now?” We have just finished lunch. “Later.” A loving touch, a smile, a hug and holding hands are enough to relieve his anxiety. We still ‘talk’.