an evening....

Fear.... false evidence appearing real.... that is the world my Mom lives in. It is a combination of the effects of blindness, mild dementia, and the news media. Yes, the news media cause half her fears. It seems she does not always process the whole sentence or thought, but keys on certain words, that trigger other thoughts, that can lead to irrational fears and thus irrational behavior.

She was a wreck under the constant 'fear' that something was going to happen, a disaster maybe, a fire, a tornado, a drought. She constantly says she's going to have a nervous breakdown, but will do nothing  to allay her fears, sh doesn't trust anything but the image she has formed in her mind of this false reality. When confronted with a rational explanation she becomes defensive, in fact she will resort to threats of doing something irrational, like walking away from here, or going to a friends where 'they will believe me'.

I always try to change her thoughts to another subject, distraction can take the form of asking what she wants for dinner or suggesting we go to the store to pick up an item I forgot.

I gained a lot of experience working with my Dad as he suffered with a suspected case of Sporadic Creutzfeldt-Jakob syndrome. I work with the general public and have become quite skilled in calming the irate citizen who feels like they have not been heard.

Such it is we have the fire storms of the day, and her fear we will become victims of this too. I convinced her to start preparation of a 'go bag' of things she will need, be they insurance papers, photographs, etc. That will keep her occupied tomorrow.

More thought later...

little towns.. people and places remembered

Surrey Maine:
The place I grew up. My parents first house, living near my grandma's place. Wagon rides to the cemetery to take care of the plots for Memorial Day. Playing in the woods and fields. Watching the deer in the yard.  My dad and his cars. The '40 Chevy Coupe, his pride and joy.

Franklin Maine:
Starting school. We had Bible class as part of the first grade on Monday mornings. Prayer was part of everyone's life. The apple tree near the playground. The Maypole dance. Sneaking down to the bay side and watching the horseshoe crabs in the tidal flats. Playing cowboys and indians in the woods during lunch. Corn Chowder days in the basement cafeteria. A four room school house. Gott's store and penny candy. Choke Cherries. Checker berry. Blueberries, wild strawberries, Lady Slipper's, chasing a trout along a creek, picking blackberries knowing that a black bear was on the other side of the patch. My first bike. Donnell's Pond. Mrs. Blaisdell. Wolf River apples. Wild roses. Hayrides at Getchell's farm. Mrs. Bunker's gingerbread cookies.

Northeast Harbor Maine:
Uncle Carroll's place. He was really my Great Uncle. The boathouse, building wooden boats for those who had money. The old 'runner', a relic from the days of prohibition, a fast boat, low to the water, used to haul rum past the blockade. Now used to deliver water to offshore islands. In the boathouse, the patterns on the floor, the steam tanks for warping the wood for the hull. The tools on the wall, the boat taking shape. Fishing for flounder. Watching the boats in the harbor. The sounds the smells.

Trenton Maine:
Grandma Stanley, Grandpa Stanley, Uncle Jimmy. Strawberries and cream, home baked beans, fresh rhubarb. I spent many days there. Lobster dinners, lobster fishing, stinky bait bags, the lobster traps. Digging for clams. Out on the boats. The Atlantic Ocean, a cold sea, Blue water, black water, riding the swells off Winter Harbor, harvesting what the sea was willing to share. The local airport. Planes and more planes. Watching th beacon of light pass through my room at Grandma's. Uncle Doug and his visits.

Bar Harbor Maine:
Fourth of July, the fireworks. The Bluenose Ferry. Saltwater taffy. Tourists. Acadia National Park, Mt. Cadillac, the drive to the top. The Rockefeller mansion high on a hill. The woods, the carriage paths, the rugged seashore.

Eden Maine:
Almost forgotten. A place of my roots, my Great Great Grandfather Tyler. I wish I knew more. A sea captain, sailed Clipper ships, the old house. I need to explore and find more.

Southwest Harbor Maine:
Staying with Uncle Doug and Aunt Dot. The company housing near the cannery. Sardines, the smell. Sleeping in the loft. Uncle Doug and his new cars. His black Fords, the 1950 Convertible, white top, red interior. His 1956 Crown Victoria (I was into cars then), it had a glass roof.  I'll forever miss him, kind and gentle, a giving man, who treated me like his son.

more later...

time to say...

Good night...

tiny houses can be built in Maine...

This is the house I want.... who needs more?

okay..

good night ... finally to bed

good morning...

A good morning sunrise.....