I didn't think I'd ever have more of these to share. I was looking through old photos, and found this.
I had probably given her some towels to fold, and she made art with them. The white is a lid from a plastic storage tub, and the blue lid from a plastic food container.
Waaaaahh!
I wasn't sure if I should include this. Then I realized that as her world gets smaller, she is still creating art with what she can reach. She isn't walking much anymore, so I try to have a variety of things she likes on her little tray table in front of her. She chose to carefully arrange them on the table. This piece was disassembled within seconds of taking this photo.
I have never been happier to post another installment in the Art of Alzheimer's series. Words cannot express my joy. Mom got out of bed this morning all by herself for the first time in over a month. She immediately headed to my desk, fooled around with the tape dispenser and the computer mouse, pretended she was going to write on me with a pen, then poked me with it instead, and just generally was her old self again. The other day she got up from the couch unassisted, twice. Yeehaw!
Mom found the perfect spot for her shaky egg.
(The installation was done on the tray, I just moved it to a window for better light. I try to take the photos where I find them, but since this one was contained on the tray, I did move it.)
Mom has rediscovered her set of blocks. She fancied them up with some beads. I love her color combination here, so don't be surprised if it shows up as a colorway.
It was a disappointing weekend. We tried baling Friday, but it was too wet, so we thought we'd give it another day. Saturday was cloudy and very humid, so the extra day really did nothing for it. The neighbors baled the hay anyway, because we were sure to get more rain Saturday night and Sunday. Some of the bales were dryer than others, but it was already sprinkling a little when they finished up, so they just brought it all back to their place. They left a couple of the wetter bales for me to feed right away, which I did. I opened them immediately, and they were already hot. There wasn't much hay to begin with, and I fear that the hay we did get will mold. They have enough animals that they can feed it to, but it leaves me with no hay from this cutting basically. Or about 100 bales short of what I need for the winter. All I can do is hope for a third cutting. Right now I am reciting George Carlin's list of words you can't say on TV.
The even more distressing part of the weekend is that Mom is breathing hard again. We'll be heading back to the clinic.
Mom drank half of her cup of chocolate milk, then made art with it.
As usual, she managed to find something that her cup would fit in perfectly. This happens to be the lid of a salsa jar.
The beret on top of an empty pie pan. A plastic seal. Circles on top of circles on top of circles.
This one almost didn't get documented. She had left it on the kitchen counter. I saw it, and got my camera. She came back into the kitchen, saw what I was focusing on, and became interested in it again. She almost dismantled it, but I fended off her hand and distracted her with something else just long enough to snap a few. That was close!
The beret is very rarely worn, but she uses it in her art a lot recently.
It is always hard knowing what is meant to be the art. At first, I was just showing the top photo with the beret. I edited to add the bottom photo. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that the little scrubby dude was there intentionally. Why? This table is usually littered with a few magazines, a coloring book or two, maybe one or more of those annoying advertising cards that Mom tears out of magazines. You know, Mom's stuff. But here it is completely cleared off except for these matching items. Now I'm thinking she was using the whole white table as her canvas.
My aunt and cousin from Oregon were visiting for the past couple of days. My aunt Dorothy was married to Dad's brother, but was also a very good friend of Mom's from school. Three high school friends married three brothers. So there is a connection on both sides. It was really nice to have them here. I was able to take a shower without worrying!
They left yesterday late afternoon. Today, as Mom and I were walking the driveway, Mom said Dorothy, Dorothy, Dorothy in her usual sing song voice. My jaw dropped.
If anybody tries to use the "She doesn't know me/won't remember my visit anyway" as an excuse not to visit, I will tell them Bull@#$%! and recount this story. I've never believed that anyway, but now I have proof.
This is actually one of the early Art of Alzheimer's installations. I came in the kitchen and found this on the counter. She had picked a bouquet of dandelions, found a bowl to put them in, and put a little bit of water in her vase.
I've never viewed dandelions as a noxious weed that must be totally eradicated at all costs. As a matter of fact, I was raised just the opposite.
Dad liked to make wine for home consumption,(even won some ribbons for it) and one of his favorites was dandelion wine, made from the flower.
Us kids would ride our bikes around town, scouting out the best patches of dandelions in public areas. Then we would ride back home and tell Dad where we had spotted some. Before the day was out, Dad would pile us into the old woody station wagon, ice cream buckets in hand, and we'd go dandelion picking. After picking for an hour or two, Dad would often reward us with a stop at the Root Beer Stand for a gallon of root beer, or maybe a cone from the Dairy Queen.
So I don't mind dandelions at all.
How does she do it? This was sitting on the nightstand in her bedroom. I just saw the top of my blender, and thought, great, now how long am I going to be looking for the little plastic part that goes in the middle. I should have known better. When I got closer I could see the red water jug top. How does she manage to find the object that fits perfectly in the hole?
I wanted to thank everyone for your kind comments. You know, I'm not doing anything different than the legions of other caregivers out there. By comparison, I have it easy. Mom is pleasant and happy for the most part. Besides, I learned from the best.
Mom took care of my aunt (her sister-in-law) after she had a stroke. She was wheelchair bound, lived about a block away, and Mom would go down every night, around 10:30 pm, to chat and make sure my aunt was ok and got into bed ok. Every night for I don't know how many years. We would also take her for walks (me pushing her wheelchair) around town and down by the lake.
Mom also helped an elderly housebound neighbor lady for as long as I can remember. Mom did her laundry, her grocery shopping and other errands, and just visited every day. Us kids shoveled her sidewalk and mowed her lawn. She had a huge bed of Lilies of the Valley. Every year at the appropriate time, she would call me over to pick a vase for her, and a vase for me. I loved them, and we didn't have any. Win all around.
P.S. I found the little plastic part for the blender almost immediately, it was sitting on the counter next to the blender.
This is basically what I found when I walked into the kitchen last night. The towel is from the bathroom, as is the silver towel holder. She never leaves it on the wall anymore. I snapped a few photos then the battery died, so I grabbed the back up camera.
She wasn't done yet. Judy and George are never far away.
This is a red beret that Rick sent with a few other things for Mom to play/make art with. It wasn't intended that she make art with the beret, but she has never let the intended use of an object stop her.
And it isn't even Ash Wednesday!
My dogs are so patient with Mom. You never know what she might put on them next.
Last night I reached over to remove a crumb from Mom's shirt, and gave us both the static shock of our lives. I jumped and let out a little squeal, (it hurt!) and she look at me accusingly and asked,"What did you do that for?" All I could do was apologize and say it was an accident. I didn't even try to explain the whole static electricity thing.
I'm not sure about the art label here, but she decorated the dog with a vaguely heart shaped paper, so I'm including it.
A spoon stuck into the overflow drainage hole in the bathroom sink. She cracks me up!
Mom loves Circus Peanuts. So she put it in a bowl.
OK, she put it on a picture of a bowl in a magazine.
Remember a while back, I showed you the photo of the bench Mom liked to pour things into? Cindy suggested that I put a sponge in there, and maybe Mom would make art out of it.
How about a potholder and a magazine? She folded the potholder around the magazine and stuffed them into the hole.
I don't know if this should be labeled art or not. It almost looks like a flower rising out of the bench. She has stopped pouring liquid down the hole, but does drop other things down it. Bits of paper, her beaded necklaces, my bills (urgh, sorry propane guy, the check is in the mail!), a small stick.
What do you think? Should I give it the art label?
The bottom layer is a potholder, then a card I received from a friend, and finally the top of a little cardboard type round container/box thingy. The orange top is covering a monogram in the middle of the ring of pansies on the card.
I always try to just take the photo when I find one of Mom's creations. I found this in the living room in a dark corner, and couldn't take a decent photo to save my life. I brought this one into the kitchen for more light.
The artist with her creation.
The creation.
Or not. She wasn't done yet? Or the previous was never intended as a creation at all?
Trying to pull the hang tab off. (She cannot abide labels on anything. Towels, clothing, nothing!)
She successfully removed an offending paper label, but not the green hang tab.
Rearranging,
smoothing,
straightening.
Enough with the beads, these towels need folding.
She seems to be exploring balance in her last few installations. There is enough of an angle there that the potato would fall out of the carton but for the pencil. I snapped a few just before Mom grabbed the potato. I put my camera away. You'd think I'd learn, right?
She wasn't done yet. She needed the potato as the final touch to another installation.
The dishtowel is the one I had used to strain the juice from the grapes. It started out white. I had rinsed it out, but hadn't washed it yet. I like how she has the red on one side, the blue on the other, and the shorter ones in back, sort of peeking out between the tall utensil and the carton.
