Sand in the Carpet

I spent a good part of this morning marveling at some of the most beautiful sand I have ever seen. Unfortunately, it was not in the Caribbean or on Waikiki Beach. It was scattered across my basement floor.

I had offered to do some laundry for my son who recently returned from a trip. Without asking specifically, I grabbed a pair of his khaki shorts. As I carried them to the laundry room, an odd sensation hit my bare feet. What in the world - falling sand?

I realized that my son's pocket contained a souvenir handful from the Mediterranean. This sand had made its way into the pocket, across the Atlantic and even survived an arduous airport security check. After all that, it somehow felt wrong to end its journey with the whirl of the vacuum cleaner. I stared at the floor. Sadly, the vacuum cleaner seemed like the best option.

Then my maternal conscience won out. When I told my son what had happened, he offered to rescue the tiny grains. But since I felt responsible, I decided to clean up the mess. It turned out not to be such a mess after all.

At first glance, the sand just looked like a bunch of dark specks in the carpet. This was going to be a job. As I knelt down and began picking grains, I thought of Genesis 22:17 where God had promised a childless Abraham that his descendants would be multiplied as the sand of the seashore. Hmm. Good analogy. It seemed like there were countless grains right here in my carpet!

Then I noticed something. The grains were not all dark and round. Some were long and flat...some were a calming grey color and still others were white or pink and glistened like Mother of Pearl. Many of the black specks had an amazing sheen. Wow; I had never seen sand like this before. Each grain seemed unique. And precious. And beautiful. As I relaxed and threw myself into the task, picking them up became an interesting pleasure.

Then it hit me. These grains of sand really are like people; people whom I sometimes rush by in much the same way as I had wanted to quickly vacuum up my "mess". When I do that, I surely miss a whole lot of goodness and beauty.

Today's mishap was a reminder to slow down and relate to each person in my day as the unique and amazing person that they are. Really! What if I hear my husband's feelings, and not just his voice? What if I consider my kids' questions as opportunities to know them better? What if when I'm working with a group of people, I try to relate to each one as unique and interesting, with different needs, abilities and things to offer? What if I try to be more patient with and understanding of myself?

This will take time and effort, listening and learning...but the reward will be great: loving and being loved more deeply. And I know that it will be worth it... Just like all those precious grains of sand.

Up Close and Personal

How do you feel when someone enters your "personal space"? Being the good American that I am, my personal bubble is pretty generous, and I sometimes get an uncomfortable feeling when it is invaded. But not always...

 Recently, a woman with lovely, flowing white hair was suddenly standing next to me. And I mean right next to me. The only thing between us was a guitar which she held onto as I strummed. As she looked me continually in the eye and laughed to the beat of the music, I couldn't help but to smile back. And the thought occurred to me: I would do well to be more like her.

I know how to keep my distance; play it safe and not let on that I would really like a little help or understanding or just to be a part of something. Sadly, I sometimes don't bother to make eye contact, even with those close to me, because I am preoccupied or tired or just trying to do too many things at once. And how often do I take the time to really laugh; to fully appreciate a funny story or to find some unexpected fun in the moment? A joyful heart is good medicine, and who can't use a little more of that?

I got a lot of good reminders from my new friend with the lovely white hair. Like don't be overly concerned about what others think. Don't be so busy that you can't take time to laugh. If you want to do something, why not go ahead and try it? And when you stop and look someone directly in the eye and offer them a smile, you will likely get a big smile in return. 

Embracing Doll Therapy

Perhaps you've been there. A dementia patient is cradling a doll in her arms. You wonder: Should I mention the doll, and what exactly should I say? Should I refer to the object as "your doll" or "your baby"? And is "doll therapy" a helpful practice or a condescending way to treat an elder?

I've found myself asking these questions, and a quick internet search assured me that I am definitely not the only one.

Last fall, NPR aired a story that examined the issue.  .npr.org/sections/health-shots/2016/10/03/495655678/doll-therapy-may-help-calm-people-with-dementia-but-it-has-critics

According to that story, studies have revealed some interesting findings. In some patients, doll therapy has meant a reduction in the need for certain medications. Also, engaging with a doll has sometimes resulted in more positive engagement with others: less agitation and improved relationships with caregivers. When doll therapy brings those benefits, family members often respond favorably. They tend to believe that it enhances their loved one's well being.

But some questions remain: Can giving an already vulnerable patient "a toy" be a sign of disrespect? Is it condescending to allow an adult to treat an object as if it is real?

As I consider those questions, I'm reminded of adults I know who very much like their favorite board games.  Or card games. Or watching football. Games, in a way, mimic competition in the "real world" and we use them to teach children helpful skills. But truly, some of the healthiest adults I know still play games. Games can be a pleasant distraction from every day stress, they can still teach us things and they can be a form of relaxation that leaves us refreshed and more able to deal with "reality".

When my daughter was younger and played with baby dolls (and more frequently, stuffed animals), I never said to her, "You know, that's kind of silly. Since you can't care for a real baby (or animal), I think you should leave that alone." I also didn't debate her over whether her toy was "real". It didn't matter. It was all about letting her experience the joy of nurturing something beyond herself.

 I do realize that allowing kids to play with dolls might seem more acceptable in that it is considered preparation for future care giving. But maybe allowing an adult to have a doll can be considered an acknowledgement of past care giving.  A reflective way to channel still real emotions that are beautiful and have meant so much through the years.

Doll therapy still may not sit well with everyone. The greatest danger, however,  may lie not with the therapy itself, but in how others might perceive the patient and how we might respond. But a negative response wouldn't be a bad reflection on doll therapy. That would be a bad reflection on us.

It is possible that someday, I may be that patient living with dementia.  I believe today that I would be fine with someone giving me a doll, if that doll helped manage my stress, reduced my need for medication or enabled me to relate to others more happily.

I think I've found  (through the transcript noted above) the answer to my initial question. Next time I meet a patient cradling a doll, I plan to say, "That little one is beautiful! And I think that you're beautiful, too." That's a thought that we can all embrace.

Time Travel That Brings Us Closer to Home

The woman sitting toward the back of the room was smiling and waving as we packed up our gear. We made our way over, and her eyes twinkled. We talked about music and how we appreciated her coming to the program, but there was something else very much on her mind in that moment: Time Travel.

Her German accent, still rich after so many years on American soil, made the memories she shared all the more vivid. Her family was from Hamburg, and to no surprise, it seemed that many of her fondest memories surrounded her mother.

"She would hang out the laundry, " she explained, "And she would cook, cook, cook..." the passion in her voice told me that not only did her mother cook, but that she must have been a pretty amazing cook!

I was struck by the fact that these simple recollections had lodged themselves so deeply into her memory. This new friend's mother probably could not have imagined, generations before, that her little daughter would one day recall with such fondness her seemingly mundane household chores. Or her potato recipe! I felt blessed and privileged to travel back in time to that kitchen in Hamburg where family love and devotion had surely made their mark. It actually made me look forward to cooking dinner.

Now, truth be told, I'm not sure that my kids will look back someday and relish my cooking the way this woman did her mama's. (My kids are more likely to say, "Wow, Mom sure knew how to use that microwave!"). But I'm encouraged to think that what might be considered nothing more than a routine task may one day remind those I love of how very deeply I care for them.

Time travel, to some sweet destination in the past, can definitely help us to appreciate the present. In fact,time travel sometimes has a way of bringing us even closer to home.

The Comfort of Remembering

A lovely activities director working in memory care once shared something that I have never forgotten: There are two things that tend to remain with folks who are living with dementia: prayers and songs. She would often lead residents in reciting The Lord's Prayer not only because of the comfort of the words, but also because of the comfort of remembering.

How sweet to find that comfort, especially when much of life is not registering as it used to. I have seen folks who were otherwise unresponsive or agitated, effortlessly sing the words of a familiar song. At other times, it has simply been a toe tapping in perfect time to the music. Perhaps that's an example of muscle memory; the body knowing how to bring a bit of comfort to the soul.

There is such comfort in remembering; all the more so when remembering can no longer be taken for granted. That simple prayer, that old hymn or folk tune could be the one place in someone's day where they feel the most like themselves. And it is a precious thing to help them get there. Let's never underestimate the joy and the comfort of remembering!