Thankful Thursday

Alzheimers Disease or dementia is a condition that scares me more, far more, than the cancer that was supposed to have claimed me some years ago.  

I once worked doing 'foreigners' driving for an undertaker.  It's a long story involving me doing a favour for a friend.  One day - perhaps - I might blog about it.

Whilst I never tell jokes about dementia and whilst I have a healthy respect for people at a time of bereavement I am also aware that caring for people with dementia and being an undertaker require one to have a well-developed sense of humour if one is not to succumb to mind-numbing heaviness of heart and even depression.

A few weeks ago I posted on Eagleton Notes about Kestrels on Lewis.   The reason that has stuck in my mind - indeed preyed upon it - is that I was so sure that I'd never previously seen a Kestrel on Lewis despite having posted about one a few months previously.  How could I have forgotten?  What else had I forgotten?

Now, unlike my Brother CJ, and my Uncle who had a photographic memory, I have never had a good memory.  In fact I have always had an appalling memory.  I have to make lists of everything especially things I may need when shopping.  Then, of course, I have to remember that I've made a particular list and in the case of a shopping list I have to remember to take it with me [I now use my iPhone for shopping lists which partly gets over that problem].

I was thinking about all this this evening when I put on a DVD whilst I was having my dinner only to discover that it's the umpteenth DVD I've put on that I've already seen.  Of course I can't recall the ending any more than I could recall the endings of the others.  So I can at least watch it again with a degree of enjoyment.

When I started this post I had some idea in my mind of where it was going and what it was supposed to lead to and how I was going to tie it into being thankful.  Now I've forgotten.  

Ah well at least I can be thankful that I've always had a bad memory so I have less concern about the possibility that not being able to recall things now is related to age or illness.

For that I am truly thankful.

Who Mentioned Bruges?

Someone recently mentioned Bruges in a blog post.  I know they did.  I'm sure they did.  I'm sure because mention was made (and there was a YouTube clip) of the film In Bruges.  Comment was made that regardless of the film's merits it showed lots of footage of the old city of Bruges.  I thought that it was Jenny Woolf of The English Travel Writer.  I suppose that was a natural association.  I went to Jenny's blog this evening to comment and discovered that it wasn't her blog where I'd seen it.

I can't find a reference anywhere. 

So this evening having watched the film (not to be recommended except for the scenery) I don't know to whom I want to make that fact known.  Can anyone help me?  Pleeeeeeeeease!

Life can be very frustrating sometimes.

Thankful Thursday: Names

Yesterday I said in my post that I'd gone back to bed with Zoe.  I'd have said that was a Freudian slip except that I don't know any Zoe I'd be likely to go to bed with anyway.  It did make me think about my long-standing problem with names though.  I should, of course, have said Eve, my soon to be renamed Apple MacBook.

Many years ago when I was a very young man I used to do a lot of protocol work.  This involved knowing the names of the 120 councillors and 40 aldermen of Liverpool City Council and always being on hand at functions to introduce them to visiting dignitaries etc.  Alderman were appointed for 6 years so rarely changed but elections for 40 councillors were held every year.  One of the things I learned early on was that if you introduced a diplomat by the wrong name of country then on the whole they smiled and when you were out of earshot remedied the error.  Presumably that's what made them diplomats!

One day, however, I got the name of a newly elected councillor wrong.  To say that he made a fuss would be putting it mildly.  Since that incident in 1965 I have had a severe difficulty with names.  My mind goes blank and that incident flashes into my head.  The problem is so bad that I once was introducing my wife at a function and I just couldn't remember her name.  I forget names of people I know and have known for decades.  I forget names of people I've been in the same room with and used their names minutes previously.

I read Dale Carnegie's (why can I remember his name?) How to Win Friends and Influence People many years ago when I was a teenager.  He made the point that a person's name is one of his or her most treasured possessions. 

If I had realised what a burden this affliction was going to be during my life I'd have seen a psychiatrist but, of course, such things were not thought of in the '60s and I suppose for a long time I thought that my previous ability with names (which was one reason I used to do the protocol work of course) would return.  After all the irony is that the fear of forgetting a name is probably the cause of the act of forgetting.

I was wondering if I could turn this into my Thankful Thursday post and I couldn't see a way until I suddenly realised that if that was one of the worst things in my life then I had precious little about which to complain.  So I am playing the Glad Game and am thankful for the fact that I could have had much worse problems to contend with.

No Consolation

When you can't remember something, or something unpleasant happens to you how often do people say "The consolation is you are not alone."?  I'm sorry.  If I can't remember something then it may be old age creeping up or the fact that I have always had a poor (ok a really, really bad) memory.  It is definitely NO consolation at all that I'm not alone.  I don't like having a bad memory, full stop.

Talking of Memory

I was just writing to a friend and the subject of memory and confusion in old age became relevant.  It occurred to me that CJ and I were spared that although Mum (whose memory at 90+ was better than mine has ever been) referred to her 'forgettory' rather than her memory.

As usual I digress.  When Dad was taken into the nursing home suffering from chronic heart failure and could no longer even lift a spoon to his mouth because his heart would not pump the blood round fast enough to maintain the effort, the Social Worker came to assess him for eligibility to be there.  I had just arrived from the Outer Hebrides and was completely disoriented as to what year it was never mind anything else.  Dad also had macular degeneration and could no longer see to read nor, realistically, to watch television..

After a pleasant exchange the Social Worker asked Dad (who was 94) if he could tell her the date.  Excuse me.  A man with no eyesight in a nursing home single-occupancy room and no radio.  How is he supposed to know the date when I didn't?  I said as much.  The Social Worker and I had a 'discussion' until Dad said "For heaven's sake you two stop squabbling.  It's - whatever the date was.  I finished lunch about half an hour ago.  They probably serve lunch around 12.30.  So I reckon it's probably between 1.30 and 2 o'clock."  He then recited the name of the Prime Minister and a host of other things that the SW was likely to ask him. 

She and I looked at each other sheepishly.  I went and got us coffee!  She asked a few questions related to more personal matters.  Said everything would be ok and that was that.

Somehow I think I'll be lucky. It was pointed out to me this morning that it is Friday 13th.  Oh.  It's Friday is it?  No.  Joking.  I knew that because I have the family for dinner tonight.  But the 13th?  Next someone will be asking me what month it is.  It's late spring.  It must be May.  Oh no.  It's May in the Northern hemisphere isn't it.  So it must be...?   Oh dear.

Memories

My Brother's Blog 'Rambles from my Chair' mentioned earliest memories today. Oddly enough Wendy and I had been talking of earliest memories and came to the conclusion that we often remembered very early things because we had photographs of them to 'help' us. That seems to me to be the case because I remember being at Auntie Maude's house and holding my Giraffe that Uncle Eric had given me. I can remember the winter of 1947 when I was 3 years old. Again I'm sure that is helped by photographs. I can remember standing outside Up-the-Steps (the bakery at the Rocket) when I was tiny and Mum was trying to put my mitts on my hands (the mitts were held together by string which went up the arms and joined them - I wonder if parents do that today). I also remember (much later) getting thrown out of the said Up-the-Steps for calling Eccles Cakes 'Fly Cemeteries'.

I cannot tell you exactly where I was when Kennedy was shot (although I can recall a lot of the aftermath) but I can tell you that when Roger Bannister ran his 4 minute mile I was sitting in the front room of Harry Grainger's house at 6 The Lynxway.

I wish that I could remember what I had on the shopping list I wrote this morning and left on the table. I wish that I could not remember the last two games of Croquet that I (allegedly) played in the match against Te Mata this morning. For me playing is a very personal thing. I never worry if my partner plays badly. Therefore it is no consolation whatsoever that I was not the only one who didn't do well and we lost the match to Te Mata yet again.

From Cold to Hot

It's after 3pm in the afternoon (where, in fact most 3pms are) and I'm sitting in the Cafe where I can use my Laptop free if I buy something. As I've just had lunch I qualify. Today I have nothing prepared for the Blog and was going to wait but, hey, dear reader(s) that would mean depriving you of some reward for the effort of logging on.

I played Croquet this morning on a beautiful cloudless day wearing long trousers, a bodywarmer and a long-sleeved fleece. As the morning progressed the fleece came off. By lunchtime it was hot. I went straight to Petanque and changed into shorts and a divested myself of other outer raiment except the poloshirt. It was hot - very hot. Perhaps summer has arrived.

I have discovered that old age (sorry, later middle age) has dealt me an odd hand in the memory department. Ever since an incident in 1965 I have had terrible problems remembering names. It is a good job that Carol was outwardly tolerant because soon after we were married I was introducing her to someone and forgot her name. I digress. I have now been back in Napier for a week and a half and have slotted back into Croquet and Petanque and life here and have remembered almost everyone's names. How odd is that?

Hopefully tomorrow I will have something more interesting to post.