Amen

Summer beauty

Pics I took this morning at Red Butte. I love these in real life and love giving them a makeover in PSE. Just a touch. Enjoy! (I did.)

Shift in pErsPeCTivE

I saw a paragraph in this article by G. Allen Power, MD, Bridging The Gap In Dementia Care (link) and put my mother at the center of it, like this:

"Just because mother has a brain disorder doesn't mean mom isn't still experiencing life. I need to see what her strengths are and not just her disability. Mom with Alzheimer's disease and Lewy Body dementia, rather than merely being victim of a decline into oblivion, is
a full human being who has experienced a
RAdiCal 
frIgHteNInG 
sHifT
in perception and her
'diFficULt BEhaViOr' 
is her attempt to gain her footing, achieve control, cope with stressors, problem-solve, and communicate unmet needs." I did it on purpose to remind me every day and the whole article helped to be patient. Not only that, careful! Not even only that: honoring, of our mother.

I'm as good as confessing: it's hard. Can I say that mom and dad left in 1975 when I was nineteen and freshly married without me to give themselves to church service... and I "lost" my mother? I didn't feel as awful about that in later years as I did the first, oh, ten or fifteen, because I began to feel I'd get her back. We could be mother-daughter later perhaps, even when we were both getting along in age. She's twenty years older than me.

In my fantasies.

Mom never really came back. To me. In Utah at last after dad, as a general officer in the church, was given emeritus status, I was 47, she hosted me in their home when I would come on vacation, queen of her cottage then. Home - but for the three years they went out again to serve in the Houston temple. Then home to stay. But I didn't live in Utah. What was I doing in Georgia if I hoped to have mother-daughter years with mom? I wasn't a stone's throw from their doorstep... fantasies of living near my mother wouldn't pan out, all except for us getting along in age.

I vacationed constantly to Utah during the Georgia years so I've had time with mom. A bit. It's a good thing... as she and dad returned from Houston (and probably before) she gently began forgetting things. Losing track and acting disoriented. She was home but, at the last, not all there.

That doesn't sound good the way I said it. But dementia is nasty business. Mom isn't the person now that she was, not a long time ago, not in 2009 when they came back from Texas, and not last year. It is beyond my ken how dad is managing, and beyond anything I can imagine how mom copes. Is feeling. Some days - because look what time has done... I live with her - I say to myself (penance for not knowing how she suffers) I'll get dementia too. It'll happen to me, see how you like that! That'll show you, Natalie, says I to myself as I consider it's hard to be with my mother now. (Ah, if I look at her as broken... "we need to change the way we look at people with dementia," Dr. Power states. “We need to see the whole person, what their strengths are, and not just their disability.”) And for fear it might come true, I curb sadness and impatience, I slow down my reactions or step up my TLC. I get right in her line of sight so she gets what we're doing together. I choose to love her because it's not easy in the normal sense. Oh that it were! Oh that I were a different person with different-than-this lessons to learn... I am confessing there are many times I feel frustrated at her circumstances, even angry that my real mother isn't in her body. We missed chances all the way through life, didn't we, to be together, mother-daughter. She's gone.

Well, no, she isn't.

What I'm trying to say and badly is my time to be with mom is not gone. Far from it! I've prayed to live near my mother in our old age all my life, but didn't know how it would look! Well look... she's here beside me and we may make the most of it, the two of us. "Verbal or not, people’s personalities [with dementia] are still in there, and they’re communicating." Mom is at ease with me, and may that always be! But who knows? I can be patient and careful and honoring and loving with mom, and our chances for mother-daughter (still, and at last) are good.

an·tith·e·sis

I'm riveted by gardens and the flowers and fruits about us in this state. Took this pic in Dan's and Amy's front yard last week under the noon sun. Gussied it up a bit in Photoshop Elements... but what is it about it? When I look at it?

It tells a story. What do you think?



Here's this ↓ one from the same bright day, the antithesis. Shielded against the bright light, not yet in full maturity, this beauty has a long way to go. Where ↑ this one has come and gone.

Berry pie

I made me a pie! Mm,



not a one berry pie, not a two...



Nope. Not a triple... 't'would'a been a home run with a triple! But no...



... a quadruple berry pie, the best of the summer fruits. A black-razz-blue-straw-berry pie, with store-boughten crusts, mm, with a light egg wash and



 sprinkled with Turbinado sugar for a bit'a crunch.



Berry good hot out of the oven snugged up next to French Vanilla ice cream.
-----

QUADRUPLE BERRY PIE

The Seaside Baker

1/2 cup blueberries

1/2 cup blackberries

1/2 cup strawberries

1/2 cup raspberries

Lemon juice to taste

2 tbsp. *sugar

2 tbsp. corn starch

2 pie crusts

1 egg, slightly beaten

1 tbsp. sugar for sprinkling

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Spray a regular 9”

pie dish with non-stick cooking spray or thaw a frozen

pie shell.

On a lightly floured surface, roll out dough (if making

from scratch) round to fit in pie plate.

Place washed and dried berries in a bowl. Fold in sugar

and cornstarch. Pour berries over the lower crust.

Cover  the berries with the lattice top or regular pie

crust. Brush with egg wash and sprinkle sugar on top.

Place pie on a cookie sheet and bake at 350 degrees for

50 minutes. Serve with a scoop of vanilla bean ice

cream.

*This pie is tart with only the 2 tbsp. sugar. From looking at another recipe online I see a 9” pie was made with 1 cup each of fruit, ½ cup sugar, ¼ cup cornstarch. Instructions: Place the raspberries, blackberries, strawberries and blueberries in a large bowl. Sprinkle with the sugar and cornstarch and gently stir to coat. Let the bowl sit at room temperature for 30 minutes. Transfer to a large colander to drain all the liquid. Taste a piece of each fruit to check sweetness. Add 2 tablespoons of sugar at a time until the desired level is reached. (Bake at 425 F for 25 minutes, then reduce to 375 F and bake an additional 25 to 30 minutes.)

Let cool at least two hours before serving. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and store at room temperature.

A little more work, but maybe try this? I would even add in the step of reducing the liquid drained off, if there is much, in a saucepan and adding it back in for flavor, like you do for an apple pie.

Choices

From Stephanie Ackerman at Homegrown Hospitality (link) whose doodle art and wisdom I love:

This... is all about the relationship choices I make that make a difference for me and for those around me, personally and in business. I am human, therefore I am going to stumble. When I stumble it is because I jump too fast, speak quickly or not slow down enough to get the facts. I do not take the time to stop, think it out or pray about it. When things like this happen and bad decisions and choices are made, accidents and injuries are likely to occur.



I see the connection. Stephanie wants to frame this ↑. She wrote she needs 100 post-it notes with it printed on it! Talks about being anxious, worried, jumping the gun and even unorganized as setting things in motion on its way to destruction.

The bottom line is, it's upsetting. Think of the ways.

I am.

And thinking, too, reading the quotes below...



... how responsible I am.

Good idea

Gee I'm hot today!

Isn't this a great idea for a picnic or even supper at my house. Hmm. Yeah.

I went to Dan's this morning and helped him into the car and got going, his oxygen tank riding along in the back seat with us to a doctor's office, like, a billion miles from their house. Not really, about 30, eh. This visit today to see if he's got high enough oxygen levels to stop using the tank and tubing now.

Nope. Gotta' use it three more nights. Dan's kind of puny today, not in a lot of pain after his gallbladder surgery but headachy and slightly punchy from pain medication and weak in the knees. And in the belly where they put the holes and stitched him back up again. He reclined in the front seat on the way home, eyes closed and breathing shallow. It hurts to take a deep breath he told me. Yeah, a little more time on oxygen I think.

Carry on

Not a whole lot'a celebratin' going on at our house today, Pioneer Day. It's a state holiday, but I don't mind that we aren't going to a fireworks show or the Tabernacle Choir concert or having a picnic with the kids over... that doesn't bother me. I hear pioneer stories and talk all year through here in Utah and every July we sing our favorite hymns in Sacrament meeting, "Come, Come Ye Saints" (which I posted about, [link] yes) and "They, The Builders of the Nation," and "Firm as the Mountains Around Us." Almost better known as "Carry On!" I pick these hymns 'cause I'm the meeting chorister!

Last night Dan went into surgery unexpectedly to have his gall bladder removed, and I'm worrying about how he's holding up, not so much the Salt Lake parade or any hoopla 'round these parts. Life isn't hoopla (boy am I a stick-in-the-mud!)(just wanna keep things simple); I said as much to Kent this morning... the day the Saints ventured down from the mountains into the Valley, July 24, 1847, and set up housekeeping became the first of a string of days and months bringing such and all... all with a hard, hard row to hoe after they got here.

There's no end of appreciation for these that pushed and pulled and carried on across the plains and desert and over the mountains. Their stories bear telling and retelling. I cherish knowledge I have of their circumstances and heroics and simple faith, a variety of them my own great-great-grandfathers and mothers. They had no idea the fireworks this valley would launch in years to come or the anthems sung in praise of and celebrating their arrival and achievements.

I've posted my gratitude here before. That never dies; it changes and grows because I'm changing and growing, pushing and pulling too and knowing better now than even last year to look up in faith and ahead with hope. Their arrival at last; their code of conduct toward each other and Christ; and their work ethic that made this desert blossom as a rose, does help me carry on.

Downhill

Mornings are dawning later now. We're well past the longest day of the year, 1/6th of the way to the shortest, Kent remarked two days ago. We're over the crest of the hill, so to speak, and on the downside toward the hectic holidays.

Christmas. Always I'm keeping an eye on where December is on the calendar. Bleh, not ruining my summer with it, but aware. Blissfully, in May, that it's the other side of June 21st, over that hilltop - can't see it beyond the longest day of the year. Now in late July, December (Christmas) is in full view and I'm gathering for the downhill slide to the 21st, the low point. Midnight of the year. In a few weeks we'll all be feeling sucked into the holidays like my phone gets sucked into the bottom of my purse.

Christmas: Not the sacred do I shun! I "celebrate" Christ all year though and don't need an explosion in December particularly. If anything, I'd love to watch the year go to sleep and "revel" in that, roll up in a ball myself somewhere; tread lightly - like snowfall - during these short months, an antonym to the high adventure of July. Let July be hectic, not December. Yang...

... and yin. You'll think me mad; I am, a little. "How can you say that?" you say. "Christmas is the funnest!" I can, and I do - let's, oh please, not do half of all we traditionally manage then, and I'm happiest. It's coming... in no time already we'll be seeing Halloween costumes and candy - Christmas decorations by August or September - in the stores and on TV and about the communities. No time! Now to October will zip. It's all downhill.

This morning was darker at 6:00 a.m. than it used to be. And as of about 7:42...

Old joke

Talking about growing old, dad sat back in his chair the other day with the comment, "Rooster one day, feather duster the next." Erm, that wasn't just about growing old, that was about being put out to pasture! But that's a horse of a different color.

... forest for the trees

Mom moves often as though she's blind. Holding to dad or me or the aide, moving with the handhold or pressure on the elbow or nudge at the rib cage that will direct and assure her. Not always, but more times now than not.

She goes with less of her own initiative than in months past. "As if she's blind," but not really. Who can say what's happening to her "seeing?" Are her eyes bad? Mom states she needs to get to an eye doctor - the words jump when she tries to read.

She's lost depth perception. A dark rug in front of her might be a hole in the floor; the color change between sidewalk and street at the corner, a drop-off; carpet to tile, grass to sidewalk, a step up. She can pause or halt, and proceeds with caution.

She uses little peripheral vision, little turning her head right or left. That's evident as I point out things through the car windows when we ride - she hasn't seen them. Or when she hears my voice as I enter the room from behind her and she tries to locate me, or as I stand nearby but out of sight or even beside her. It happened in the dentist's waiting room a couple of months ago. Sitting beside her asking if she could see me, she couldn't. She did turn her head eventually as I persuaded her, and my face was inches from hers. There you are! she said.

And doesn't comprehend middle or long distance. Her focus is right-in-front-of-her. She holds her eyes down, you'd think closed, at mealtime and after. Look up I say gently sometimes when we're walking or riding or even brushing teeth (so she'll see herself in the mirror), knowing a whole world will open to her if she can. Not a world she can make sense of.

Disconcerting for me is the loss of eye contact lately. Well, this whole year; no, not suddenly, but gradually, til I'm curious and peering into her face looking for mom. Here I am mom! Here we all are. She holds herself still like you might if you were blind waiting for a cue or a touch, attuned with your ears or your fingertips, even a change of light. Dad's phone chiming or me putting my hand on her shoulder to take her apron off, or Kent bussing the table at the end will bring her head up and a questioning glance, acknowledgement, or a smile. But it's rare.

Aw, not always, but more times now than not.

It's not the eyes, I know that, we all do. But the eyes-to-brain, all - or all not - what that organ perceives. And interprets. And responds to. That organ which makes her vital, herself, dad's beloved, and our mother. It's all compromised.

If you came to visit she'd look right at you. She'd rise to greet you and step out to welcome you like she's done countless times in her home and on assignment; that hasn't gone away. She may not know you but it won't matter - she'll smile and say nice to see you! Feeling her way by "Braille" if you will through most everything.

We all are here.

Because God loves me

"God is eagerly waiting for the chance to answer your prayers and fulfill your dreams, just as He always has." -Jeffrey R. Holland

HIS PEACE  (By me, song lyrics December 1986)

(1st verse)
He waits for me,
And anxiously He watches while I grow.
He knows I need assurance,
He knows my light is dim,
And so He helps me to remember
Truths I used to know.
I feel His love within me,
I feel my light increase.
I’m grateful that He offers
His peace.

(Chorus)
Take my yoke upon you
And learn of me.
For I am meek and lowly of heart.
And you shall find rest,
Rest unto your soul.

(2nd verse)
He waits for me,
He waits for me to find the joy I seek.
He hopes that in my searching
I hunger for His word.
He hopes that I will recognize
The promise He will speak.
There comes a quiet moment
When all my doubtings cease.
I listen for His promise
Of peace.

(2nd chorus, along with 1st, duet)
Learn of me, and listen to my words.
Walk in the meekness of my Spirit,
And ye shall have peace.
Ye shall have peace in me.

(Third verse Part 1, duet with verse below)
Though I cannot be with Him,
His peace can be with me.
He longs for me to know the joy
Of His serenity.
I’ll hold it fast within me,
I’ll claim it
Lovingly.
I’ll always love Him
While
He waits for me.

(Third verse, Part 2, duet with verse above)
His peace will strengthen my soul.
I long
For His peace to make me whole.
I’ll hold it here within,
Lovingly;
I’ll love Him
While
He waits for me.

Enough

Playdate

Em and Amy. I asked these two this past weekend would you like to come play on Thursday?



They would, and we did, plus kids. Of course with the kids - that's the point! Today. We dipped animal crackers in Nutella for a snack. Don't be jealous.

Wetlands

Visited this amazing place ↓ Monday...



You stop at the Bird Refuge education center a bit off the freeway north of the Brigham City exit where you can see exhibits and gather information



and get a taste of the actual bird refuge some miles beyond. You'll drive twelve miles from that building to the beginning of the auto-tour loop, which is itself twelve miles around.

Even in hot-hot July, what lovely country!



Above, pelicans. They're everywhere! This first bird below I don't know, a western grebe maybe. I was taking pictures through the car window as we would drive-and-stop. The second is a long billed curlew. I'm lucky to get a clear pic - he was yards ahead of us alongside the road. Look at that wicked bill.



Birds circled over us as we drove the loop and stopped at points, then would settle and watch us watch them.



Whereas most of the drive along the Bear River and along the wetlands with our windows down we'd smelled "ocean," once or twice we smelled, ew, dying and dead fish. In puddles where waters recede each day through the hot months, large carp are stranded.



Puddles - eh, whole lakes and marshlands - reduce by high summer to this. (Frankly, I love this sight! I remember seeing the dirt around my home in South Texas cracked like this when I was a child and, seeing it on such a grand scale this day, I asked Kent to stop the car stop the car! and I clambered down a weedy, prickly bank to stand right on it. And take pictures. Thank heavens I was upwind from...



this.)↓ Ew, ew, I moaned as I leaned over a few carcasses in a sea of carcasses in this cracked up dirt to get my pictures. A few I did get... an ignominious death, this, birds picking at you and maggots living inside for a while until you're the same dried up color and consistency as the mud.



We read about carp that they are not native to the Refuge or even the western hemisphere! They're an introduced species and undesirable because they uproot water plants, muddy the water and eat food needed by the native birds and fish. Still... sad.

And look how pretty these grasses as once again we enter the marsh.



Kent called look and I was in time to see a mother duck, her chicks just a paddling! Don't know why the water's red; might be algae?



Of course I was thrilled to be in the west desert with Kent all alone! Not another soul drove the loop with us this day; you can't believe the solitude. Look close, you'll see birds just above these mountains in this picture. I rarely took "birds in the air" shots because as soon as I would point the camera up, I went sun-blind. Hard to see, never got 'em focused, never even saw them in the viewfinder, these are pelicans.



Snowy egret. Love his long hair, like a little old man. Like my husband when he needs a haircut.



Not a snowy egret.



Have I mentioned the peace of this place? Gee.



The explorer Captain Howard Stanbury said of Bear River in 1849, “I have seen large flocks of birds there before… but never did I behold anything like the immense numbers here congregated together…as far as the eye can see.” In those days there were 52,000 acres of wetlands here wherein birds rested and gorged between destinations as they migrated. In the hundred and fifty (plus) years since, the land has been taken up by farmers or businesses and only recently begun to be preserved by the Federal government.

2,000 acres alone remains.

It is critical that it does for the well-being of this hemisphere's bird population.

It's July and the birds aren't migrating... so we of course didn't see such numbers on our trip here, but look! We were enamored of this cluster-gaggle of pelicans afar off.



I pointed the camera at whatever is here now, and we're happy with this for starters.



We'll be back in the autumn and spring. No kidding.


-----

He he, at home in our easy chairs after, I watched a mother chukar with her brood of nine run through the sprinklers.



They know it's hot!