
Today, I couldn’t help but pay attention to my mom’s beautiful and gentle hands.


Today, I couldn’t help but pay attention to my mom’s beautiful and gentle hands.

Mom and I had a special moment yesterday. I happened to be taking a video of her rocking Dolly back and forth when she said this …
Yes, Momma. I’m so glad we’re friends together.
I recently figured out how to use Libby – an app that allows me to borrow audible books from the library. (I know, I’m late to the party…but I made it!) I spend a fair amount of time sitting with Momma when she needs company, but doesn’t necessarily want to talk, so I’ve begun listening to books. It has been a great way for me to keep my brain stimulated, to learn new things, and to find enjoyment when doing solitary things like gardening, sewing, or household cleaning.
Today, I thought I’d share my review of two books I read earlier this month: “Wheat Belly” by William Davis, MD, and “Grain Brain” by David Perlmutter, MD. I picked these two off the virtual library shelf because I’m interested in learning more about how today’s genetically modified wheat purportedly contributes to inflammation in our bodies. I’ve been having a great deal of arthritic-type pain in my hands (and swelling to the point where I can no longer wear my wedding rings). The pain in my legs (especially my knees) makes me feel like a little old lady, limping and gimping along. And don’t get me started about how much my hips hurt. If something doesn’t change, I’ll be using a cane (or a walker) very soon.

Truth be told, the scariest problem I’ve been noticing lately is foggy thinking. I have noticed great difficulty in my ability to concentrate on reading or writing. Staying focused on a task was becoming noticeably harder. This scares me. Given my family history of Alzheimer’s, it scares me a LOT.
I have read that inflammation is at the root of many physical ailments. Research has suggested it is involved in diabetes, arthritis and even Alzheimer’s. I was already aware that over-consumption of sugar was involved in so many inflammatory health conditions. Could there be something to this premise that the consumption of wheat also contributes to inflammation?
I listened to “Wheat Belly” first. I actually listened to it twice because there was so much to absorb in this book. I read “Grain Brain” because Dr. Davis referenced it in his book. After ingesting the information they both provided, I concluded that what they were suggesting was worth an experiment in my own diet. I decided to cut wheat out from my diet for a period of one month and see what happens.
So, you ask, “How’d it go?” Well, I’m glad you asked! I must report that I began noticing subtle changes in how I felt within a few days. My legs were less achy and the puffiness around my knees seemed diminished. I wondered if it was working, or just a fluke…or a figment of my imagination. Now that three weeks have passed, I don’t think those changes are placebo. I think they’re very real and significant.
While I have had some good results and undeniably dramatic reduction in the pain I believe to be associated with inflammation, I’m not totally convinced that “radical wheatectomy,” as Dr. Davis calls it, is right for everyone. In fact, he purports that all grains are suspect in the inflammatory process and should be eliminated. There are plenty of articles out there (written by physicians) which warn that this diet is not healthy. Here’s a link to just one of many that are worth consideration. This particular author believes that the Wheat Belly/Grain Brain diet is just a backdoor approach to the old Atkins Diet.
So, here’s my conclusion: It is my personal theory that it is the over-consumption of carbs in the form of grains that is primarily suspect. Once I began taking a closer look at food ingredient labels, it was clear to see that wheat is hidden in SO many foods. Add that to all the breads we knowingly eat, we very unintentionally over-consume wheat and stress out our bodies. Another consideration – when I deliberately cut out wheat, I also dramatically reduced my sugar consumption, and a host of unpronounceable chemicals and additives found in the food I eliminated. Definitely not a bad thing.
So, what am I going to do with this information? For now, because my body is feeling better, I will continue my wheat-free diet to give my body a chance to heal. Somewhere down the road, I will likely reintroduce wheat – in moderation, of course – to see how my body will respond.
The simple blessing of being able to attend my sweet granddaughter’s symphonic band concert on Wednesday night was not lost on me. My husband and I could both go to the concert. Together. We didn’t have to take turns going to these special events anymore. We didn’t have to hire a caregiver or ask a friend or family member to come spend a few hours with my mom. We could just go.
As we waited for the concert to begin, I looked down our row of seats in the high school auditorium and was caught up in a beautiful moment of realizing I was sitting here with my daughter and her family. I could sit next to grandson Charlie and give his back a scratch while we waited for the concert to begin. I could ask him during the concert what his favorite instrument was – percussion, if you’re wondering too. During the concert, I watched Henry, seated at the end of our row, totally taking in the music. I remember comparing Henry’s silhouette with that of his mother seated next to him – how fun to notice the similarities in their facial features. It made me smile. Even sitting next to wiggly George and helping him cover his ears during the loud or “scary” parts of the music was a special blessing to my grandma-heart.

Our flautist. (Such a strange word.) How fun to see Violet seated next to Izzy, her friend since kindergarten.
Of course, I relished watching Violet play her flute. When did she grow up to be such a poised and beautiful young lady? The obvious enjoyment she had in making music with her friends just thrilled my heart. The music was amazing – I could not believe this band had been practicing together for only two months.

Being able to attend this concert was a grace gift – a hidden blessing of having my sweet mom in memory care. My heart was reminded that I need not regret our decision to place mom in assisted living memory care earlier this year – it was an act of love – for her, for me, and for my family.
Did you ever lose a favorite recipe? You know the kind I mean: the recipe card that has been in your recipe box for years and is now a bit tattered and stained from years of use. Well, I recently wanted to bake a batch of cookies I’ve been making since my kids were little, but couldn’t find that handwritten recipe card anywhere. It was one of those recipes copied from someone else with my own “tweaks” scribbled in the margins.
Bummer!
I searched a few of my recipe books and found a similar recipe. It had all the right ingredients, so I mixed up a batch and baked them for my mom’s friends who live with her in assisted living memory care. The cookies baked up a bit thin and crumbly. The ingredients were right, but were obviously not in the right proportions. My friend Lola’s husband is one of the residents who REALLY liked the not-quite-perfect cookies. She heard my lament about losing my recipe card and went home and searched through her cookbooks in an effort to find the recipe for me. Imagine my delight when she surprised me yesterday by bringing in a church cookbook with a recipe that looked to be closer to the ingredient proportions of my tweaked recipe. Unlike my lost recipe, this version had nuts and didn’t have chocolate chips in it (but that problem is easily remedied).
YAAY! I couldn’t wait to give the recipe a try.

Now, imagine my excitement this morning when I stumbled upon a forgotten blog draft I had created back on July 9th when I had last baked the cookies for my friends at BeeHive. Someone had asked for the recipe, so I had actually typed out my tweaked recipe with the intent of posting it on my blog.
Well, here it is!
In a large mixing bowl, combine butter, shortening, corn and coconut oils, brown sugar and granulated sugar. Beat with electric mixer until creamy. Beat in flour, salt and cream of tartar, adding egg and vanilla extract until well combined.
Stir in oats, coconut, cereal, and your choice of chips. Stir until blended. Chill dough for a couple of hours. Scoop chilled dough (~ 1 T of dough) onto ungreased or parchment-lined baking sheets, leaving room between cookies for dough to spread a bit.
Bake at 350 ℉ for 12-14 minutes – until lightly browned on edges. Let set on baking sheet to cool for 10 minutes – cookie will continue to bake and set-up a bit. Remove from cookie sheet to cool completely, then store in air-tight storage container.
Note: the dough freezes well. I place the rounded scoops on a cookie sheet, then place in the freezer until hardened. I then put the frozen dough balls in a ZipLoc bag and freeze until ready to bake.
There is a lesson for my life in here somewhere. Sometimes my life contains all the right ingredients: church, family, personal Bible study, friends, prayer, ministry, housekeeping, gardening … and the like. But oftentimes the proportions are just not quite right. When I start feeling a little spread too thin and “not quite right,” nine times out of ten, I find the time spent in personal Bible study and prayer have diminished over time. Putting those ‘ingredients’ in the proper proportions in my life allows all the other priorities to meld together into a life that is truly satisfying and sweet – God’s ‘Best Ever’ for me.
At my sort-of-annual physical, my doctor asked me questions related to my caregiving responsibilities, which led to questions related to my mom’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. One of those questions was, “Does your mom still know who you are?” It’s a good question – one that is a little hard to answer. I usually start with, “Yes. And no.”
Most days I think she knows that I am family. Her face still lights up when she sees me. She knows that I love her. I don’t believe she usually thinks of me as her daughter though, as she usually refers to me as her mom, and every now and again her sister. Other times (this is my favorite), her best friend. Last week, though, she came up with an entirely new one that tickled my funny-bone a bit.
Mom’s hospice nurse was giving me an update when my sweet mom wheeled herself up to where we were seated and apparently decided she had better make some polite introductions. Speaking to her nurse she said, “This is Cindie. She’s my longtime neighbor.” Of course, her nurse knew the truth of the matter, so we both just smiled and agreed with my mom. Mom reached for my hand and brought it closer to her, then placed her hand over mine and said, “Right? We’ve known each other forever. We go waa-aay back, don’t we?”



So stinkin’ sweet.
“Yes, Charlotte. We go WAA-AAY back.” With a twinkle in my eye I added, “In fact, I think I’ve known you my WHOLE life!”
What a blessing to receive a little ‘hello’ in the mail. I know I’ve told you about my friend Suzy who sends a beautiful handmade card each week. At first her cards were addressed to my mom (but always meant a lot to me too). About the time Momma moved to BeeHive, Alzheimer’s began to chip away at her ability to read and appreciate her mail. Suzy asked if she should discontinue sending the cards. I hesitated in answering because I loved them so much. The very next week, Suzy began addressing those encouraging notes to me. Each note always brightens my day, but this particular note was extra-special. Suzy chose to inscribe an encouraging quote from one of my favorite authors:

Life is hard.
God is good.
Glory is coming.
Therefore, stand firm in His grace.
John Piper
It is amazing to observe how many times my friend’s weekly ministry of written encouragement and exhortation “just happens to be” exactly what I need on the day I receive the mail and zip open the envelope.
The day I received this ‘hello’ included several personal challenges for me and even harder physical challenges for Momma. God, in his goodness, allowed me to better understand just how hard life is for my sweet mother, and how incredibly blessed she is to be in a place where she is so loved and so cared for. I could definitely see His goodness in the midst of this hard day.
Glory is coming, Momma.
After lunch today, Mom’s sweet caregiver Nicole gently applied pain cream to mom’s painful knees. I had been busy putting things away in Mom’s room and returning things that she had gathered from other rooms. As soon as Mom saw me approach, her eyes lit up with gratefulness that I was there. Nicole asked Mom who I was, to which Mom replied, “It’s her.” Pressing her a little more, Nicole gently said, “What’s her name? Could you introduce me to her?” Momma thought for a few seconds, but couldn’t. Nicole quickly restored her dignity by saying, “Oh, yes! I remember! You told me she’s your daughter and her name is Cindie!” Momma nodded and smiled.
After a bit of small talk, Momma wanted to take a walk – which means tooling around the building in her wheelchair. I followed behind, sometimes holding onto her wheelchair. At one point she reached back and put her hand on top of mine and said, “I’m just making sure you’re still here.”

Join me today as I link up with our host The Propagator and a plethora of other gardeners around the world who each post pictures of six things going on in their respective world of gardening. Six things, in the garden, on a Saturday. This week, I decided to show you how I share the beauty of the garden God has blessed with floral abundance.
For as long as I’ve been gardening, Momma always enjoyed it when I shared a little sampler of what was going on in my garden. Last Spring I began bringing her a little bouquet whenever I visit her at BeeHive, her assisted living home. I always put her flowers in her little blue vase she had hanging for years over her kitchen window…you can see the little holes where a rope once looped through to make it a hanging vase. I’ve long since removed the rope, but love this sweet little thing – something I would like to keep as a treasure to remind me of my mom.

Sadly, Alzheimer’s has a way of sucking the joy right out of the things that used to bring Mom pleasure and delight. Mom didn’t seem to enjoy my floral bouquets anymore. One day I decided I’d put her little bouquet on the table where she and 3 or 4 other residents enjoyed their meal. The sheer delight of her friends splashed joy all over me.

It dawned on me that there were two more tables with residents who would love a jar filled with a little floral joy at their table too. The next day, and nearly every day since, I picked a few more flowers and a few little “filler” bits from my garden — three stems of each type of flower or filler. When I arrived at BeeHive to visit Mom, I arranged three nearly identical little bouquets — one for each table.



Oh, what joy the simple bouquets bring!

Flowers leave some of their fragrance in the hand that bestows them. ~ Chinese proverb
Journal entry dated May 30, 2019 –
My car ‘dings’ a gentle reminder when it needs refueled within the next 50 miles. My hubby usually does this for me, but today I’ll need to care for this task myself because I’ve ignored the dings a little too long.
My Dad had always filled Mom’s gas tank too. When Dad knew he was losing his battle with cancer, that’s one of many things he taught my mom how to do. She tried a few times after he left for heaven, but then found a gas station that would send an attendant out to pump the gas for her for just a few cents more per gallon. My brother Brad thought it was silly to pay extra, so he tried to show her how to pump gas too. Mom just couldn’t remember the steps. Brad didn’t have his own wheels anymore, so didn’t mind filling the tank for her so he could buy himself a cup of decent coffee, a donut and a pack of smokes.
Today I confidently pulled up to the gas pump to fill my own tank and was happy to remember this recently learned factoid: there’s a little left or right arrow next to the gas pump symbol on your dashboard’s fuel gauge – it tells you which side of the car your gas cap is on. I would never have to turn around and pull up on the other side of the pump again. Cool, huh?

My glib confidence came to a screeching halt when I reached for my credit card. Now, I only carry two credit cards, yet I was stumped. “Hmmmm, I could text Wayne and ask him.” But that would be embarrassing. He has reminded me time and time again which one to use to purchase gasoline. How could I admit that I didn’t remember again?
I used to keep a reminder sticky note on the card, but that had fallen off somewhere along the way. After a few minutes of inner debate, I chose one of the cards and got out of the car. It had been so long since I pumped gas I had to read the instructions on the pump. Twice. I felt the eyes of the kid at pump #3 watching me, trying to figure out if he should assist the confused lady at pump #4. I felt embarrassed.
Was this how my mom felt when she knew she was forgetting things?
I pumped the gas and printed the receipt for my hubby’s use in updating our budget spreadsheet, then headed to visit my mom. Hot tears overwhelmed me as I drove those 9.9 miles. I cried because I was pretty sure I had guessed wrong on the credit card. I cried because I now understood how helpless Momma felt. Mostly though, I cried because forgetting things scares me. I’m walking this road of memory loss with my mom and I know it’s hard (and sometimes harder) on the one who is the caregiver. It truly grieves my heart to think that my husband, daughter or son, or a grandchild may walk this road with me some day.
I sat in the parking lot of mom’s assisted living facility and blotted my tears before heading in to see her. My heart smiled as Mom exclaimed a little yelp of joy when she saw me, and even told the friends seated at her lunch table, “See that lady there? She’s my best friend.”

After that heartwarming visit, I made a quick stop at a nearby gas station to buy a cup of coffee, then headed another block or so to the nursing home where my brother resides to visit a bit and bring him a cup of his favorite coffee. He was sleeping, so I left his coffee on his nightstand and headed home to get busy on my laundry. When I arrived home I gave Wayne the day’s receipts and was bummed to learn that, yes, I used the wrong credit card for the gas.
Alzheimer’s is a frighteningly hard path in life, but my walk alongside Momma has also given me firsthand experience seeing how God walks with us each and every step of this road paved with memory loss. While an underlying concern of personally having to experience this disease is always present, I have an even greater confidence God will give those I love much wisdom in walking alongside me if Alzheimer’s is ever my future.
In the meantime, I’m going to smile, grab my Sharpie marker, and write “GAS” in great big letters on my credit card as a visual reminder for the next fill-up.
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CONNECTING HEARTS THROUGH WORDS
thoughts on the spiritual journey
the joy of creativity
The Lord God has given me the tongue of those who are taught, that I may know how to sustain with a word him who is weary. - Isaiah 50:4
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