Barefoot Lily Lady

A New Box of Crayons

When I married my husband, my last name became Winquist. As I have melded into that name over the years, I have learned that there are certain things that go along with that name. New culinary tastes are part of the territory. I’ve learned, for instance, that homemade pies are very important. Especially rhubarb pie. Mashed potatoes are definitely made from scratch…and gravy too (still haven’t caught on to that part).

As a newbie Winquist, I learned frugality was a high priority. Empty jars and worn-out t-shirts get a second life, leftover ketchup packets are saved for future home use, and fruit and veggie scraps become wonderful compost for the gardens. My dear mother-in-law was the ‘Queen of Repurposing’ long before repurposing was even a thing. Bread bags and plastic butter tubs were rarely thrown away. Boxes took on a new life when they were covered with contact paper to make classier looking storage containers. She even made her own rubber bands from her old support stockings (some of which are still in use in this house today).

Yes, frugality is a way of life for us.

When my daughter was in first grade, her teacher shared a concern with us at parent-teacher conference. Apparently, our family’s frugality was getting in the way of Beth enjoying first grade to its fullest. The Winquist-by-birth in our family had vetoed the Winquist-by-marriage during the requisite annual school supply shopping expedition by deciding that our daughter’s gently used crayons from kindergarten still had enough life in them for first grade. But, apparently, our Beth couldn’t help but notice that ALL of the other kids in the class had brand new crayons. It apparently sucked the joy right out of coloring for her.

At Mrs. Warner’s suggestion, Wayne lovingly laid aside his frugality and bought our Beth a new box of crayons. You would have thought he bought her the rarest treasure on earth. By laying aside the frugality and the putting on of generosity, the joy of coloring was back! In fact, since we had delayed our purchase, she now proudly owned the newest crayons in the class!

This memory from our daughter’s childhood came to mind the other day when my still frugal husband exercised loving generosity by purchasing a fancy-schmancy set of Thornton’s colored pencils for my mother – complete with a carrying case. It was neat to witness the same joy in Mom’s eyes that I had seen in my daughter’s eyes years before. Momma’s world, lived in the throes of Alzheimer’s, was suddenly brighter and filled with more color and joy.

What Do I Know?

Things are changing once again in Momma’s world. In the past week or so, she has been having increasing difficulty using her legs, especially in the evenings. I can see her willing her right leg to move in front of the left, but her legs just won’t listen. I have to come alongside her and coach her in how to walk, sometimes assisting her as one would assist a child. Other friends who are caring for loved ones with Alzheimer’s tell me that this comes along with the territory in this later stage of the disease’s progression. We’re adapting to this change, making the best of it, but I can’t help but think about what lies ahead. The unknown can be scary.

I’ve been parked in the book of James lately, preparing to lead a Bible study for a few ladies from my church. In the first chapter, James addresses the reality of trials in life. They’re going to happen to all of us. No one is exempt. My life is getting a little uncertain right now and I am a bit perplexed as I consider what might be the next step I must take in caring for my mom. But right there in the third verse of that chapter are the three little words, “for you know.”

I ask myself, “What do I know?” I can know that this trial has purpose. That this testing of my faith will produce steadfastness and that God is using it to perfect and complete me – to make me more like Him. And, crazy as it sounds, “count it all joy” that I have this opportunity to grow.

For this reason, I think it would be wise for me to shift my focus from what I don’t know to what I do know.

I know my God is truly amazing! He has led me each and every step of the way so far, and He will continue to be faithful in leading me on the next step of the journey. He knows what I need in order to care for my Momma before I even have a chance to pray about it. Just like the chorus of one of my (many) favorite songs says:

You’re parting waters
Making a way for me
You’re moving mountains that I don’t even see
You’ve answered my prayer before I even speak
All You need for me to be is still

Still by Hillary Scott beautifully expresses the wonder of God’s everyday miracles. This song could very well be my daily anthem. Listen and be blessed.

Signs Along the Alzheimer Way

Every night it’s the same question.

“Where’s my toothbrush?”

My answer is always the same.

“Your toothbrush is in the bathroom. Would you like me to get it ready for you?”

Her response is always the same.

“Yes, please, but where’s the bathroom?”

It’s especially sad because, for the most part, her world is two rooms of our house connected by a short hallway. She passes that bathroom multiple times a day, but still has to ask where it is.

Alzheimer’s makes it nearly impossible for her to store new information.

As many Alzheimer caregivers have observed, signs and labels can help. Whether it’s labels on cabinet doors and drawers, Post-It notes with names on photographs, how-to or directional signs, or little 3×5 card reminder notes on the bathroom mirror. These can be very helpful tools to help those who are memory challenged navigate their living space, especially in the earlier stages of the disease. In some cases, as with my mom, it can also help in the later stages.

There are four doors in that little hallway of Momma’s world. Doors can be very confusing to someone challenged in their ability to remember. Here’s a taste of how we tried to help bring sense and order to my mother’s world.

Door #1 is a door leading to the basement stairway; we have a flip-lock on that door to keep her from taking an inadvertent middle of the night tumble. We also made a simple “Basement Playroom” label for the door, so she is less disturbed when her great-grandkids go down there to play.

Door #2 leads to the attached garage. She has no need to be in there, but I created a little sign on a Post-It note that helps her identify this mystery door and satisfy her curiosity. The note on that door also tells her that her gardening tools are stored in there, as this answers one of her most often asked questions as to where all of her gardening tools are located.

Door #3 is a storage closet with bi-fold doors which housed my brooms, vacuum cleaner, dustmops, and cleaning supplies on one half, and oversize kitchen-y stuff and cookbooks on the other half. The first half of that closet is now Momma’s clothes closet, and has been labeled “Charlotte’s Clothes”…which sometimes helps her find her stuff.

Door #4 is the most often needed room; the bathroom we have fixed up as best we can to meet her mobility needs. To help Momma with her daily “where’s the bathroom” dilemma, I asked my wonderful friend Jo to paint a special order sign for me. She calls her business (and herself) the White Hen. Jo’s artistic specialty is painting lovely hand-lettered signs on reclaimed wood. Right now she is swamped with work painting cute signs for a growing restaurant that’s popping up all over the south. (If you ever find yourself having a delicious lunch at a Maple Street Biscuit Company, look around, you’ll see Jo’s handiwork all around you.) Busy as Jo has been, I’m grateful she took the time to bless me with this sign to place over the bathroom door.

Whenever nature calls, Momma still asks, “Where’s the bathroom?” But, now, she’ll often look up at the sign and exclaim, “Oh, yes. There it is!”

As I’ve said before (and I’ll say again), it’s little things like this that help our loved ones find certainty in the very uncertain world of memory loss.

I am not alone

The more I write about my journey as a daughter and Alzheimer’s caregiver, the more I realize I am not alone on this bumpy road. Since I began journaling on Facebook two years ago, and now on my blog, I have been amazed by the number of friends, family and readers who have shared that they have been or are on a similar journey in life.

I shouldn’t be surprised. When I open the pages of my Bible to the book of James, I am reminded in the very first chapter that “trials of various kinds” are to be expected. They are, in fact, necessary in the growing process of producing a steadfast faith.

James even says that I am to “count it all joy” when these trials, testings and troubles in life come my way. Now, I don’t think James was necessarily talking the laugh until your sides split kind of joy, but the inner confidence that radiates from within knowing that, with God, I’m going to make it through this and be stronger in the end. It’s the complete trust that this trial or test will give me an opportunity to grow, to stretch my faith, to seek His wisdom, and to demonstrate to a watching world by my actions that my religion is not vain or worthless, and that my God is nothing short of awesome.

I am further reminded in 1 Corinthians 10:13 that “no temptation has seized me, except what is common to man.” My Bible study companion these days has been Dr. Joseph M. Stowell’s book, The Upside of Down, subtitled, “Finding Hope When it Hurts.” He tells me that the word “temptation” in this verse comes from the same group of words as the word “trials” in James 1:2, and that it could also be translated “troubles.”

My “trouble” or “trial” in life at the moment is being a caregiver to my mother who struggles with Alzheimer’s. It would be foolish for me to think that I am alone on this journey. In addition to having the Lord with me, there are countless others who have been here before me. I need only look in the “comments” section of my blog or on Facebook, or to the private messages I receive from those who do not want to comment in public, to know that there are many others who even now are on the road with me. A plenitude of websites and Facebook pages are devoted to those who are facing the trial of caring for someone with dementia. I currently am part of a support group at www.myALZteam.com, whose stated purpose is to provide a social network for family and friends caring for a loved one with Alzheimer’s. I write about my journey for them – and for those who are yet to sojourn here too.

If you are suffering through a trial, rest assured, what you’re going through is common to others. You can find someone else who has been there. My trial is the sometimes brutal and heart-rending task of taking care of Momma, a trial which pales in comparison to the trials of many others I know. Yours might be the devastating loss of a child, or estrangement from a spouse of many years. Perhaps it is the fear of the unknown due to a job loss, a scary medical diagnosis, or a financial upheaval. Or, just this week in the news, the many who suffered a sudden tragedy or loss at the hands of someone whose mindset was diabolically evil. No matter what your trial might be, look for someone who has been there before – someone who brought glory to God in the end.

Maybe you’re the one who is already on the other end of that trial – already experiencing the joy in seeing how God was at work in your life – securely resting in the knowledge that the trial was for your good and God’s glory. If that’s you, please reach out to someone who is still trudging forward in the muck and mire of their personal journey with pain. Put your hand on their shoulder and tell them that you understand. You’ve been there. For you, my friend, are the one who can honestly say from your heart, “Let’s talk. Let’s pray about this together. We’ll get through this together, by God’s grace and for His glory.”

Are You the One in Charge Here?

Lately, my sweet mother has been more than a bit confused about her living accommodations, referring to our home as “this facility” and “this place.” Not long ago, she swept her hand out in gesture as if encompassing her living space and said, “Are you the one in charge of this place?” I told her yes it was our home and that Wayne and I both welcome her to live here. “Oh,” she replied, “are my meals and laundry included?” I assured her that they were. To which she replied, “Well, they haven’t fed me all day, and I think they’re stealing my laundry. I can’t find it anywhere.”

Not long ago, she was telling Wayne that “someone who works here” had given her some pills. She wasn’t sure who it was, but figured they knew what they were doing, so she took them. It was Tylenol, and it was me giving them to her just moments ago. Oh, and the “people who clean this place” and do the gardening around here just aren’t doing their job. The floors are always dusty. The gardens have so many weeds. “You should talk to them,” she insists.

I can watch Momma’s nighttime activity on a WiFi video monitor that sits on my nightstand. That’s a blessing because I know when she needs something…and a curse because sleep is interrupted quite often. On a few occasions, I’ve come down in the middle of the night to check on Momma because I could see on my monitor that she was crying. Sometimes it’s just confusion about where she is, but oftentimes it is her worrying about how she is going to pay for this place when she can no longer work and earn money. She’ll sometimes tell me that “they” are going to kick her out when her money runs out. On those occasions, I’ll sit with her for awhile and reassure her that she is loved, that she is retired and has plenty of funds, and that we will always take care of her no matter what.

Momma can make you smile with her wild tales about how she came to live here. On Saturday, a friend from church and her two young daughters spent the morning with Momma so that I could attend a Bible Conference with my husband. They had a delightful time, but, oh, the stories Momma told them while I was away. She enjoyed telling how this house was hers and that she shared it with us, describing how we had divided it up into her side and our side. And, of course, she had planted the gardens, adding to them over the years. (Mind you, she has only lived here since May!) She even shared with the girls that she had made her three blue flower pots when she was in kindergarten!

Of course, all of this is very real in Momma’s mind. That’s just a little taste of the confusion and disorientation that happens with the progression of Alzheimer’s. Not only is Mom confused about her accommodations, but also about the relationship of people to her.

Most days, she still knows us. Wayne is often referred to as “Mr. Winquist” – her term of endearment for him. Other days (mostly in the evenings), in her mind, I’m her sister Carolyn. As we look through picture albums or recall stories from her childhood, she tells tales of her youth as if I had been there too, sparing me the details with, “Well, you know. You were there too.”

My sister has been coming every other week or so to stay with Momma for a few days so I can get a little down-time. A few hours before each visit, I remind her that her daughter Vivian is coming. Sometimes she’ll give me a quizzical look and ask, “So, help me remember. Is Vivian my daughter? Or is she your daughter?”

On one of Viv’s recent visits, Momma came out of the bathroom and was looking for her Mom. Rather than remind her that her mother has been deceased for many years, Viv just went along with her and said, “Your Mom is not here right now. Can I help you with something?” Mom replied, “I just need to find my Mom.” I peeked my head out of the laundry room door and waved. Momma spied me and said, “There she is!”

So, in my mother’s mind right now, I’m her mother. That’s okay by me. She took good care of me for many years. Now, in this circle of life, it’s my turn to take good care of her.

Good & Bad Habits – Investing

Caregivers are often called upon to help with physical and financial matters. Another bit of wisdom from my hubby. I’m thankful to have someone watching over not only our investments, but also those of my mother and brother, who are unable to make those decisions.

Know Your Flocks & Herds

Proverbs 21:20 (ESV) – “Precious treasure and oil are in a wise man’s dwelling, but a foolish man devours it.” Do you live this and do your children and grandchildren see this in your life choices? Your habits often become the habits of your children. What do you think about that?

A successful investor has at least these six good habits and an unsuccessful investor does the opposite. The good habits are:

Have a plan and use it.
Don’t spend every penny you receive.
Ignore the crowd. Stick with your plan. The crowd doesn’t plan.
Don’t put all of your eggs in one basket.
Don’t spend more for an investment than it is worth. Keep maintenance costs low.
Think about others. This isn’t an exercise to build a bigger barn or take 365-day vacations. Put this in the plan.

Most people don’t even do the first habit. As a result…

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The Slow Backward Slide

It’s hard to say when I first noticed the decline in my mother’s ability to remember things. In retrospect, there were very subtle hints in 2008, the year that my Dad died. Forgotten appointments. Unopened bank statements on the dining room table. Multiple notebooks for list-keeping. Alzheimer’s has progressed fairly quickly in the past two years, but in the first years, it was a slow backward slide. Easy to dismiss and overlook. Easy to blame on something else.

I know a little bit about the slow backward slide myself.

It was just a few years ago when everyone was noticing my change in physique. Compliments abounded as my hard work with diet and exercise began showing up in the way I looked. My confidence grew with each pound lost. I began to run (well, that’s what I called it). My hard-fought progress was an inspiration to others, encouraging them to reach for goals of their own.

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My Birthday Wish

In three days, I’ll be hitting one of those milestone birthdays that end in “0”. I usually don’t have much on my birthday wishlist because, truth is, Wayne buys me whatever I want or need all year long (well, MOST of what I want). That’s the kind of guy he is. The best. He had recently bought me some new clothes, so I couldn’t think of anything else I really wanted, although I joked (kinda) that I wanted that half a million dollar house on a lake I found while surfing around on a real estate site. I did tell him (in all seriousness) that I would like a carrot cake for my birthday…so, he bought the ingredients to bake one for me. And a little grandkid time, of course! He’ll arrange for that, I’m sure.

I didn’t think I really needed anything else – until I visited my doctor for my annual checkup on Monday and realized that the sedentary life of caregiving was definitely taking its toll on my physical health. Most of my day is all about helping Momma with whatever she needs. My doctor suggested figuring out a way to incorporate more exercise into my day. A little me time. So, I asked for a gym membership for my birthday. Wayne checked into it for me the very next morning and granted my birthday wish.

Today was my first day hitting the gym – well, the first day in a LONG time. If I felt a twinge of guilt leaving Momma in Wayne’s care for a couple of hours, it was only momentary. This “me time” was wonderful. Slightly indulgent. Sweaty good. Just right.

Thanks, hon! Happy birthday to me.

“So, how many names should I put in the pot?”

The phone rang on Saturday morning. I answered, already knowing it was my dear mother, and I could almost guess what she would ask. She had a hair appointment every Saturday morning and would go grocery shopping on her way home. “So, how many names should I put in the pot?” That was mom’s way of asking us to come over for dinner.

It was our family tradition most Saturday evenings when our children were tweens and teens. Sometimes we’d hop on our bikes and pedal the 3 miles over to my parents’ home. Other times we’d pile the kids and the dogs in our car or mini-van and make the short drive to Mom and Dad’s place. Our Cocker Spaniels would be hanging their heads out the window, long ears flapping in the wind, their little nugget tails a waggin’, sniffing the air, and dancing with excitement when they sensed we were to Grandma’s street. Sometimes we’d purposely drive by the 105th Street turn-off and the dogs (one dog in particular) would cry and whine until we made a U-turn and turned on the right street. Momma would always have a treat for those granddogs…and they knew it. Sometimes just a dog biscuit or two (my dad always lost count of how many dog biscuits he’d toss them), or a little rawhide chew, other times a pig’s ear for each of them (their favorite)!

And Momma always had something delicious for us. Her barbecue spare ribs were fall off the bone scrumptious, and she made a homemade potato salad that became one of her most-requested recipes. She sometimes made a casserole we all liked; usually something she called Yumasetta (said to be an Amish recipe), or a taco-ish dish covered in Frito’s corn chips, or “Hearty Beef N Potato Casserole,” a recipe that was served at a Christmas luncheon at her church in 1986. On a hot summer’s eve, she made this seafood pasta salad that was better than any I have ever had. Oh, and her potato soup. Oh, my! Her creamy potato soup was SO good that our daughter Beth wanted it on her 15th birthday menu – along with crescent rolls (from a can), deviled eggs, and cherry juice!

Sometimes I’d bring a side dish or a dessert, but Momma usually told me I didn’t need to bring a thing. “Just bring yourselves,” she’d say. I think the kids preferred when I didn’t bring dessert because they knew they could count on Grandma having a favorite treat in her freezer – a Klondike ice-cream bar, which can best be described as a huge chunk of ice cream covered in a thick shell of chocolate. And if Grandma was out of ice cream, Grandpa Boyles could be counted on for a cookie (he always kept a stash in a Tupperware by the back door to share with the kids in the neighborhood, who sometimes affectionately called my kind-hearted dad “Cookie Monster.”)

We’d usually just watch a favorite television show or two together. I can’t remember what all we watched, but recall “The Dukes of Hazard” and “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman” being part of the line-up at one time or another. I mostly remember the lovely feeling of coming home to the house I grew up in, and being thankful that our children had grandparents close by – something I didn’t have when I was growing up.

I have a few of Momma’s favorite recipes filed away in my recipe box. I can almost duplicate her creamy potato soup, but have never come close to duplicating her potato salad. Nowadays, Momma no longer cooks, as I wrote about in my story, “When the Good Cook Can’t” some time ago.

Yes, the table has definitely turned. Momma now lives with us and enjoys meals at our table. My children are all grown up and have homes and families of their own. Now they pile their own kids in their own mini-vans (no dogs, though) and come over and cook for her too, as they have opportunity. We are so thankful that we can do this for her as she wrestles with memory loss related to Alzheimer’s.

Momma, now it’s our honor and privilege to return the abundant blessings you lovingly showered upon us. May we be as gracious, open-hearted, and generous as you.

When the Good Cook Can’t

Oh, what a year this has been.

It’s hard for me to believe that a year ago, Momma was still living in her apartment on her own. Things changed rapidly after I wrote the post below. Momma lives with us now, but she still desires these “little sandwiches” over any other food I could possibly prepare for her.

Facebook Journal Entry – Thursday, September 1, 2016

If you have ever been to a Spring Creek Church potluck fellowship, you probably could recognize my Momma’s dish at the end of the potluck. It was always empty.

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