After eleven days away, I returned home to discover I could no longer remember how to make my familiar protein drink. Living with dementia, even well-established routines can become inaccessible after an interruption. Sometimes coming home means spending days finding the connections that make ordinary life possible.
Some days, the next step disappears. Not confusion—just nothing where “next” should be. So I follow a sheet that remembers for me.
For almost a month now, it has felt as though there is a damper over my “normal” abilities. …
Today everything is caterwumpas. When the world doesn’t quite line up the way it is supposed to.
I measured the juice correctly. I got the microwave time right. I remembered the sweetener. I was feeling pretty darn competent. Then I tasted it. 😂
There are days when I can feel my capacity narrowing. Not always in an obvious way. Sometimes I am still doing things. I am still answering people, reading, writing, participating in conversations, even accomplishing things I had intended to do. But underneath it all, something is becoming harder.
Yesterday was bubbly with excitement. One of those rare bright days where ideas move quickly, possibilities feel open, and the mind feels almost light again.
There are people who walk beside you for a season,
and there are people who change the way you understand the path itself.
Lately i have been thinking about why paintings sometimes communicate things that words cannot.
I’ve been working quietly on something for a long time now. Not a single post, not a single story—but something larger that has been slowly forming underneath all the writing.
This is the beginning of that project.
