5 things that made me smile thru the first half of the week

1. Laughter with friends.
2. Noah yelling "I love you" as he boarded the bus.
3. An update from my Nigerian sister (a woman I am helping thru women for women international). She is learning about women's rights during her third quarter of the program.
4. A kid today said that our engineering lesson was more fun than recess (it was a lot messier too).
5. A not so subtle reminder to embrace the present and live loved. Thank you. I needed that.
6. A message from someone who makes me smile.

World on a string, My grams and Alzheimer's

“You're so beautiful," said Alice. "I'm afraid of looking at you and not knowing who you are."

 "I think that even if you don't know who I am someday, you'll still know that I love you."

 "What if I see you, and I don't know that you're my daughter, and I don't know that you love me?"

 "Then, I'll tell you that I do, and you'll believe me.”

― Lisa Genova, Still Alice

I just recently spent a week with my grandma out in Nebraska. She is 94. She’s been a real crackerjack all my life. I hate what Alzheimer’s is putting her through.  I told her I loved her so many times during that week, it might have seemed like I was the one with neurons firing improperly. Sometimes Gramma’s gaze was far off, but sometimes she would look  into me and say “I love you too… and I really mean it.”  I’ve never felt anything but love from my grams, and I still feel it. 

Sometimes beautiful Carmen struggled to get the right words out, and when they made no sense my heart sank for her. Many times I discovered that I was biting my lip to keep tears at bay. I was determined not to cry. This is so much worse for her than me.  Changing and bathing and bathroom duties compromised her dignity and clearly caused her stress. She’d tell me I’d lost my gold star as I tried to help quickly and gently. Sometimes “no gold star” became “leave me alone, asshole” and inside I’d smile Yay, Grams, crystal clear, all the words where they should be.

 My grandma loves music. Noah played one of her favorites. Sinatra.

I’ve got the world on a string

I’m sitting on a rainbow

Got the string around my finger

What a world, what a life – I’m in love

When Noah was just a babe, Gram would sing that song to him and when he became a talker, he’d sing it back—in person, on the phone. It was their song. So much time had passed since I’d heard it, and then there they were sitting on the sofa together, Noah with his computer playing the song for her on itunes and she’s swaying with the melody, a smile across her face.

 

I miss Gramma.  I miss Carmen.  On Saturday Noah and I have an amazing opportunity to walk for an Alzheimer’s cure.  Check out the link below if you are so inclined.
 
Life’s a wonderful thing
As long as I hold the string

I’d be a silly so-and-so

If I should ever let her go

Link to Alzheimer's Walk

 

Memory and Carmen Castillo

Another recycled blog...
Noah and I are leaving Sat/Sun to fly out to visit my gram. He is going to give her his old ipod loaded with the Ricky Martin and other Latino music she so enjoys along with some of the Big Band music from yester-year. He's a good egg, my boy.

Memory.
Clickety-clack went her high-heels along the sidewalk as I struggled to keep up, making sure I didn't step on a crack. Where were we? In the dusty book of days past, on some nearly forgotten shelf in my brain, are the faintest memories of shopping with my grandmother in Washington, D.C. I hear the noise of cars passing and feel my arms swinging, but the visual image is just the cement sidewalk-- my feet skipping over the cracks to avoid breaking my mother's back-- and Gramma's red heels and the pleated hemline of her skirt that was just at the knee. And clickety-clack, I had to keep up, and where are we going? but my whole movie has been edited out... except for that one scene. Clickety-clack.

I hate not being able to recall. I know she feels the same. I've heard her say it: "Oh, I'm so stupid, I can't remember the word." My grandmother has been alot of things; stupid was never one of them. And this just isn't the script she'd have written for the last scenes of her movie.

My brother just gave me the sweetest present via ancestry.com:

The first tangible evidence of the Bluefields story. Amazing. So they left Bluefields, Nicaragua aboard the Olancho on August 29, 1923 and arrived in New York on September 5. My grandmother was five, and she and Volberg (the spelling is different than I've seen elsewhere) would live at 578 Academy St, NY, NY.

According to Gramma the apartment was across the street from a fire department. She had a mischevous side, and apparently burned a wax doll. When smoke billowed out the window, they didn't have far to come. That, and the firemen looked after her a bit as she was a latch-key kid. Her mom worked as an accountant in the fashion district. Gramma says her mom would give her money to attend piano lessons after-school, but it was just enough for pie and a soda at the local diner, so that is where she would go. Apparently it worked out fine until recital time.

My grandmother never sat for a single piano lesson...but as a kid I would marvel at how she could sit at our old piano and peck out a tune. She loved music, still does. We used to all dance with her in her living room when we visited. She has crazy stories of driving all night with my grandad to dance and listen to great music in Chicago back in the 40s. One of them involves dancing through a drummer and landing in a drum.

Well, I have rambled on through this blog tonight, and that was never my intention. Kurt's happy surprise in the middle blew the melancholy memories away, and I am dancing with my gram to "La Vida Loca."

Peace and Love, Krista

High Tide or Low Tide

A short respite from reality.

Feeling the cool water over my feet and the sand rushing beneath them on a receding wave.

Laughing with Harley. Healing hearts.

Watching Noah find his groove.

Staying up late and watching spectacular shooting stars.

Surviving a little too much of the red wine and skipping over snakes.

Until next time. Big hugs, my friend.

 Love ya, Harley, High Tide or Low tide. :) (Bob Marley)

I'm driving to the beach tomorrow... to breathe.
Noah will be my co-pilot. He is going to learn to use an old fashioned map.
We will go to the beach and dream, and read.
In the evening we will hang out with an old friend.
We will put our feet in the sand, and smile at the stars or clouds which ever they may be.
We will look out for the meteor shower.
We will dream.
I will breathe and laugh with Harley about how funny life is.
She will laugh me back to life. We will all laugh together.
And then my boy and I might learn to surf...and that is the funniest thing ever.
Much love and happy wishes for the weekend
Peace and Love, K

Not Forgetting.

Carmen Castillo, My grandma

What follows is an old blog...I'm not really up to the emotional task of writing all of what I am feeling these days. Life has been a little crazy. If you had been to the poetry reading at Gloucester Arts on Main last week, you'd know what I mean.  Poetry is some crazy sport. I recently heard one  in which a husband declared his life with the wife is worse than being hooked on heroin. Yeah, it was a surprise for me too. I won't be attending any more of those.  But this is a poem of a different sort. My gramm's favorite.  Noah and I cancelled our vacation plans. We are flying out to Nebraska. My grandma isn't doing well. I want to hold her hand one more time. Alzheimers sucks even more than men.

"Sea-Fever"
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
 John Masefield (1878-1967)



One of my grandmother's favorite poems. She used to recite it all the time, along with the Preamble to the Constitution and Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. My grandmother has Alzheimer's. She's 92 94. I have been thinking about her alot lately because I really miss her and I wish I hadn't waited so long to ask the questions about her years in Nicaragua and her father, Domingo Castillo, who took her there in the mid-twenties. I have only pieces of the story, Bluefields, the kidnapping (if you call it that), a godfather that was the President of Nicaragua at the time, and the story of a mother who travelled far to retrieve her daughter, contracted malaria, and eventually died in a mental hospital in New York.

For family that might read this, that is the story I got...if you heard a different version feel free to chime in. I'm going on a hunt for old photos and will scan them in tomorrow, but for awhile at least my blog will be about Gramma. She was the most enjoyable travel partner I ever had, having come out to visit me in both Greece and Italy, and I just really miss her humor. Yes, even hearing "Sea Fever" over and over. And, hey, I wouldn't know the Preamble without her. I'm going to call her tonight, but she never stays on the phone for long...I just need to say "I love you, Gramma."

Men suck

True story.
Shortest blog ever.