Where's Christiane?

I'm standing at the stove, stirring the sauce for our dinner. It's been a very difficult day, and I am anxious for it to be over.

"Are we going out for dinner?"

"No, I'm cooking dinner right now," I respond. We did go out for dinner, but the evening wasn't going well. At. All. I won't go into it, because it's still too raw. I'm embarrassed and humiliated, and we can't show our faces there again. Not today, anyway. We came home without eating or even finishing our beverages. He doesn't remember a thing about our outing (or our other outings today, for that matter), and he's irritated that I seem to be upset with him for some reason.

"Is Joanne here?" Joanne is his sister. She lives in another town and visits regularly.

"No," I respond, "She's at home at her house."

"Where's Chris? Or Christiane?" he draws my name out sarcastically. It's most unbecoming. I'm upset at his sarcasm at my expense, but I've already heard so much of it today that it really doesn't add anything to my irritation.

"I'm Christiane," I respond. I'm dejected.

It's been a very difficult day, and I just want it to be over. He eyes me up and down. Clearly, he isn't convinced that it's really me. It isn't the first time.

"Oh," he sneers, "I thought you were someone else. Where's the guy that was here?"

There's been no guy here. It's been a very difficult day. I just want it to be over.

Non Sequiturs All Day Long

I was so upset, having just found out that a book I got 'direct from the publisher' could have been obtained through Amazon for half the price (and with free shipping). It's taken me years to figure this out so, really, the fault is entirely mine. However, I was sufficiently incensed to write a scathing email to the publisher complaining of the price gouging and requesting cancellation of future shipments, deletion from the mailing list, and so on.

I decided to read it to my husband before sending it. It can't hurt to read it aloud, making sure all the complaints have been included and the tone is sufficiently indignant. He seemed to be listening to me, so that encouraged me to give him all the details and ask him for his opinion.

"So, what do you think?"

"Well, I like this one right here," he said, pointing to one of the coins he had just organized on the table.

That's nice, honey, but what does it have to do with what I was reading to you? I may have actually said this, but I'm pretty sure I just thought it while giving him a blank look. Or what I hope was a blank look.

Later, we were driving to the coffee shop, and I was telling him about a situation at work that was of increasing concern to me.

"Like that gray one over there," he said, pointing at a car stopped on a side street.

It happens all the time. All day long. I'm talking about one thing; he's talking about another. Or perhaps it's more that he's easily distracted. It seems that by the time I finish a sentence, he's forgotten the first part of it. A friend suggested shorter sentences. I'm working on it.

One of the things I miss most is a real conversation with him. I miss the ability to share my thoughts, feelings, or ideas with any expectation that he's processing those and preparing his feedback. There's plenty of talking going on; it just doesn't always make sense.

If you've been in a life partnership for decades as we have, you've probably developed the ability to finish each other's sentences. To notice the same things at the same time and perhaps even to make identical comments simultaneously. Or to not comment at all while stifling your giggles, if that seems wiser. Treasure that.

I Don't Publish Everything

Dear Friends,

It shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone that I don't, in fact, publish everything that happens. If I did, I would be posting all day long. And oftentimes during the night, too.

There are occasions when the emotion is yet too raw, or the event doesn't add anything to the conversation, or it simply isn't the right time to share. Or I'm too worn down and disheartened. Sometimes writing about an incident brings it into proper perspective, but other times it just makes it seem worse. And so there are a lot of posts on my blog that haven't been published yet. Almost half, actually.

To those of you who have encouraged me to write more often, please know that sometimes I just can't bring myself to do it. Or maybe I'm concerned that you'll lose interest or, even worse, become overly apprehensive. Sometimes it's high drama around here, but other times it's just a sitcom. Maybe it just depends on how you look at it.

I like to hear from you, and I appreciate your kind words and comments. I especially appreciate your prayers as my husband and I walk this road that's sometimes smooth as silk (the sitcom) and other times, without warning, a raging torrent (the high drama).

Thank you for your support, and thank you for reading my blog and recommending it to others. Let's raise awareness together.

Blessings,
Chris

The Screwdriver

I look up from my work to see my husband rummaging through the kitchen drawers, obviously agitated and impatient.

"What are you looking for, sweetie?" I ask.

"A screwdriver," he replies, "It needs to be tightened."

"What needs to be tightened?"

"The screw," he says sarcastically as if to imply that perhaps I have a screw loose for not knowing this simple fact.

"Okay," I venture, "What screw?"

"A SCREWDRIVER! You know what a SCREWDRIVER is?!"

"Yes, honey, I know what a screwdriver is. I'm just wondering what you're working on is all," I respond cautiously, fully aware that there's no telling what in the world he is "repairing" and what kind of mess I might have to clean up in a little while. But not mentioning that concern.

"SEE?" He shows he a handful of screwdrivers he has brought from the garage and has found in my tool drawer. "A long thing? With an end on it? To do things with?!"

"Yes, I see," I respond, trying one more time, "I was just asking for more information about your project."

"It's a SCREWDRIVER! You're making me crazy!"

Oh, my darling. The feeling is sometimes so very mutual.

Hearing Voices

"What's the matter?" he asked anxiously as he looked up from the small jigsaw puzzle he was trying to solve. I was quietly standing at the stove preparing tostones (not my recipe, but close enough) to go with our chicken dinner. You have to watch those things so they don't overcook. I like them crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside. But I digress.

"Nothing," I replied, perplexed. I turned to look at him so as to gauge the situation. We have lots of situations these days.

"Why are you saying curses?" He was upset, and rightly so!

What?! My heart skipped a beat. I hadn't been talking or singing or otherwise uttering a single sound. Even the thoughts going through my head were those of happy anticipation and eagerness to sink my teeth into one of those tostones! Why would he think he heard me cursing?

All disease is evil. This one is especially so. It robs you of your memories, your thought processes, your skills and abilities. And apparently you also hear things in the spirit realm that are disconcerting, disorienting, and distressing.

You might not agree with my assessment (or the whole spirit realm thing), but is it okay if I admit to being just a tiny bit weirded out by this experience?

An Alzheimer's Moment - The Laundry

We just got back from a trip. I unpacked and separated the clothing into piles on the bedroom floor, ready for load after load of laundry. While the first load was in the washing machine, I started dinner.

A few minutes later, my husband came to the kitchen, huffing and puffing and complaining of an aching back. He had folded the piles of laundry and put the dirty clothes away in the drawers and the closet.

It hurt my heart that he had done all that work for nothing, but it was so sweet that he tried to help. If only the clothing had been clean...

I resorted everything, left the room, started writing this, and heard some noise coming from our closet. He is hanging up the clothes again. And so it goes. Sigh.

A Real Conversation

Yesterday, we decided to take a small road trip to visit my husband's brother and sister-in-law, just for the day. It's only 85 miles away, so it wasn't a major expedition with luggage and all that. Blessedly, there was very little traffic, and there weren't any crazy drivers. That includes the one in our car, me. My husband gets edgy in traffic (who doesn't?), and it can be a challenge to manage edgy and traffic at the same time. So, it was a pleasant drive in mild weather with no fog.

We enjoyed a really nice visit, went out for a delicious dinner, and went back to their place to watch a little television, all with no issues, no outbursts, and no confusion to speak of. It was absolutely fabulous.

In the late evening, we left to return home. It was dark, of course. Traffic was minimal, again with no crazies. We were both relaxed, and there was no music playing. It was just the two of us with no distractions. And suddenly I noticed something.

We were talking. We were having an actual conversation. You know, one person says something, then the other person responds to that and maybe adds another thought, then the first person responds, and so on. I started to cry when I realized what was happening. I don't know how long it's been since we've been able to talk without going off in weird directions that have nothing to do with the subject at hand and make no sense. We chatted relatively lucidly like this all the way home. All 85 miles. Really, it felt like a supernatural, miraculous blessing. And it gave me hope.

In this season of hope and renewal, I wish you many supernatural, miraculous blessings. Happy New Year. Keep your hope on.