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~ Because demented people need love, too.

The Perks of Being an Artist

Tag Archives: gratitude

Blame It On My Youth

09 Thursday Mar 2017

Posted by emilypageart in death, dementia, family, Fractured Memories, gratitude, music, singing, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Blame It On My Youth, gratitude, jazz, music, Nick Page, Red Hot Smoothies, regrets, singing

I was going through old files on my computer, and stumbled across this. I had forgotten all about it. It’s one of only a couple recordings my dad and I made together (Dad on sax, me on vocals). I don’t know why we waited until after he had been diagnosed with dementia to sit down and record some music together. We had performed together with his band, The Red Hot Smoothies, a couple times, but we never took it seriously. I guess we always figured there’d be time for that in the future. Plus, as much as I do love it, I’m kind of shy when it comes to singing in front of people. And I looked up to my dad and I think I was always just a little bit afraid that my talent wouldn’t be quite good enough to merit performing with him. That was all me, not him. I know he would have been thrilled if I’d asked earlier. Regrets, y’all. Anyway, blame it on my youth. (be patient, it takes a couple seconds to start)

***********************************************************************

Thanks so much for reading my ridiculous thoughts! If you’d like to see my ridiculous thoughts translated into art, visit my website, or follow me on Facebook and Twitter. Know a caregiver, or someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone who knows someone else who’s a caregiver? Or heck, do you know a person? Well, you should tell them about my book, Fractured Memories: Because Demented People Need Love, Too. Part memoir and part coffee table art book, I recount my family’s heartbreaking and hilarious journey through my father’s dementia. Available to purchase here (this is my favorite way if you live in the U.S.), here or here if you’d rather get the eBook than a print copy, and here (especially if you want a hard cover copy).

book-cover-1

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All The Muches

21 Wednesday Sep 2016

Posted by emilypageart in family, gratitude, humor, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

birthday, birthday cake, bourbon, death, dementia, gratitude, loss

As you may have guessed from yesterday’s post, it was my birthday, or, as I like to call it, my bourbon day. Normally, I’m am ALL about birthdays. Love them. Mine or yours, doesn’t matter because CAKE. But this was the first one without my dad. Not that he was exactly “present” for the last few, but this year I couldn’t even get the bittersweet call from my mom with him sitting next to her and her prompting him into the happy birthday song. I felt his absence so completely. I spent most of the night before and most of the day of bawling my eyes out and pulling cat hairs off of my face because I kept burrowing into my cats for comfort with a wet face. Smart. But last night, I put on my big girl pants and went to dinner with friends. I love my tribe, y’all, even more than I love my bourbon. And it’s growing, which makes me happy. I like accumulating people to love even more than accumulating cat hair on every piece of clothing I own. And say what you will about social media, you have to admit that it’s fun getting all those birthday wishes and love from friends near and far.

So to everyone who helped keep me afloat when I just wanted to sink in the swamp of sadness, thank you. I love you so much. In fact, I love you all the muches. You can even have some of my cake if you want…and, I suppose, some of my bourbon.

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Kindness Visits the Danube

16 Tuesday Aug 2016

Posted by emilypageart in culture, death, dementia, gratitude, kindness, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Danube, gratitude, kindness, pennies, pennies for Nick, random act of kindness, tender mercies

So, I want to talk about two acts of kindness I experienced on my trip down the Danube with my mom. But first, I want to share the way that we brought my dad along on the trip with us. As you know if you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, I associate pennies that are heads side up with my dad (complete explanations here here here and here), so we decided to leave pennies around the cities we visited to spread cheer and luck and “make someone verrrrry happy!” #penniesforNick

IMG_0845IMG_0744IMG_0624IMG_0507IMG_0418

But as I mentioned at the start of the blog, I wanted to talk about two acts of kindness, one that was given to me, and one that we were able to perform. The first night on the boat, we settled in for 50’s and 60’s rock night in the lounge with the boat’s piano player. The first tune, while not all that meaningful to me, induced half of the audience to get up and use the dance floor. And again, if you’ve been reading this blog for the last couple years, you know that one of the things I miss most is dancing with my dad. So I teared up watching everyone. I took deep breaths, drank some water, and tried to let it go, singing along to all the songs (based on my knowledge of 50’s and 60’s lyrics, I’m actually about the same age as the majority of the passengers – who knew?). Then the piano player started “When I’m 64,” which choked me up again, because I remembered when my dad played his favorite version of it (Connie Evingson’s) and we were at the beginning of trying to find out what was wrong with him, and he had just turned 65 so the song had taken on a new meaning. But again, I fought through and got Mom to get up and dance with me to it. I was determined not to let it get the best of me. The piano player was equally determined to reduce me to a puddle bourbon-y ooze, though. He played “Yesterday,” which I had performed my first year of college for a showcase with some friends, one of whom was killed by a drunk driver the following year. But still, I held it together. Mostly. But then, oh then, he went into “See Ya Later Alligator.” Are you freaking kidding me?! It’s not like it’s that common a song that I should have expected it. I was undone by it. I ran out to the deck and hid on the stairs and sobbed. Mom came out after a minute or so to check on me and helped me breathe. Until, we heard the music inside turn to “Unforgettable,” you know, the song Natalie Cole sang with her dead father from the first jazz CD my dad ever gave me? I mean really. There was no hope at that point, so we retired to our room.

The next morning, one of the other passengers, who looked like Cameron Diaz by the way, set a notebook that said “Happy Thoughts” on the cover next to me at breakfast, gave me a quick hug, and walked off to eat. Inside, she had written a note about losses she had suffered over the years (including 3 brothers and a husband, and she was only 50) and how she looked for life’s “tender mercies,” seeking out the good that’s still in the world and recording it in a journal like the one she was giving me. Little did she know, I do the same thing. Kindred spirits. When I went out to tour the next day, I found a new blank journal and gave it to her so she wouldn’t be without one on the trip.

So that was the first act of kindness we experienced.

The second one we were able to do for someone else. At several meals, we sat with two women who were really friendly and with whom we had a fair amount in common. On the second to last night, one of them divulged to my mom that she had brought her partner’s ashes with her to scatter somewhere, but hadn’t figured out how and when to do it, and she was running out of time. Mom and I had a small balcony off of our room, so we offered it to her to use. It had rained all evening, but the rain had stopped. It was cool out and there were lightning flashes in the distance, and we were cruising down the Danube past sleepy little villages. So we vacated the room and let her take the time she needed. She seemed relieved when she emerged. I think worrying about how to do it had been weighing on her. But she was able to let that piece of her partner go and know she had fulfilled a promise. And I was grateful to her for trusting us to be, in a tiny way, a part of her journey forward on her own.

I love the phrase “life’s tender mercies” that my shipmate used in her note to me. I love those unexpected kindnesses that can pop up half way around the world. I love that being kind to a stranger is still something worth doing and something that makes you feel good, too. In all the sadness of the past year, I’m grateful that love springs forward from the most unlikely of places. And so we continue on on our own journeys, looking for the light and the lucky pennies.

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Happy Thanksgiving, UnitedStatesians

27 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by emilypageart in culture, gratitude, humor, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Black Republicans exist, cats, gratitude, Thanksgiving, thanksgiving madness

My Fellow Americans (or as S likes to call us, UnitedStatesians),

Okay, so I know I’m a day late and about a trillion dollars short, but I’m going to post what I’m grateful for this year. Yesterday got away from me: I spent the morning painting, the afternoon cooking, and the evening reveling in the chaos of a packed house of friends who have become family. Children alternated between racing around, dancing, eating, and snuggling. Adults moved from room to room catching up, playing chess or cards, eating, drinking, talking politics, smoking cigars, dancing, and snuggling. Interestingly, we flipped several stereotypes on their ass this year. My husband and I were not only the only white people, we were also the only democrats. A whole house full of black republicans? Really?! I had quite the debate while smoking a cigar with the men about politics and the direction our nation is going. I don’t think any of us changed our minds, but it was still really helpful to hear opposing views being voiced in a rational manner, not screamed at us from a podium or our TVs. I wish more civil discourse could happen that way, because we’re so much more likely to really consider the ideas being proposed when we don’t feel like someone is trying to shove them down our throats. I respect the hell out of the guys I was talking to, so I wasn’t able to just summarily dismiss their views as crazy talk. Plus, at the end of the night after all the politic talk, I got some really great snuggles from my “boyfriend:”

Judah snuggles

But anyway, I said I was going to post about what I’m grateful for this year. I’m grateful for all the usual blah blah blah stuff – friends, family, shelter, food, etc. But if you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, you already know that I’m crazy grateful for all that stuff (either that, or you’ve figured out by now that I’m just plain crazy), and are tired of me talking about it. What I really want to focus on this year are the little things that make all the painful stuff we go through worth it:

  • The top sheet, because it’s so easy to fold and put away in the linen closet.
  • The bottom sheet, because it stays where it’s supposed to when it’s on the bed.
  • Platypuses, because their front ends look like their back ends.
  • Bourbon, because BOURBON!
  • Tweezers, because they allow me to have two eyebrows instead of one.
  • Cell phones, because they allow us to snap pictures of moments like the one above that I never want to forget.
  • Boots, because they’re cute and keep me warm.
  • Mechanical pencils, because they’re always sharpened and allow me to erase my mistakes and pretend I’m perfect despite all evidence to the contrary.
  • Paint, because PAINT!
  • Cats, because they can comfort me and make me laugh.
  • Clumpable litter, because my house doesn’t constantly smell like cat pee and I no longer have to use a little box liner which never stayed in place and which required regular replacing.
  • Refrigerators, because they keep my cheese cold.
  • Cheese, because CHEESE!
  • Asparagus, because ASPARAGUS PEE!
  • The back of my dad’s arm right above his elbow, because it’s super soft.
  • TV, because not only can you turn it on, you can turn it off.

I think that’s a pretty good list. There are obviously way more things to be grateful for, and I promise that I am. I’d like to end by adding one more thing I’m grateful for: you. You’ve given me a forum to voice my craziest thoughts. You’ve laughed with me, you’ve lifted me up when I needed it, you’ve helped me endure the dementia journey. So thank you, everyone.

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Are You Tending To Your Joy?

20 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by emilypageart in art, culture, gratitude, mental health, music, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

ani difranco, back back back, combating depression, first world problems, gratitude, music, putting beauty into the world

As I mentioned last week, I’ve been in the Artist’s Shame Spiral, where I get down on myself for not having more art sales. I don’t spend the time necessary to market myself properly, so it’s no surprise that sales have been slow. I just hate the bragging side of promoting my art. But that’s not the point of this post.

The point is, I have it really fucking easy. I am not fleeing a war torn country. Is there always a threat that a terrorist of foreign or home grown descent will shoot up the movie theatre or mall I’m in? Yes. But the odds are slim. And while I do have some health issues, ain’t none of ’em gonna kill me any time soon. I have friends and family that I love. There are a thousand little things each day for which I can be grateful.

As a person who battles depression, I need to cultivate happiness. I do this in little ways, like trading a weekly email with a friend with a list of all the things that happened that week for which I’m grateful, or taking a little extra time to snuggle with S and the cats, or enjoy a good bourbon. Tonight, I’m reminding myself via Ani Difranco. She’s the shit. No. She’s the shit the shit wishes it could be. I’m going to share a couple lyrics of hers with you, and then I encourage you to listen to the whole song:

Back back back in the back of your mind

Are you learning an angry language?

Tell me boy, boy, boy are you tending to your joy

Or are you just letting it vanquish?

…Your arrogance is gaining on you and so is eternity

You better practice happiness, you better practice humility

You took the air and you took the time

You were fed and you were free

Now you better put some beauty back

While you got the energy

Yeah, you better put some beauty back

While you got the energy

Here’s the actual song:

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When the Universe Speaks, I Wish It Would Use English

03 Tuesday Nov 2015

Posted by emilypageart in death, dementia, gratitude

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alzheimer's, dad, dementia, father, FLD, frontal lobe dementia, frontotemporal dementia, FTD, gratitude, messages from the universe, when the universe speaks

Do you ever have those days when it seems like the universe is trying to tell you something? As a not particularly religious person, I don’t know what to make of those times. For example, yesterday. After a particularly rough patch last week surrounding my feelings about my dad’s birthday, I woke yesterday morning feeling much better. We’re on vacation in Blowing Rock, NC, so I was all set for a day of exploring the local shops, drinking my favorite chai in all the land (from Bald Guy Brewing), taking lots of photos, soaking in the jacuzzi that overlooks the river below, and binge watching HGTV. Everything got off to a good start and we headed into town and started perusing the quaint little stores in Blowing Rock itself. In the first art gallery we went into, a song was playing that reminds me of my dad, so I got a little teary, but nothing major and I was able to brush it off and enjoy the art. Then, since I actually get a signal in town, I checked my email on my phone and got a message from a friend who was listening to my dad’s CD. She wrote, “Listening to Nick play and reading his words on the CD insert. I am feeing thankful for this little piece of him sealed in time.” So sweet of her to send that to me. SO sweet. But having had it just follow the song I’d heard in the gallery, it got me a little teary again, though mostly in a good way. About 30 minutes later, we were in another store and someone had made a little sign reading, “I love you a bushel and a peck” which are lyrics from a song I sing with my dad every time I visit. And that was the final straw. Constant reminders of him are too much right now. I lost it, right there in the store. Sobfest ’15 commenced. Here I was, trying to step away from the things weighing on me for a couple days, allowing myself to be okay and not have a nonstop grief-fest, and it was like the universe was wagging its finger at me, saying, “Not so fast!”

But I can’t imagine that I’m supposed to be sad all the time. Packing up those feelings for a few days is healthy, necessary. So what’s the message I should be picking up? It’s not like I was in danger of forgetting my dad. I wasn’t in a phase where I needed comfort and reminders that he’s still here.

Sometimes I wish I had a decoder ring that would tell me what I’m supposed to be learning when it seems like the world is bitch slapping me with love and pain. If someone could get me one for Christmas, you’d be my new best friend. Kpleaseandthankyou.

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Seeing Your Land Anew

03 Tuesday Nov 2015

Posted by emilypageart in art, Eerieville, gratitude

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

art, artist, autumn, fall, gratitude, haunted attraction, nature, photography, pride

On Friday, I knew I needed to distract myself as much as possible because it was my dad’s birthday. So I got together with my photographer friend, Audrey, and we headed out to the haunted attraction S and I are building. I don’t consider myself to be a great photographer, but it was so beautiful out that day, and things are starting to age and weather nicely, so there was plenty of inspiration.

I go to nature

When you’re in the throes of building and it’s eleventy-twenty-seven degrees out and you’re getting eaten alive by mosquitos or gnats or running from spiders or snakes or homicidal deer and you feel like you’re going to die, you forget to stop and look at what you’ve created. Bringing someone out there for their first time seeing it makes you see things anew and allows you to look at what you’ve created with some measure of pride. And, when I’m just strolling and photographing and not building or shoveling or sculpting, it lets me fall in love with the property itself, which gives me more energy to continue on with the endeavor. We got lucky that we had a perfectly clear, sunny day, and the leaves were starting to change. All the textures and colors of the property were prancing and showing off for us, shouting, “Look at me!” and “No, look at me!” and “Over here!” Here are some of my favorite pics from the day (not focusing a ton on the sets, since they’re not dressed and complete yet):

cottage chimney 3 Front gate graveyard 2 graveyard 4 moss 2 snake rail 4 well 3

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And The Dementia Marches On

29 Thursday Oct 2015

Posted by emilypageart in death, dementia, gratitude

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Alzheimer's, bear hugs, birthday, dad, father, FLD, frontal lobe dementia, frontotemporal dementia, FTD, gratitude, physical affection for dementia patients, wheelchair hugs

This past weekend, I went home to visit my parents, and I’ve been processing everything over the last couple of days and gathering my thoughts on how to write about the visit. My dad’s 73rd birthday is tomorrow, but I won’t be able to be there, so we decided to celebrate while I was visiting. He’s past the point of fully understanding what it means to have a birthday, I think, and he certainly couldn’t tell you what day it was or how old he was, but, seeing as how this is most likely his last birthday (just writing that, my throat catches), it was important to my mom and to me to acknowledge it and celebrate it. We picked up balloons and a crown and an ice cream sundae and brought it to him. He sang along with us for the Happy Birthday song, and mostly fed himself the ice cream. He’d open his mouth really wide waaaaaaay before the spoon got anywhere near it, then drip half of it down his beard, like a little kid (if little kids had beards, that is. That’d be creepy. So maybe not like a little kid. Maybe like a 3-toed sloth). It was quite cute.

I snuck in 3 visits over the 3 days I was home, and the first day was really lovely out, so we wheeled him outside in his brand new fancypants wheelchair (courtesy of Hospice) to look at the changing leaves and enjoy the breezes. We did a couple laps around the fenced-in courtyard (while getting passed several times by two residents who were all giggly and up to no good but who I adore because they’re so stinkin’ cute), then we parked him looking out at the woods and creek behind the courtyard. We sang a little, and gave him lots of kisses, and then, for a moment, as I was pulling back from giving him a kiss, he looked at me. Right. At. Me. He didn’t say anything, but I felt like he was present for just a second, and he saw me. The world kept spinning madly around us, but for just that second, we were still and together and that’s all there was.

My genius mother whipped out her phone and managed to capture the moment.

My brilliant mother whipped out her phone and managed to capture the moment.

dad looking at me 10-25-15

The clouds in his eyes parted and his inner spark showed through.

It’s amazing how my view of what constitutes a good interaction has changed over the last few years. It used to be whether or not he could sit still long enough to look at pictures or participate in an activity. Then it was how much we talked and sang. Then it was if he got my name right. Then it became whether or not I could get a belly laugh out of him. Then it was how many hugs I got. And now a good visit comes down to him making eye contact for a second or two. And soon, it’ll be if he’s awake. And then there will be nothing.

It feels almost surreal that he’s the same person I grew up with, because who he seems to be now is worlds away from who he seemed to be then. And now I’m grateful for eye contact. I say that and it seems absurd, and ridiculous, and heartbreaking. But still, I’m grateful.

On Tuesday, I visited right before heading back to Raleigh. He was lined up with the other residents in his wheelchair with a blanket on him, watching West Side Story, so I pulled up a chair next to him and held his hand and sang along with the tunes. And then it came time for me to leave, and I went to give him a hug. And I realized, with him in the wheelchair full time now, I’m never going to get a giantdaddybearhug again. I can lean over the chair from the side, and kind of get my arms around his shoulders, and he can reach a hand up to touch my back, but he can never wrap me in his arms again. And then I realized I didn’t pay nearly enough attention to the last time he gave me a real hug on my last visit up. And I should have been holding on and savoring and burning it into my memory, but it’s too late now. And I’m heartbroken. It makes the future where I don’t have his physical self at all seem way too near. It makes me ache. No amount of preparation will make it okay. So we just keep looking for the tiny things that we still have and try to etch them into our memories so that they’re not lost forever when he’s gone.

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Reduced to Tears By a Penny

28 Friday Aug 2015

Posted by emilypageart in dementia, gratitude

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Alzheimer's, bitchslap, Bodo's, dad, dementia, father, gratitude, karma, memories, pennies, penny, penny for your thoughts, trains, universe

Just when I thought the universe couldn’t bitchslap me any harder, I see this:

penny on chair

Now for most of you, this would mean nothing, but to me, it’s super meaningful. My dad and I used to get rid of the pennies in his pocket by leaving them around town as good luck for whomever found them. We’d hide them in the most random of places – inside books at the bookstore, inside planters, on railings, resting on the slats of plantation blinds…really anywhere you wouldn’t expect to find a penny. The tradition was, when you set it down, you had to say, with as much enthusiasm as humanly possible, “This is going to make someone verrrrrrrry happy!” Even if you were putting out 10 pennies, you had to say it each and every time.

S and I were shopping for some furniture for the new house and saw this penny sitting on top of the chair, and I just lost it. I started crying right there in the furniture store. Then we went to get ice cream, and someone was wearing a t-shirt from Bodo’s, our favorite bagel shop up in Charlottesville, VA, which is also the last restaurant we were still able to take Dad to after we put him in the dementia care facility. And finally, on the way to another store after getting ice cream, we passed Nick’s Trains store.

So, there I am, a hot, fragile mess, trying to pull it together before going into the next store, and I stopped and thought about it. And what I decided was that, with all the horribleness that this week has contained, maybe the universe was actually trying to remind me of how lucky I am. I have these silly memories of putting out pennies with my dad, and chowing down on the best bagels in the country, and train watching and flattening pennies on the train tracks – all with my dad. And now I’m teary, but for good reasons.

Thanks for the bitchslap, powers that be. I needed that.

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New Stage of Being

21 Friday Aug 2015

Posted by emilypageart in death, dementia, gratitude

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Alzheimer's, death, dementia, father, FLD, frontal lobe dementia, frontotemporal dementia, FTD, gratitude

My mom posted on my Facebook page, in response to several supportive emails about my last blog post, the following, which I think is beautifully put:

“In this season of sending loved ones off to school, perhaps this could be seen as Nick’s next stage of being. And in that light, it’s also a mixed experience for us all. It feels good to know hospice will provide additional support. And to have your support as we turn this corner. Four years ago when I signed my mother up for hospice, my nephew & his wife were there with me & provided good hugs. He texted me today, and your comments here, are hugging us. Thank you.”

The phrase “Nick’s next stage of being” is going to rock me to sleep tonight. Thanks, Mom. I love you.

mom and dad matching shirts

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