Heart Breaking

 

Our hearts can break in so many ways over the years, can't they? Heart breaking is an odd term. A heart can't break, unless it's a heart attack, not emotionally triggered. Though interestingly, the pain can be located near the heart or clench the stomach or go painfully silent with shock as in a brain freeze.

My freshly demented friend came up to my apartment the other night. Her phone wasn't working and she was in pieces.

It turns out it needed a pin number to fire it up. And she had tried many times with various numbers to do so until it shut her down for too many failed attempts. I was "the genius" who could sort it out for her.

I told her we would have to wait 2 hours to try again and I could make coffee and to please tell me the pin number so I could open it for her then. She looked at me, baffled. I wanted to burst into tears. Once upon a time, she was a marketing manager for a large firm, handling government contracts. Three years younger than I.

I said we can't open it without your pin. Please try and think of the four digit number.

Blank. She wanted to access her bank app and had brought all the gear with her, blank cheque, bank card, note from her bank giving her a temporary password to access the app which telegraphed she had had a similar issue with the bank app.

Use that, she instructed me. I said no, this had a long alpha numeric sequence and all we needed for the pin was four numeric digits to get into the phone itself. She read off this bank password again. I jogged her by telling her, her date of birth, her daughter's date of birth?

"I can't remember those!" she laughed.

Maybe tomorrow take the phone to the place where you bought it? I suggested, they could probably crack into it for you?

"I don't want them in my bank account" she huffed.

Slowly I explained to her the difference between accessing the phone itself and accessing the bank app. She smiled at me as if I were a half-wit shaking her head.

And I despaired. I am totally at a loss that I was never at with L my friend who also descended rapidly into dementia and has been in a care home for several years.

I honestly can't believe how rapidly S has descended. 

I phoned her the following day and she had absolutely no recollection of the hours she had spent with me the night before. I said, your phone is fixed? "What?"she said,"It's not broken."

It's frankly terrifying. And I'm lost as to how to help.

Edit: Added later

Tonight, she buzzed me on my intercom and arrived in my apartment with a brand new phone (!!). Her granddaughter had set up the new phone and wrote down the passwords but NONE worked. I think her phone provider has scammed her by selling her a new phone. And her granddaughter should know better and have tested the passwords before releasing her into the wild. Needless to mention I don't have her granddaughter's phone number and neither does S with her phone not working.

Stalemate and I'm exhausted. She stayed about an hour but she can't keep track of any conversation. Even a minute later. She wants to return the new phone fpor "not working". I'm hoping her family are realizing she is seriously cognitively impaired. 

Constant Beauty

 I think if one is born to an environment of natural beauty one can be immune to it.

I find this immunity prevalent amongst many of my Newfoundland people.

Yesterday I trotted out to pick up some groceries and asked my friend with dementia if she'd like to come along and she was thrilled. I can't abide shopping and pre-order my groceries on line and then have them all loaded into my car at the pickup.

I stopped outside my home and took this photo of the fog over the Atlantic in the distance and the blues just took my breath away. "Isn't it stunning?" I said to my friend as I snapped away. "I suppose," she answered, a born and bred Newfoundlander.

So this is for Marge, who is a faithful follower and loves fogs as much as I do.

We picked up the groceries and I asked her if she'd like to trot up to Middle Cove, the glorious beach near where we live and she agreed. I said I come up here a lot and she said she would come there a lot as a child and I said never since? And she said no. I was shocked. She took a long walk on the beach. I took some photos. There were many there, kids and dogs and some fishing off the shore.

We sat for a while and she became quite emotional, remembering the picnics and "boil-ups" on the beach as a child. It had never occurred to her to just visit and just be there for an afternoon.

So I talked of the healing effect of sitting by the ocean and all its different moods. And to reflect on how small we all are in the overall scheme of things.

And she agreed and said she had been so agitated about so many different things and her stress had been bad and now she could feel herself relaxing.

Her gratitude quite overwhelmed me, she went on and on about the afternoon and what a mighty gift I had given her.

And I was reminded of something I had learned a long time ago.

Measure wealth not by the stuff you own and hoard, but by the things in life that don't cost a penny.

Holding Firm

 

I am goodly. I am avoiding all the podcasts, all the streaming, all the substacks and all the newspapers.

Politics can be a total addiction and I see that clearly now. I wasn't addressing some real issues in my life like another long term friend with dementia and the resulting void in my life that now exists. She was one of my first friends in Newfoundland and was instrumental in getting me into her building (there was a huge waiting list - still is).

I decided to go back into therapy after my doc expressed some concern (again!) that talking to someone might help me.

She got me in to see one lickety split (the following day) and I am thrilled that there was an immediate click with him. In the past I've had a few really poor ones but was canny enough to dispense with them. I was also fortunate to have excellent wise ones.

I realized when talking with him, that things had really shifted for me emotionally last November when I nearly died and my brother died two days later. I also realized that in Newfoundland I have one close friend (now in dementia) but the rest of the friendships were more transactional. And that I hadn't shared this massive loss and its impact on me with anyone. A few times I tried but in one case the friend walked away.

So my conclusion also was that I used politics to fill that massive emotional void. And I could feel myself slipping away.

So onward into a better emotional outcome for me. 

I feel lighter already.

A month goes by.....

    

The endless ocean

Faster than a blink. Life going at 81 miles an hour like the old saw had it. At fifteen it was fifteen miles an hour and so on and so forth until now. I believe it.

I got swept up in life. Politics, family, friendships, variations on my health challenges which involved too many x-rays, too many lab visits, specialist visits, doctor visits. Old age requires preservation, an effort which belies our advancing years and ages us more, I believe. 

All my siblings, most in different time zones, are visiting me here in May. Concern for the Old Dear is uppermost I would think. We lost our brother last November and the shakiness of my health ripples through those near and dear to me.

A long time friend (another) is showing early signs of dementia. I detached from her in her recent exhibitions of it which were rather frightening (delusional, hallucinatory) but am meeting her this week to talk with her. Compassion and care. I was fortunate to hear the stories of other dear ones as they stepped over this precipice, The fear being most prominent, then the bafflement, then the resignation. All stages which can take some time. I am so very sad for her. But worried too as she will not go gentle into that good night. Her rage is rather terrifying and her paranoia something more extreme than I'be observed before. However, I am a loyal friend no matter what happens. And living in her fear and silence must be terrifying for her. She was so excessively grateful when I said we could meet and talk. She has left a trail of emotional destruction in this building. and she is in reality a very private person with clear boundaries. Now all shattered in her mental state.

As to politics, you can find me on Bluesky under my web name. I scream into the void. The most important election of my lifetime in Canada. We are close to the precipice with the right wingers here who are enmeshed with Maga and up to all the American tricks of calling Canada broken and hating immigrants and women. I find it a release. I am truly worried about the future for humanity if Canada (and hopefully Australia) don't vote this effing hatred OUT.

Well done to the Usians marching and protesting and bringing the message of hope to so many who need it, including yours truly.

We shall overcome rings in my head. We all need to be reminded. People have the power. 

Clinging

 We do cling to life don't we? And the more we age, the more we cling. I took huge risks with my life back in the day. Cliff climbing, racing a motorbike at 100 mph (by myself) - on a flat straight road, mind you - but still, one false move and bingo, meat on the pavement, driving way beyond tiredness, falling asleep at the wheel, jerking awake, driving in blizzards on highways in the dark. Pushing myself far too far in road races. Unkillable. That was me.

Friends and I joke  are semi-serious about when Alzheimer's or dementia comes knocking at our door. Stashing little supplies of pills, looking at towering cliffs with a keen evaluating eye on the ocean below. We'd stop that baby in its tracks. Or would we?

I have observed the onset on this mental breakdown in fellow tenants or listen to the anecdotal evidence. Two recently "forgot" to eat and were carted off in ambulances to go on an IV for a week to bring their bodies back into balance and then released to their own devices back into our building. Only fellow tenants checking in on them. Families all on the mainland. Apparently forgetting to eat is a sign of the "middling stage" of dementia. 

Point being jumping off cliffs will be forgotten along with the meals we're forgetting to eat or the pills we don't know what to do with. Dark humour there.

I have been here long enough now to observe some of the final stages of mental collapse. Stoves unplugged permanently, licences yanked, cars sold, medications put into those automatic dispensers that beep at you, all services paid for by family members if they can afford it, helpers, launderers, cleaners, companions. shoppers, Then evacuation to long term care, quietly, silently, with no farewells.

Offing oneself when the time came is now a long ago idea, buried with all the others in the dark grave of yesterday's plans.

Interestingly enough, anecdotal again, it's the readers and doers and creators and puzzles-solvers that don't join the legion of these sufferers. And I do wonder if mental acuity along with exercising of the brain regularly keeps that particular wolf from the door. Learning new skills is a good workout however challenging and frustrating it can be at times.

So, thoughts? 

Lana

It's about time for an update on Lana, my dear friend who has dementia. I call her every week and she never fails to remember me.

For a while, I was nervous calling her, would she forget me, would she have bouts of paranoia, would she ask me too many questions.

None of that never happened. 

Our last call lasted an hour, the longest ever.

She had me laughing uncontrollably at one point in the call when she talked about a kind of spa in her luxurious assisted living complex which has beauty salons and hair styling units.

I said how's your hair looking? Look in the mirror and tell me. she told me it was crawling down her back.

She's a fan of really short hairdos, always has been so I asked her why the change.

She explained that to go to the salon would involve her emerging like a "fizzhead" and that, she would never, ever accept.

I know exactly what she meant and I said "like those tightly permed old women?"

And she started laughing uncontrollably too. 

Then she said there's a new invention I have to tell you about.

And she proceeded to tell me about "something" that helps with hair and keeps it off her face and her aide showed her how it operated..

After a few minutes I said, you mean a headband I think.

And she went yes, yes, a headband. A brand new invention. You need to find one. They are amazing.

She's still so articulate in so many ways and sometimes her flashbacks astound me. I remind her that she is in a very luxurious residence when she asks where her money is.

She tells me she walks every day and sits on a bench and counts cars to keep her brain exercised. 

I preplan the number, she says, and I don't get off the bench until I reach the number, hundred, two hundred, fifty.

She was a numbers whiz in her past life and this is no surprise to me.

I cherish our time together.

The Clothes Line

 

Of all the many pictures (with resulting cards and prints) I have taken over the years this one has been the most popular. I had repeat orders  of hundreds of cards printed. And it was also featured in a calendar. The reason I am writing about this is because of Lana, my dear friend who has dementia/ Alzheimer's.

I sent her one of these cards a few weeks ago. I had sent one to her before when it was first published but of course there is no memory of that. Every day is fresh to her.

She was upset she was in lockdown when I called her on Monday night. She is confused in that she thinks she has Covid and hates her meals being delivered and misses her walks. She's in a luxury building and paces her room. Fifty feet long, she tells me. She counts the steps. Having seen pictures of the interior or her residence, I believe her. Enormous rooms.

"But," she said, "You sent me this card. And I put it under a small lamp beside my bed. And every night I stare at this picture after I've read the poem you had printed on the back and it puts me to sleep with a smile on my face."

Some Day on Clothes

The blues 

Dance through

His shirt

My skirt

Flit Lift

Snap Spin

And I couldn't stop crying when I got off the phone.

Lana's World

Outside of her new home.

Some of you have followed my posts on Lana, my long term friend who descended into the long goodbye of Dementia/Alzheimers. She is younger than me by 2-1/2 years which makes it all the more poignant.

Up to about a month or so ago she was still driving which alarmed me greatly. I kept in touch with her son and another friend of hers who checked on her regularly.

Then a few weeks ago she wasn't answering her phone and her son found her on the floor of her living room with a massively swollen right leg.

Community area of her new home.

He sprung into action. Got her to the hospital (she had blood clots) and immediately arranged for her to be admitted to a care facility. A very fancy care facility. Unaffordable to most but it turns out he's one of those quiet millionaires (real estate, stock market). Her house is worth a lot but he hasn't seen the need to sell it yet. She is very fortunate.

I call her once a week and enter her brand new world. She surprises me with her sharpness at times, asks about my writing, wants to hear all about the workshop but I'm very much in the now with her. All short term memory is wiped as with a blackboard eraser from her mind within a very short length of time.

It humbles me. She speaks of her surroundings - a chandelier in her room, a brand new TV screen installed by her son, a selection of framed pictures and photos from her former home. She laughs. "I wouldn't have chosen any of these myself" and she describes them to me. Her leg is shrinking. And she's walking the halls. 

Every floor is carpeted - a long cry from most "care" homes. It's like a luxurious hotel" she says. A privilege denied to many. And she knows it. She is incredibly grateful to her son who stepped up to the plate, so to speak. Their sometimes fractious past long forgotten.

It's extraordinarily peaceful talking to her for about 45 minutes every week. We are very much in the now. I never question her. Even asking her about dinner would be stressful but now and again she'll talk about the menu and I am astonished at the choices on offer and her memory in recalling the items - a long list.

She asks me to give her some memories which I do. Trip to Ireland, trip to New Brunswick, a couple of trips to Newfoundland and to her parents when they were alive, weekend retreats, volunteer community work we shared. She delights in each memory recalled for her.

"My grandson has my car!" she suddenly announces to me.

"You loved that car!" I answer.

"It was time," she says, "I'm OK with not driving again."

I am profoundly affected by this. She adored driving. And knew far more than I about cars.

I dread the day she forgets me but right now when I call her, she is bowled over with love for me. As I am for her.

Day 19

All is well with self-care and change.

But a very rough pain day. I will call my doctor tomorrow.

My neighbour next door gave me some strong pills and they did the trick but they are prescription.

I was defeated by the mathematics of a knitting pattern I was designing so left it to percolate on the graph paper.

I wrote a poem about old age.

My friend Lana called  me. She has dementia but she asked me to rescue some memories for her which I did. She marvels at my memory capacity. She asked me was her marriage happy and I told her the truth (it wasn't). I find it easier on her to tell her the truth as she can wax sentimental about fouled relationships. I was delighted she called as her memories of other friends, other places, are shattered.

Perspective.

I'm reading a very funny book called Slow Horses about the Secret Service in the UK. If you've ever worked in a grinding bureaucracy you will relate.

From the Archives - 2008 - Trinity Bay, NL. What an amazing place.

  

Old Age

It's so rare to read about the truth of old age, isn't it?

Ronni at Time Goes By does.

But many bloggers are almost apologetic about even talking about the downsides. And there can be many or few of these, depending on health - financial, mental, emotional, physical.

Or is it wearing the brave old face thing through adversity. Exhausting in itself, right?

I remember my father chugging along, even though it appears that he also had PVD (like me now) judging by his grinding-halt-when-walking-syndrome the last time we trekked Sherkin Island and we had to summon a kind driver to ferry him the rest of the way to Silver Strand and then back to the pier. He never shared any of his ailments with his children and he lived alone, soldiering on. Brave? We like to call old people suffering silently brave. But is it? Is it shame? Is it fear of being a crashing organ recital bore?

So what is old age? Hard to define. But as one old wag put it: Old age is five years older than I am now.

I'm way past my allotted three score and ten now - which used to be extreme old age a century ago. I've outlived my own mother by over twenty years. More of my contemporaries and friends are dead than alive. Let that sink in.

This interesting article was forwarded by a friend who is younger than I by about 7 or 8 years. But as we age into 75 do we get greedy? Will he change his opinion?

Quote:

But here is a simple truth that many of us seem to resist: living too long is also a loss. It renders many of us, if not disabled, then faltering and declining, a state that may not be worse than death but is nonetheless deprived. It robs us of our creativity and ability to contribute to work, society, the world. It transforms how people experience us, relate to us, and, most important, remember us. We are no longer remembered as vibrant and engaged but as feeble, ineffectual, even pathetic.

Is there a point to living beyond 75? Do we continue to suck greedily on our health resource services costing so much tax dollars from the youngers who support us through their taxes? And yes, I know we contributed in our turn to the elders of our time. How long does this go on? Till we drool our way to being spoon-fed and diaper changed? I mean we think it's never going to happen to us but hey, I've seen many being carted off who didn't think it would happen to them either. Last case in point a man I had a few coffee dates with.

I am more conscious now of "last times". I know we can't go home again but I truly believe we are never quite aware of the last time we're experiencing something, or being somewhere or being with someone until we are startled suddenly into the realization: yeah, that was the very last time.

And we weep quietly. Bravely alone. Or stay removed and stoic. But that isn't a choice. It's how we're built.

What sayeth you?

Friday Fumbles

A little note popped up in a knitting sketch book this morning:

"Why do people long for immortality when they don't know what to do with themselves on a wet Sunday afternoon?"

If I ever get to the end of my To-Do list it will be time for me to die.

Looking through some photos, this photo touched my heart. Grandgirl and Ansa laughing together on a rock from 2006. Try not to laugh back at them imagining the shared joke.

I fear for my friend L as her texting to me has stopped completely. Another friend ran into her and said she seemed terribly confused and shouldn't be driving. So she has worsened. I do hope her sons are monitoring the situation. The last text I had from her was her questioning if she should go into a seniors' residence. I supported that, of course. She is more than ready. I wrote about her here, our last time together, in 2018, in 5 parts.

I never tire of photographing the sea in all its thousands of moods. This one I took way back when L visited me here in Newfoundland and life seemed so much simpler then.

Free-Floating Fridays

Grandgirl received her Master of Economics degree yesterday. Can't tell you how proud I am.

I transplanted the African Violets that I call The Three Sisters and they are thriving. I haven't been able to grow violets since my Toronto days (and a fine hand I was at it too) so am thrilled they like this eastern lookout.

I'm surrounded by sudden onset dementia lately. I don't even know if there's such a thing, don't want to know. Two women in the laundry room yesterday were completely baffled by the machine knobs. Women who were completely competent before. I had to go back to help them with the dryer knobs. A man I had a kinda "coffee date" with not too long ago was reported missing by his sister and the police found him wandering around the nearby lake looking for his car. 5 kilometers from his home, the car was parked at his apartment building. He is now in a home. I saw him about a month ago at the local coffee shop. Without even greeting me, he asked me for a ride downtown. I was on my way in the opposite direction and declined. He was odd, never looked at me, stumbled off outside as I watched him, puzzled, not realizing he was in a bad way even though he smelled to high heaven as if he hadn't washed in weeks. I feel weird about this. Is my compassion quota all used up?

I'm still not coming to grips with my seriously reduced energy levels. I take on too much and then have to bow off. The spoons theory needs to be honoured more by me. It's like I'm greedy for life in such an enormous way and then run into my elderly self, defeated and disgruntled and dismayed and disappointed. Not a good feeling.

PS Please feel free to join in on Free-Floating Fridays and link to your post on comments here.

Meanwhile

Do you find it hard to stay focused?

I'm finding it worsening as I age.

There is just so much to be done, thought about, planned, executed and accomplished that it can be overwhelming.

I got into a political skirmish on FB yesterday and I became enraged at the injustice of it all. I am aware that it is merely my opinion and others disagree but I find it hard to walk away and just LET IT GO.

Meanwhile, this steals precious time away from other matters that I can actually do something about. Like the new senior women's advocacy group we are forming and tax season - did I mention tax season? - where I still have some clients (not many) to keep my hand (brain) in and a few extra coins in the coffers.

Meanwhile, yesterday, I see my new young doctor and honestly, he is sorting out my elevated blood pressure like no tomorrow. He put me on a 1/2 a beta blocker and I'm already seeing the difference though side effects are a slight headache and exhaustion. I rarely if ever get headaches so this leads me into thinking some people suffer so much from them and I am so lucky.

Meanwhile, my dear friend with dementia has had enormous trouble with her power of attorney as it has been executed behind her back and the executor put his name on the title to her house. So she was all panicked and called me (she has no other friend she trusts) and I had her write down a plan, she was remarkably clear-headed, and then the following day her brain was all jumbled again and it was like the 2 hours of the day before that we had on the phone held no meaning for her at all, they had evaporated. So I've had to walk away, I have no room for this in my brain. And I live over 3,000 KM away. So I just metaphorically bless her texts to me that tell me everything is OK now with no specifics and LET IT GO.

I wrote a 5-parter about her here

So I'm going to get a lot more selfish with my time. Practise loving detachment in all my endeavours, go stupid on political engagement and accomplish what is in my reasonable grasp. Good plan, right?

We'll see how all this unfolds.

Dementia and Alzheimer's and Nuns

I remember that Time article about nuns and Alzheimer's published in 2001. Clearly. Unfortunately, it is behind a paywall now so I can't access but if you're interested and a subscriber you can go ahead and do so. Nuns had not only generously co-operated with studies on these brain diseases but also donated their bodies, postmortem, to science in selfless efforts to assist further research. I remember the autopsies showed that even though advanced degradation of brain cells due to Alzheimer's had occurred in these nuns, other segments of their brains had taken over complex functions like needlework and crossword puzzles thus keeping the Alzheimer's unnoticed by those around them. The personalities of the nuns had much to do with their abilities in later years (90+). Many of them had kept journals from their teenage years exhibiting a positivism about life and a thirst for learning.

I did find a similar article in the New York Times but it's not as detailed as the Time essay - and I am relying on - ahem! - my memory about the original article.

Excerpt:

At 93, Sister Nicolette Welter still reads avidly, recently finishing a biography of Bishop James Patrick Shannon. She knits, crochets, plays rousing card games and, until a recent fall, was walking several miles a day with no cane or walker.

I was driven to write this by a visit to an old friend yesterday who is in a third level care home. She is 93 and until the last year or so was taking care of herself in her own home. Reading and playing complex card games and knitting sweaters for her pensioner sons. Then one of her sons died. And the family hadn't told her he was dying. And this shoved her over the edge into mental disarray which has remained.

My grandmother, then in her seventies, was similarly afflicted when my mother died. Within a short period she retreated to an alternative world where Mum was still with us and Granny, our darling granny, never surfaced again.

My aunt, a bridge playing, golfing entrepreneur in her nineties, vanished into her own bottomless dark hole when her youngest child died at 49.

As to my friend, she is like a skeleton in a wheelchair, her caustic P&V with which we were all familiar has vanished, replaced by this gaunt shell with haunted eyes and no memory of us, her former familiars, but a clear memory of her dead son visiting her yesterday.

An unknown percentage of these "long goodbye" diseases is down to circumstances surely? None of those nuns lost a child and I wonder if this has a huge bearing on our emotional and mental abilities in our later years. As I have witnessed, heartbreakingly, first hand.

Challenges

(1)I'm down with something. A bad cold, not quite ready to call it flu. I am susceptible to bronchitis so am keeping a close eye and ear on this thing. I did have the pneumonia shot earlier but not the flu shot. It's not that effective anyway. I'm about 5 days in, sleeping a lot when I'm not hacking a lot. A nuisance more than anything else.

(2)I'm sad about many blog friends either resigning from blogland or disappearing without notice. Far too many this year so far. Some leave in high dudgeon over slights and insults, others are ill and just about break my heart. Others grieve over losses and can't find the energy or inclination to post.

(3)Daughter is leaving the country tomorrow for nigh on 5 weeks. I'll miss her like mad. This digital age is useful for ongoing connections but the daily and physical contact can't be beaten.

(4)Missed my bookclub meeting today due to (1) and feel sad about that as I had thoroughly enjoyed the book and had made extensive notes on it. Remarkable Creatures A remarkable book about the discovery of fossils by two women and guess who got all the credit? According to the book reports posted online, all members loved it and had a great discussion. I know I'm extremely fortunate in my book club, we really stick to book discussions and host authors also.

(5)I keep close tabs on a friend with what looks like early dementia but I am feeling the strain. If I remind her of important facts of her life, the next time we talk she informs me of these same facts as if they just happened, forgetting I reminded her. She lives at a distance so it is challenging and sad. I'm unsure how to proceed if at all. Worried too in case she hurts herself. I gently suggested independent senior living to her and spoke of the advantages of not running a house anymore and getting things taken care of. She clenched on to that idea fiercely and I was so relieved. She kept repeating it to me and then wrote it down. I imagine she is very frightened but not sharing that with me, and who's to blame her. Her mother had early onset Alzheimer's so the gene pool is not favorable towards her. I reinforced that she is in charge of how she proceeds now. And no one else.

Snap Judgements

I was away last weekend, well actually the weekend before last. While there I had a heart stopping text, one where I burst into tears, my heart was so raw. The text read: "Terrible tragedy. T----- (her daughter) was found dead today. We're numb."

I felt sick. This friend and I had bonded over the difficulties with our daughters. My missing, estranged daughter and her unstable daughter. Each having mental health issues.

I follow my instincts in such matters now. I knew her extended family would gather around her and her husband for a while. So yesterday, after I left my sleepover in St. John's I went to a flower shop to get my friend B and her husband a living flower arrangement and planned to go directly to their home in the country.

So I'm in the flower shop and as luck would have it there's a woman of approximately my age ahead of me trying to put an arrangement together and taking a whole week of my precious time to do so.

"No, that's way too many carnations, take a couple out."

"You don't have enough baby's breath, no problem I'll wait while you go into the back room fridge."

"Oh, that's too much, no hang on, put more carnations in. No, only red, like I said."

"Hang on, it's out of balance. I want it to be perfect."

This went on for another five or ten minutes. At one point the clerk rolled her eyes at me as they discussed ribbons and cellophane for the arrangement.

The woman turned suddenly and looked at me and muttered an apology for holding me up.

With great will power, stifling my annoyance, I threw on a smile and said:

"You friend must be very precious and special."

Her eyes flooded with tears.

"I'm just off the plane from New York," she said, "I'm going to visit Caroline, my very best friend in the whole world, I haven't seen her in 10 years."

"Oh," I said, now fully engaged and curious, my impatience forgotten, "That's a very long time".

"Ah," she said, "She has advanced dementia now. Has had it for years. Her husband phoned me a few days ago and said she has very little time left. But I must see her. At her wedding I carried a bouquet of red carnations and baby's breath and I'm hoping that seeing this arrangement might trigger a memory of our friendship, you know?"

What was there to reply? I nodded, understanding completely. And as she left, I said:

"That's a beautiful tribute of remembrance for you both."

And then fussed in my turn for the little garden arrangement to bring to B.