Put it on an iPod and Plug in!

jj on motorcycle

Noted neurologist, Oliver Sacks, once said that, “Music evokes emotion, and emotion can bring with it memory… it brings back the feeling of life when nothing else can.”

Recently, opera singer turned neuroscientist, Linda Maguire, researched using music for those with failing cognition. “Musical aptitude and music appreciation are two of the last remaining abilities in patients with Alzheimer’s. They can’t follow life or conversations. They don’t remember people. They get lost and confused. But because the part of the brain that internalizes music remains healthy, they can follow music.” 

Maguire’s study revealed 5 important benefits of music:

  1. Music evokes emotions that bring memories.
  2. Music is a way to reach beyond the disease and reach the person.
  3. Music can bring emotional and physical closeness. With dementia, patients often lost the ability to express emotions.  Through music, if they are ambulatory, they can even dance. Dancing can lead to hugs, kisses and touching, which brings security and memories.
  4. Singing engages both mind and body. It gives you better posture, better oxygenation and stimulates tissue because the heart and lungs literally vibrate.
  5. Music can shift mood, manage stress and stimulate positive interactions. 

Maguire’s study says that three of the most therapeutic songs are: “The Sound of Music,” “When You Wish Upon a Star,” and “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” It also suggests that if you are caring for an elderly person, to compile a playlist of songs that were popular when they were 18-25 years old. Put it on an iPod and plug them in!!

On that note, I leave you with, “I Wanna Die Young,” a song I wrote inspired by my grandmother. That is she pictured above on the back of a Harley in her 70’s. She is the same girl that still sang “Happy Birthday” to me at age 93, long after she had forgotten who I was.  

https://www.reverbnation.com/helenhudson

 

 

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THUMBS UP!!!

When I first started driving, Granny cautioned me NOT to pick up hitchhikers.  “You just never know,” she warned.  I disobeyed her, but only once.  That day, I was feeling pretty independent behind the wheel of my stick-shift, Chevy Nova, clunker when I saw a guy with his thumb out on the highway. 

No dummy me:  I checked him out top to bottom first, before I stopped.  He was clean, handsome in a rough sort of way and looked very fit.  Seemed harmless.  So, I pulled over.  He gave me a big, wide grin, and said, “Hey, Thanks for stopping.  I’m just going about two miles straight down.  I sure appreciate this.  It’s hot out here.”  Had manners, too. 

As he squeezed himself into the front seat I realized that he was MUCH bigger up close.  He was also staring at me, hard.  So, I did what I normally do when I’m nervous:  made conversation.  “Your boots are really cool,” I enthused.  “Thanks,” he smiled.  “Where’d you get them?” I continued.  “Um.  I made ’em actually,” he said.  “No way!” I blathered.  “Yeah.  It took me a long time to do this part,” he indicated, raising his jeans to show even more detailing higher up.  “I worked on ’em while I was in prison.  Actually, I just got out a few hours ago.” 

The oxygen suddenly went from the car.  ‘No wonder he’s so strong,’ I thought to myself, ‘It’s all those sit-ups in his cell.’  Fortunately, his stop was just ahead.   “Well, here you are,” I said in a breezy,  extra-loud voice, pulling over about five times faster to let him out than I had to pick him up.

That incident crossed my mind today when I picked up another hitchhiker; an elderly redhead.  She was standing umbrella-less in the pouring rain.  “Where are you going?” I yelled through the downpour.  But she didn’t pause to answer because she was already arranging her five foot self into my front seat.  As she snapped on the seat belt she turned to me and said, “Do you have any idea where Verizon is?” 

During our ride, I learned that she was 85, had a daughter,  moved here recently from New York and loved to read.   “I was just too impatient to wait for the bus today,” she confided as I pulled up to Verizon, “so thanks for picking me up!”   You’re welcome, Alma.  Anytime.

Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” now available on Amazon.

http://www.amazon.com/Kissing-Tomatoes-ebook/dp/B007CMNJKW

TIME CHANGES EVERYTHING

Everywhere you go nowadays you see ‘kids’ taking care of their elderly parents.  That wasn’t the case when I wrote, “Kissing Tomatoes,” 10 years ago.  At the time, publishers said, “Love the writing but no one will buy it.  Who cares about Alzheimer’s?”  Well, time changes everything. 

Just today, the woman in front of me at the pharmacy counter was waiting for her mother to write a check.  Dowager-humped and small, her shaky hand extended from a wrinkled, arthritic arm.  The wait for all of us was almost interminable.

Every few seconds, the daughter looked around nervously, then straightened her shoulders as if to keep herself from getting the hump her mother has.  She was so embarrassed holding up our line that I made small talk.

“Well, looks like you get to do all the shopping while Mom pays the bills.” 

She brightened slightly.  “Yes, we’ve always loved shopping together.  Just takes longer now.”

“No worries,” I replied.  “We’ll be there ourselves one day.” 

An hour later I dashed back to the same store for something I had forgotten.  The man ahead of me was turning his pockets inside out for change and holding a single bottle of water.

“I just need twelve more cents, right?” he asked in a nervous voice.  He was sweating and his face so flushed, that I feared he might be having a heart attack.

“Goodness,” I said to the clerk, “I’ll pay for his water.”     

“Oh no.  Can’t let you do that,” the man said.  “I have it here somewhere.”  He began searching his back pockets.  “I’m taking care of my mom,” he suddenly blurted.  “Never thought it would be this hard.  She’s driving me crazy.”

“How wonderful,” I replied.  “After all of those years she raised you, now you are caring for her.”

“Yeah, but the only problem is I can’t spank HER!” he laughed.

His car was parked next to mine.  As he jumped behind the wheel, I waved at the old gal next to him.  “Mom!” he yelled, “This lady just paid for my water.”  “How nice,” she said.  “And how nice that your son is looking after you,” I added.  “Oh, not for long,” she confided.  “The doctor said this thing I have will be over very soon.”  I glanced at the man.  He shook his head.  Yeah, time changes everything—especially us.

ALZHEIMER’S? HMMM. . .

Picture this:  me backstroking in the middle of my half mile swim.  Have the lane all to myself and starting to pick up speed, which at my age is relative.  Thinking how I can’t wait until it’s over.  Then. . .smash.  Suddenly, I collide with my friend, Forest, who in his Alzheimer’s state of bliss has no clue what has just happened.  He has plunked himself into my lane without so much as a second thought or look.

“Oh,” he says with a gurgle.  “There you are.  I haven’t seen you in a while.”  Now this length of conversation is the longest we have had yet.  And, the most lucid.  Every day his caregiver sits on a bench at the end and waits as he wades back and forth in his flowered swim trunks and duck-like pool shoes.  He doesn’t swim exactly, rather plods from one end to the other with a laissez-faire stroll that would make a Persian cat jealous.

“Well, Hi, Forest,” I smile.   “It’s not a good day for climbing trees,” he confides.  “You’re right,” I reply.  “That’s why it’s a good thing we’re in the pool.”  Now I have to figure out my next move.  The lane next to us is open but if I move over it might hurt his feelings.  So, I continue.  Each time we get close, I pause until he passes and go on.

Just as I start my last lap, we reach the end at the same time.  “Hey, Forest,” I suddenly chide, “Wanna chase me?”  “Oh, Yes!” he says.  And with great anticipation on his face, Forest begins to ‘chase’ me.  I do the backstroke as he pursues.  His flowered trunks balloon around his hips like small sails.  I can tell he has picked up his pace, but no one watching would see a difference.  I don’t let him catch me, of course.  Just watch this grown man trying to come after me with all the glee of a young boy in pursuit of a rabbit; in this case, a ‘gray hare.’

I am already halfway up the steps to leave as he arrives.  “That was fun!” I say.  “Yes,” he smiles.  “And you are looking GOOD!”  “Well, so are you,” I reply.  At that moment, a rather large, buxom blonde steps down into his lane.  As I turn to leave, I hear him say, “I haven’t seen you in a while. . .”  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” a nonfiction memoir of the 13 years she and her husband cared for her grandmother with Alzheimer’s.  http://www.helen-hudson.com)

 

A STITCH IN TIME!!

Well, it’s been a whole week since 2011 lurched into view.  The gym is already less crowded.  For the record, I cannot ever remember making a New Year’s Resolution.  As a kid I must have watched too many grownups make—and not keep–them.  I have always tried to make daily ones; the kind that I could actually keep.  You know, like, ‘I will NOT eat one of those Hershey Kisses sitting in that bowl today!’  Or, ‘I will listen with real interest when old Mrs. So and So tells me the same story for the umpteenth time today.’

A resolution is ultimate and firm.  It transcends time—or rather it’s supposed to.  Ultimately, it is the resolutions we make which build our true character.  Trouble is we put so much emphasis on the BIG things, like Health Care, that we ignore the little ones, like taking care of the health of our loved ones.  We rush to put our elderly in nursing homes when a little reconfiguration of their own homes would help them stay independent longer.

Right now I am potty training our new puppy.  This is my first dog, ever.  It’s a bit more work than I had anticipated.  For one thing, she likes to pee in one spot and do something else in a completely different spot.  Because I have praised her so much when she actually sets foot on the litter pad, she now goes there often—NOT to pee—but to let me know she would like a treat just for setting foot on it.

So, I am taking it day by day, just like my resolutions.  2011 will find me knitting my life like a sweater; stitch by stitch and row by row.  I know full well that I can’t start the sleeves until the body is finished.  Just like I know this ten week-old pup will not be house trained overnight.  So today, my Resolution is to anticipate her signals better.  Meanwhile, I have the 409 and paper towels handy!  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” a non-fiction memoir of her grandmother’s Alzheimer’s.  http://www.helen-hudson.com).


OLD FOLKS & ARTICHOKES

     When Granny* first taught me how to eat an artichoke, I was perturbed that I had to go through all those layers of armor just to get to that mushroom cap of a heart.  Frankly, at 13, I thought the best part was the butter dipping.  Until last night, as I began instructing my own teenagers on the ‘art’ of eating one, I never realized how much artichokes remind me of old people: thin-skinned, thorny & tough on the outside, multi-layered, increasingly soft towards the middle, and way, down deep inside is a heart so delectable it is protected by a Fort Knox of cellulose.  

     “Artichokes,” the dictionary also tells me, “have a very, long growing season and prefer mild climates.”  Sounds like old folks to me.   On first glance, you really don’t want to get too close to them.  (The artichokes, that is).  The two I had purchased were hard as rocks & my youngest, in particular, was skeptical.  After steaming them, though, we began with the scrawny, meatless, tough outer stalks.   They were scaly and mottled with spots just like the skin of, yeah, you know.  My oldest marveled at the design & symmetry of their leaves as my youngest impatiently rolled her eyes.  “Ouch!” she said suddenly.  “You never said there were thorns on these!” 

     The truth is I had forgotten.  It’s funny how one forgets the barbs as time passes.  Now, we peeled our way deep towards the center where the petals are lighter and softer, and the flesh thicker with taste.  Down we dove, eating through the tender, inner layers, lined with purple edges that form a whitish curve inwards.  “Now grab hold of that section and pull,” I commanded.  My oldest tugged lightly.  “No.  Really pull it hard and kind of wiggle it.”  Suddenly it broke free. There was the carpet of white, cilia-like, thin fibers hovering tightly over the heart.  Indeed, it resembled a full crown of white hair.  “Is this the choke?  Will I choke if I eat it?” my youngest queried.   “Not if we scrape it away.” 

     Patiently, we took a spoon and carved the hairs away until the heart was smooth.  My oldest savored the morsel with a touch of lemon and salt and pronounced it, “Pretty good.”  My youngest, not overly fond of any vegetable, said it was, “Okay, but that sure is a lot of work for that little bit of food.”  Yes.  So is life.  So also is learning to appreciate the old folks among us.   Both are journeys well worth taking.  For the record,  I find them deliciously splendid and rich at heart!.  (The old folks that is.)  *From “Kissing Tomatoes,” by Helen Hudson.  http://www.helen-hudson.com)         

ALZHEIMER’S & THE GIFT OF FORGETTING

     Only ONCE did Granny say to me during her Alzheimer’s years, “I think I am losing my memory.”  It was towards the end, in the middle of that period when she was wearing a diaper and I was re-instructing her on how to use a spoon.  She didn’t even know my name and my first instinct was to laugh.  Instead I replied:  “Yes, Granny.  You are.”  She paused and then added, “Well, I guess that’s God’s way of making me forget what might hurt me to remember.”** 

     Wow.  That moment literally changed my thinking about the whole Alzheimer’s saga; the nightmarish horror of watching a person go from themself to NO self.  Until then I was always on the outside looking in.  Now I had a tiny glimpse of the inside looking out and it seemed less frightening.  While memory brings me both joy & sorrow and while it is memory that has informed who I am, it was not mine at birth.  Alzheimer’s returns us to childhood, albeit in a convoluted way.  Of course the particular journey back differs for everyone. 

     In all, Granny’s journey was a gentle one, much like the man who swam next to me this morning.  Well, he wasn’t swimming exactly, just kind of grinning as he dog-paddled back and forth.  I guessed him at about 65, but the incessant grin was more reminiscent of a six year-old.  As I lapped him I kept trying to remember where I had seen him before.  I knew that it was not here in the adult lap pool.  Then it came to me.  He was the same man I had seen months earlier being held by the hand of a caregiver in the shallow end of the kiddie pool!! 

     For a moment I panicked.  I stopped to check on him.  Yup.  Still grinning with his head out of the water.  Suddenly, he stopped, and said to me, “Oh.  I thought you were my daughter.”  Before I could reply he said, “Or my daughter’s friend?  Or are you my …daughter….?”  As he kept trying to figure out who I was, I suddenly replied:  “Yes.  I am your friend.  We are friends!”  “Friends!” he grinned as he dog-paddled away.  As I left, I recognized his caregiver on the other side of the kiddie pool.  “Does he have Alzheimer’s?” I asked her.  “Why, yes,” she replied.  “How did you know?”   “Well,” I replied.  “There are certain things you don’t forget…..at least while you can still remember.”   (** Excerpt from, “Kissing Tomatoes,” http://www.helen-hudson.com.