I was raised in the shoe family of Januzzi's Shoes. The ditty on the radio in the 80's went something like this: "All over the street, to happy feet. Get your shoozies at Januzzi's."

For some, they put on their writer's hat. For me, I wear my writer's shoes.


Thursday, January 12, 2012

Learnings in Winter - Reflections from the Alois



Today. Winter, as a theme, or memory. Not a reality, not yet, not until later tonight, when the meteorologists are predicting accumulation. But here, at the Alois,  memories and learnings amass not just for the residents of the Alois Alzheimer Center, but for those facilitators who occasionally walk the path with these kind-hearted souls.

When we first began offering this class, one student, now quite the stinker, refused to read her words.  Following the first class, which involved the prompt, “I am From”, based on the poem by George Ella Lyon, F. took it upon herself to toss out her words. She remained leery for weeks, “What are you going to do with that?” she would point to the paper where she had hardly scribbled a word. Her distrust was alarming, but also understanding.

Someone had betrayed her words, her voice, many years ago. We had no knowledge of who, or when, but we hadn’t named the program, Found Voices, for nothing.  Our work and F.’s continued presence would prove out, and over time, we would watch her laugh, joke, and even flirt with the farmer-resident.

In looking back, our first mistake had been to call this a "class."  For the generation of 80-somethings, the word "class" brings back horrid memories. Teachers rapping rulers on knuckles, or the pressure of a deadline, or test, for material one didn’t know.  Certainly, each in this circle has a slight grasp on their condition, so the prospect of reciting poetry or recalling the dates of the Civil War was terrifying. And too, the proverbial red pen had once made its way to each of their papers.

Some of our participants, experiencing significant memory loss, often don’t comprehend they are in a “writing class”. They come for camaraderie, to hear a reading of Robert Frost, to share a memory or eat a donut. They might saunter in, without a care in the world. It is a benefit of their disease.

When my own mother was progressing into a new phase of dementia, she passed through anger and frustration, and into more light. Worries had been wiped off her face, a face which in the past had sported pursed lips and creased brows.  Of course, she still worries about who is coming down the hall, and “where is your father,” but her general trust in people around her is evident.

This condition, while beneficial, and a relief oftentimes for loved ones, is also cause for regret. For often, the person with memory loss cannot connect to other emotional aspects of their life, this including worries.  And while all their thoughts, or their daily take on life, are upbeat, there is sometimes a hollowness, as if they are trying to fill a cup that keeps leaking, and they can’t quite tap into how to plug the leak.

On the rare occasion, the hole gets plugged, their cup will fill up, and they will tap into their reserves, and produce something akin to a fine wine.

Today, we readied the community room for the group. Our regular assistant was absent, so we waited on the staff to bring the residents to us. When they did, we ushered one group of residents that enter through the side door of the room. This I take it be the non-wanderers, or those that have been around longer, and therefore have stayed in the older wing.  I don’t ask many details about the residents’ lives, preferring to let them surprise me, let them show me their story, instead of someone else telling it for them.  First rule of writing. Show, don’t tell.

As this group of regulars, our long-time participants, were filing in, holding the hand of the person in front of them, one was missing.  The assistant mentioned N. would be right back. She was using the restroom.  We situated each as they entered the room, securing name tags, moving chairs, relocating walkers.

When I finally got around to saying Hello to N., she had removed her hearing aids, which drove me crazy. We would have to speak louder or move closer to her, but it was her prerogative.  She wanted to tell me something else though.

N. began, in her halting voice,  “I didn’t bring a pen.”  To which I replied, “That’s OK. N.   We have plenty.”  Then, she mentioned, “I didn’t know where I was going today.  I was worried this would be a class like school.”

She went on, “but then I learned I don’t have to worry.”

I don’t have to worry. What beautiful lines, what a mantra to speak over and again, as the flipping of the calendar sets fire to a hurried pace.  Here, in our circle, N. does not have to worry.

When N. began coming to class, some of the prompts at that time dealt with love and family. N. had been adopted, her memories on those themes were painful. Now, she shares writing that is honest, hopeful, devout.  After her last reading, I felt as I had been absolved of my sins for the week.

Her writings now are more light-hearted, more faith-filled. This could be due to her slipping into the next phase of her dementia, or a change in medication, or working with prompts that don’t touch on touchy subjects.

Or quite possibly, due to the safety N. feels in our circle, and that Winter cannot impact her inside, she no longer worries.



Wednesday, January 11, 2012


Jesus and Mary Go to Tampa 


After the cattle completed their lowing,
and the three Wise Men returned to Afar,
after the Star in the East ran out of hydrogen
and began to grow dim,
Jesus and Mary went to Tampa.

They stopped at Hamburger Mary’s,
a burger joint known for its inclusiveness.
There on County Road 574, they stumbled upon
Drag Bingo, and a show called Daphne’s Doll House.
Having tired of challah and soup,
Mary ordered the Hot Legs tossed in special sauce,
and, as a side, the Hail Caesar Salad.
while Jesus ordered off the menu for Little Lambs.

Upon hearing her name called out by the wait staff,
Mary stepped up to the mic for Mary-Oke.
As Mary crooned to Madonna’s Like a Virgin,
Jesus left room for dessert of fried bananas foster,
trying to erase the taste of hay from his mouth.

After that, the manager got an inkling
these two were on their way to stardom.
As Mary and Jesus prepared to leave,
she asked Mary to stand against
the blank wall nearest the kitchen
and drew a feint chalk outline around her.

She let them exit through the back door,
en route to San Marco, Texas for the outlet malls.
Meanwhile, the rest of Tampa flocked
to Hamburger Mary’s, lining the county road
to see the miracle they had just missed.

AJW
1/11/12
In reference to a news item about Mary’s image showing up in a Tampa Bay restaurant.

http://www.andrewzmorningshow.com/2012/01/11/the-virgin-mary-has-turned-up-at-a-restaurant-called-hamburger-marys/

Friday, January 06, 2012

Self Space


Self Space
 
Clean out the closet of your “self.”
Toss out right or wrong.
Some days, you will feel right.
            Remember those days.

Do not expect perfection but be open
            to humility.
Gather friends, hold them near.
            Keep writing more so.

Let go of the warm bed in
            winter’s mornings.
Do not write willy nilly, but
            with intention.

Proclaim that you are the goddess
you have been looking for.
Capture while you can the poignancy
of the transient moment.

You will never be done, you have
            barely begun.


1/1/2012
AJW