2:31 p.m.
It's Spring, and today it actually feels like it. Snow is melting, sun is shining, and the little dog wants to spend as much time as possible running in and out.
Please, please, tell me what difference there really is between a young dog and a toddler! Super-power-like energy levels, can't make up minds about in or out, up or down, to eat or not to eat. Hold me, hold me, put me down. Late naps and up all night. Whine, fuss. Molly and my youngest granddaughters are essentially the same! Until they learned to talk, there was minimal difference.
And, you know, I swear Molly tries to talk! She's pretty good at getting her wants and needs understood around here. I don't know if that's because she's so smart, or because I have more time to pay attention to her than I did pets in my past.
Whatever the case, she's the queen around here. Yes, she's freaky smart, and funny, and she's so darn lovable. Molly has no enemies. She loves nine and three quarters out of ten people she meets. On the rare occasion she doesn't like someone, I am instantly suspicious and on my guard.
For the record, I can't say that about the granddaughters. They are a lot more cautious about liking people--thank goodness!!
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Looking out at the yard, I can see that there's a lot of work to be done as soon as the snow retreats. Last fall, Dad was not interested in yard work-- a disturbing first. There are tons of leaves to be raked up and hauled out. I hope, with the medication changes he's been through this winter, that he will have a renewed interest in getting outdoors and working in the yard and garden. I sure hope so, because it's certainly not a job I can do. I'm allergic to outside. Literally.
It's beyond fortunate that my brother has remained in the same town as my parents, and has taken on so much of the outside work the last few years. I know many older people whose yards start to look very neglected when they are no longer up to the tasks of maintaining lawns and gardens.
Mostly, I just want Dad to care again, even if he can't do much on his own anymore. It broke my heart last summer when he'd say things like, "Oh, it's fine. It doesn't matter. It' okay, the leaves will blow away." If I wasn't looking right into his face when he said those things, I never would have believed it.
I think dementia and depression go hand in hand much of the time, and they rob the joy from the last years of life. It just sucks.
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5:44 p.m.
During our lunch, Dad, Mom and I were talking about dreams. Most we forget by the time we're fully awake. Most are confusing little fragments that make no sense at all. But sometimes they can be so vivid and real that you can't seem to lose them.
For Dad, we have found that there are times he can no longer distinguish them from reality. He will insist that we have said or done something that never happened, and it can sometimes be upsetting. He forgets so many things, but not these lucid dreams. They sometimes stick with him for days, and while they do, we must patiently (!!! Mostly...!!!) explain to him that, no, this didn't happen in real life.
I don't understand what's up with that. But dreams have always been a mystery, haven't they? I'm going to have to do a little research, I think, about dreams and brain function. It probably won't help much while he insists I told him he had to do something and I know I didn't, but...maybe it will.
In the meantime, I hope my brother-in-law isn't really in jail, and that my daughter isn't stuck in the mud, because last night was a doozy with the nonsensical dream fragments. Molly was on top of the freezer--I don't even think I can reach up there in real life--crying because it's too high to jump down. Or up, for that matter, but there she was!
I'm sleepy! Ha ha.
I'd sign off by wishing you "sweet dreams", but that seems a little mean, considering.
Have a good evening!
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