I read that people who have dementia may be in a place where they are not receiving enough attention,
And it’s true
I see the underlying belief namely that we are in control of our speech and behaviour despite that we know how people react must be linked to where they live and which part of their country they live in
You call it the context of their life and we are all affected by this.People trapped in Ukraine will have feelings different from ours in the UK
It’s a bit like the frame of a picture.Some make it look much better.
That’s how retiring from work we enjoy can make us feel like a different person.
So we may need to do new things and maybe meet new people to build a structure again
I meant to comment on demented people shouting
It’s not all their fault it’s their context.
Anyone at all might shout if they endured the situation of these sufferers.
It also ocurrs to me that what other people do we think they do deliberately but judging outselves we we are kinder as we know fatigue, grief,getting out of the wrong side of the bed can make us say or do thoughtless things
.
Power is at the root of it and they have so little power except being a nuisance
I notice some have penetrating voiced and uncanny crying like a baby with an adult larynx
There was one in the hospital but the voice had no individuality.They each sound like the others.
Though our colours mingled, the earliest remain.
Two watercolor paintings without frames,
Became one picture over time,
Yet two of us still there.
Our colours blended naturally,
Now all the hues are shared.
I love your colours flowing into mine:
Together they have made a new design.
A Watercolor painted by the rain;
We shall go, but our Watercolor Love will still remain
I have no love left in my heart today and neither do I wish to talk or pray for I am feeling psycho in my mood So here I search and that’s the way I brewed Soaking is a wasteful stupid act Light rumination ,I think truly daft Better far to cast the burden down And go to see a film about a clown
At the very edge of human sight Places we don’t go till in despair Love is waiting like a golden light
The world in panic, will the virus bite? Noone ever said this world is fair At the very edge of human sight
Is there really danger of such might, Where our hidden fears emerged dark ,bare Love is fading where’s the sun, the light?
Panic like a virus can ignite Responses that are worse than germs out there At the very rim of human sight
Our defences that are usually adroit Now lie like dead young soldiers unrepaired Love is fading to a weaker light
The still,small voice is quieter than a bird The storm is passing by, will it be heard? At the very edge of human sight Love is dying,looks like candlelight
My husband has a rubber face,
He’s a member of the human race.
Some men have faces fixed and set;
My husband’s face is not like that.
He imitates our politicians,
Just like Rory Bremner can.
Though he has no wig or hair piece,
He can look like anyone.
Some nights I waken for I'm laughing
While I am quite sound asleep.
I am dreaming of his mobile features,
Contorted to a different shape.
He is skilled at telling jokes.
And he loves a good cartoon.
If I am suffering flu type blueness
He can get me well again.
He has a rather noble visage.
He gets attention he abhors.
In the bar on King’s Cross Station—
I was asked was he a Lord!
He’s a Lord of Fun and Humour.
He’s a Lord at Listening Well.
He’s unique, but so are you,
And all creatures that on earth do dwell
The words don’t matter but the rhythm does Verbal music gratifies the mind Nonsense can be poetry and love
The sun is setting , where’s the turtle dove? Music dances though it’s writ on lines The words don’t matter but the rhythm does
I like Jabberwocky just because It makes me learn the value of design Nonsense can be poetry with love
Looking at the stars we see above The moon is silver like a silent sigh The words don’t matter but the meaning does
Now I eat my meal,I miss my dove I hum and sing as I eat my pork pie Nonsense can be poetry,my love
Bring the glasses, bring the oldest wine All must share the music,it’s divine The words don’t matter but the rhythm does Nonsense is the poetry of love
I remember well the agony My swollen feet as tortured as the Christ How could I think well when this struck me?
The boss was never prone to Charity. Unlike Jesus I would never rise I remember well that agony
My mind was absent I could barely see. I could not get away unless I died How could I think well when this struck me?
I laughed when I read that all men are free. They did not know that everyone will lie I remember formless agony
I should have crawled away,I could not be Why did I not find a better guide How could I think well when this struck me?
How did I exist as murdered bride The spear invisible in my own side. I think that most good people would agree The world was never made for folk like me
How to knit: You must have two large needles. You put one under each arm., So far I’ve not gone beyond that but it’s hard to keep them under my arms all day. I gather I need some wool. Is this what is known as “wool-gathering”?I buy some wool in the shop and come back.I have to “cast on” so that’s why men go boating so they can “cast off”…
To cast on you make a loop in the wool and slide it onto the needle. It’s easier using thick wool and thick needles. This loop is your first stitch. To make another, insert the right-hand needle into the loop, wrap the wool around it and pull it through the first loop then slide it onto the needle giving you two stitches. Repeat one hundred times and you now have your first row
Isn’t it hard explaining how to knit! It’s harder if you use sewing needles. think I’ll cook instead.
By the way, row is pronounced to rhyme with sewing. Otherwise, you’d be knitting your first argument and why would you do that?
After dinner Mary and Stan often went for a longish walk.They liked to go to a road where the richer people of Britain lived.,where there were some Georgian houses and one Tudor house.At dusk they would stroll by looking into the lighted windows to see how the rooms were decorated.And if the front garden was large sometimes they crept in to see moreOne beautiful house they liked from the outside was spoiled for Mary by the garish tartan wall paper. What sort of people would live there, she asked Emile who was in her handbag.with his head peeping out Well,they have a cat called Percy,he mewed softly. Why Percy?It is a noble name fro Earls of Percy were involved in affairs of state. Well.Percy is a Chinese cat,Emile said to her wittily. He ought to be called Hu Ar U then,Mary joked ,or tried to as her sense of humour was somewhat lacking or maybe just odd.Still she looked lovely despite her moth eaten clothes bought in Sales in colors nobody else wanted like purple and lilac and bottle green. She and Stan crept slowly up the garden path and peered nervously into the empty sitting room trying to identify the paintings on the walls.All of a sudden, a woman who was completely naked came into the room and lay modishly on a sofa as if she were a trained dancer.She was a sight for sore male eyes.Are they about to have a drawing class,Stan whispered.She must be a model for a Life Class or an abstract woman ,with cat ,if Percy gets into the frame,Mary musedPercy might scratch her then.Stan muttered.She could scream.Suddenly a loud voice was booming at them. What the bloody hell are you doing in my garden? There stood a big man in plus fours and and an oversized red jumper with matching cheeks We were admiring your wall paper,Mary said.I think it is very unusual.He smiled in gratification.I chose it,he cried.All by my self. But why is there a nude lady on the sofa,Stan enquired. I am so annoyed, the man told them.My fiancee likes to walk around nude but she forgets to draw the curtains first. Does she want to make an exhibition of herself,Stan enquired hopefully. We wondered if it was for a life class, you know,students learning to draw and become artists of note. Well,that’s a good idea said Arthur thoughtfully. The woman got up and came over.She opened the wondow.To their astonishment she was Annie,their neighbour and Stan’s mistress too.Stan might have known but he had kept his face immobile after years of practise .Fancy seeing you here,Annie whispered creatively in her sweet little voiceI am trying to seduce Arthur but with no success so far except a marriage proposal. You need to be more discreet and indirect, said Stan.If you act like this he will think you are an artist’s model and likely to be featured in the Tate Modern Annual Show of Infamy .Now, would a man like this marry or even sleep with such a woman as you appear to be walking around like Eve before she ate the apple? I don’t know said Annie but my clothes are all in the tumble dryer,anyhow. Did you wet yourself? Mary asked her kindly.It’s nothing to be ashamed of.We all do it now and then especially since public conveniences were shut down across the UK.And now ,even winter coats are machine washable. Well,I knocked over some lemon barley water in a big jug and so I decided to wash all my clothes. while I was here as Arthur has a tumble dryer That’s a very strange tale Arthur told her.You look ravishing hanging out of the window with your nipples pointing up.Let me take a photo ofyou.Say,Cheese But will you put it on Twitter,Annie asked anxiously. No,dear.I am not so cruel.Why don’t you get your clothes and make us all some tea .I can’t make tea,she yelled and without pausing she dialledd 999. What is it Fire or Ambulance the lady receptionist asked politely.It’s a kettle.Is it on fire?No,it won’t boil.Can you send Dave the paramedic ,please, as he makes good tea. We are quite busy so it may be two hours or more she was told .I thought this was an emergency service,Annie said. But who defines what an emergency is? the lady asked her philosophically.I will die without this tea,Annie informed her in a ringing tone Ok ,hang up and I will send the ambulance now.Arthur seemed a little surprised I have private medical insurance,he cried.But they don’t make tea not even for old people. Well,in the UK tea has always been essential to the National HealthBut it will soon be drying up and we shall get flasks from the dustmen on Sundays instead.I just don’t believe it,Arthur said and he then passed out on the rug which stood in front of a bookcase full of leather bound volumes of poetry.Will he live?Read more tomorrow and pay the price… a few minutes of fun and gaiety.
How my heart sings 