As one might have guessed, I haven't written here because I have been so occupied doing what I intended to write about: my experience as a caregiver for my mother.

This has been the hardest thing I have ever done...and I have done many hard things. First of all, it is devastating to watch someone I love and admire deteriorate into a temperamental creature incapable of ordinary reason or sound judgement. I am used to bringing Mom my troubles and receiving spiritual insight, encouragement and solutions. I can't do that, any more. She looks like my mom; she sounds like my mom; but, Mom is not available. My all-wise mother is hidden somewhere in this fuzzy, frail body that demands every bit of wisdom, patience and creative resource I can muster; and yet refuses to receive it, most of the time. She keeps apologizing for being a burden; then adds to it by some outrageous assertion of independence that just causes trouble.

She continues to decline, but also continues to deny her need for help. This puts me into an awkward, ongoing argument to keep her safe and comfortable. So, the challenge to avoid contention is my personal battle. I have learned to avoid raising my voice. Period. Yes, that took a great deal of practice. Most days, I can say I have conquered that. However, every once in awhile, she surprises me so dramatically, I am not as good at controlling my response as usual. Again, I cannot answer with reason. She doesn't get reason. I cannot answer with a show of authority. She will fight me. Sometimes I can answer with tears, which will get her attention, but not necessarily convince her of anything. I depend on God to help me. If I remember to silently offer up a prayer, He will help me stay calm, stay kind, and say or do the right thing. This takes a lot of energy.

Energy is the most noticeable of my personal needs: and it is usually spent pretty quickly. I don't have much, anyway. That's who I am. However, I testify that when I am prayerful, and doing my best, Heavenly Father compensates. Somehow, I get through another crises, another surprise, another day. I may not have anything left to give when I get home, again. But I am blessed with a saintly husband who does his best to understand, to listen, and to restore my depleted bucket. My children are also good listeners, and allow me to vent regularly. I don't know what I would do without them. Our daughter has taken on some of my tasks, such as cleaning Mom's house, and taking her out once a week so I can have a break. This literally "saves" me.

I can often see the humor in a situation, and that helps, too. Mother contradicts herself a lot. She forgets what she said, what she wanted, what she used to like. She tries to explain lapses that she simply can't deny, and sometimes makes up the most creative excuses. Once in awhile, if it doesn't matter much, I can quote her to herself and turn the situation into a giggle for us both.

It would help if I knew how long I would be required to do this. I don't. That is part of the challenge. I have to trust that God will know when I can't go on, any more. I am learning things I would never have learned in any other way. I am becoming more that I could possibly have become from any other experience. And, I have come to a peace with this that I didn't think was possible. I have felt the love and support of the Savior. He carries me. I am happy. And that makes this a good thing.

Been awhile since I recorded anything here. But it is time, now, to catalogue some of my current journey. I have become the caregiver for my elderly mother. It is a blessing, a privilege, and the hardest thing I have ever done; and I have done some hard things.

I noticed some mental deterioration a couple of years ago, and knew we would need to find a solution that would keep her safe and comfortable for the rest of her life. Prayerfully, we explored possibilities. I knew it would be very stressful for all of us to have her move in with Steven and me. So, when the little house next door went up for sale, we knew it was an inspired opportunity. We bought the house and, with her cooperation, moved Mom down in January of last year. She had misgivings, anxieties, of all kinds. But she also had her own spiritual witness that it was the Right Thing to do. Trouble was, she didn't remember that witness. Many, many times over the following months, I reminded her of the way God directed our decision, and how she had also been reassured by the Spirit. When we talked about it, she could reclaim some memory; but only temporarily. Then, in a few weeks, we would have the same doubts surface, causing distress and misery for her. She sometimes erupted in hostility, accusing me or Steve of "taking over" her life, or bullying her into the decision.

The deterioration of her mental acuity continued. I was so grateful we had acted when we did. Delaying only a few months would have made it so much more difficult, as she would have been even more fearful, forgetful, and frail. As it was, I could see that she was truly unsafe without monitoring. Once, she caused a disastrous toxic gas to flood the house, by pouring copious amounts of chlorine bleach down her toilets. She had used bleach as a cleanser for the toilets for many years. But this time, she forgot that it had already been done. Doing it again, and possibly again, in a few short hours, the reaction in the pipes was dangerously powerful. We had to remove all the bleach from the house and insist she use white vinegar, instead. She complied, reluctantly, because it is "our" house, after all, and we can decide how it is cared for. But she continued to complain, forgetting the problem she had caused herself. She nearly choked to death.

A few months later, Mom put a pork roast in the oven, fell asleep, and didn't wake to the timer. It created not only a scorched lump of charcoal, but a toxic smell that filled the house, causing "smoke" damage that had to be addressed by a professional disaster clean up crew. We were fortunate, blessed, that it didn't start a fire. Again, she downplayed the seriousness of the problem. She didn't smell it, partly because she had been in the house as it gradually developed, and partly because her older senses had already been damaged by the chlorine issue. We had to unplug the stove/oven to keep such a thing from happening, again. She just can't be trusted to remember. And nobody can help falling asleep. This was hard. Mom felt she was further frustrated in her need for independence.

In addition, when the disaster people returned all the clothing/linens from their professional laundering, Mom was sure there were missing items (yet I watched them catalog everything, and carefully label each item). Mostly, she couldn't remember where things had been or how to put them away. And being Mom, she had to do most of this herself. It was exhausting. And it further validated my understanding that my mother is OCD. I always knew she was a perfectionist, and a controller. I grew up with her, after all. I have known for many years that her fears were at paranoia levels. But the daily interaction this season has required, has given me better insight. Add to finish the list, Mom struggles with germaphobic issues. Although my daughter, Shannon, comes almost every week to do basic cleaning for her grandma, Shannon does some things differently than Mom would do. Mother appreciates the help. But she also sort of resents it. Many conversations have taken place, reassuring her that Shannon needs the opportunity to teach her children how to serve; and, Mom is giving them all that blessing. And frankly, there is no way Mom could keep up the level of clean she prefers, on her own, any more. She doesn't like to admit this. But it is true.

She doesn't like to admit a lot of things. Denial seems to be part of the illness. Her dementia is progressing. She has moments of good humor, even gratitude. She is learning to love the neighborhood, the neighbors, the Ward congregation, and the cute little house. But she still has depressions, anxieties, suspicions, and regrets. Her paranoia is her governing state. It makes me sad to see her so troubled, and I unable to fix it.

Which brings me to my personal journey. I will talk about that in another entry.

Well, I am in the middle of an Historical Event. Today is the inauguration of President Donald Trump.  The entire election process was more violent, divisive, controversial, and just plain ugly, than any previous election in this country. And, there he is: the center of all that, and now at the center of the American Stage, as the Chief Officer.

I am not entering into any debate. It has been nasty enough. What I would like to do is express my feelings about the State of Things. I am by nature optimistic. And we need optimism. I also have faith in God, and an absolute assurance that He is watching over this country and its people. And we need faith. I recognize that Divine help created the United States of America in the first place; and that the price for His continued support is to serve the God of this land. We need to live the Christian principles and values that will earn His blessing. Most of us are not evil. Most of us still try to do good and be good. That is why I have hope. And we need hope. We need goodness.

Even though this new chapter may be alarming, I refuse to be alarmed. I believe that I can find peace. Optimism, faith, goodness, and hope are stronger than fear. And we need not be overcome.

Well, it's been awhile since I posted anything here. So, you may assume this new bit is significant. There are some things Steven and share that keep us bonded beyond the ordinary--if anything that bond two people can be called ordinary. This one, however, is one that connected us from almost the moment we met: Books/Literature. We both are pretty passionate about reading. We always have been. It is why I would have been an English Teacher, if ever I had gone to work full time. It is why Steve was excited to teach first grade. It is something we both focused on in our family. We read to our children, took them to the library, and bought books and more books when almost nothing else was affordable. When we moved to Springville, we decided to name our house--BOOKEND. And that says it in a nutshell.

So, when we learned about The Little Free Library system, we were enthused and excited to create one. It took nearly a year, but here it is! Our good neighbor, Mark Johansen did the building. Another good neighbor, Russ Hatfield built the brick pedestal. Steve painted it, and Friday, October 3, 2014, we held the official Open House to introduce it to our neighborhood. We have rarely been so excited about anything. And this was something to be excited about. About 30 people came in response to our invitations. But now it is ready for business. Anyone, anytime can take a book, bring a book, trade a book. There are books for children and books for adults and everyone in between.  It was a fun party, but the real fun is just beginning.

Seasons...of the year, of life, of perspective...are on my mind today.  When Summer sheds its rhythms and changes color and flavors we call it Fall.  It is a fall of sorts.  That's what the leaves do.  And the days "fall short," as well.  But when I think of my life, now, I, too "fall" into some interesting parallels.  Yes, my body sags, my skin folds into wrinkles, my energy certainly falls short of my needs.  And I feel a general nostalgia, a gratitude for my personal harvest of relationships, accomplishments, and knowledge.  But this is all quite a mix.  Like Autumn, there are good days, sunny, colorful beautiful days with crisp, cool air that  makes me want to walk and think, and notice things.  But there are also gloomy days, gray with achy muscles, plodding through metaphorical puddles.   I can't make up my mind about it.  In fact, making decisions is rather harder than it used to be--about anything.  I am not exactly in a slump; but I have slowed down.  And it is harder not to whine about the issue.  This is all pretty pathetic, I know.  But just think what "winter" will do to me!

Realizing a Dream

Moving to Utah was a "dream come true" in many ways for me.  I'd like to reflect on just one:  art opportunities.  For someone like me, with health issues and limited energy, developing my artistic talent often takes a back seat to the regular duties of life.  But, at least living in Springville, aka Art City, there was the momentum and encouragement to  move forward in becoming better--even to becoming professional.  There are so many artists in Utah.  I have met big names, such as James Christensen, Greg Olsen, Michael Coleman, Robert Barrett, Gary Kapp, Brian Kershiznik, Liz Lemon Swindle, Robert Marshall, Al Rounds, J. Kirk Richards, Linda Curley Christensen and others with only slightly less glowing reputations.  But the biggest thrill has been to have my art hang in the same exhibits as these stars.  Several times, I've been accepted into the Springville Museum's Spiritual and Religious Show, which takes place every fall.  It's an honor to hang in that premier showcase for Utah art, any time.  However, the most elite exhibit is their annual Spring Salon, which attracts up to a thousand entries each year.  One of my greatest hopes has been  to have my art included in this exhibit.  I've entered every year, since moving here, without getting in.  Until this year!  Can you imagine my thrill to finally see my name on that list?  It is

a label of success!  I bawled all day...and now and then ever since.  It means someone with clout and critical savvy found my painting to be good enough for this prestigious event.  Oh I know the jurying process is subjective, political, and influenced by all kinds of things over which I have no control.  That's why I keep entering after years of rejection.  The hope, the possibility is always there.  Finally, it has happened, and I am on a cloud.  The annual Art Ball, which is the official opening reception of this exhibit, has always been a signature event for me.  This year, it is, a tiny bit, in my honor!  This is the painting that won me this thrill:  "Joyful Noise" 9 X 12 pastel.   And it couldn't have a better title.

A Solo Show for Linda

My experience at the Scera Center for the Arts has been interesting.  The staff is willing but not especially professional.  Nevertheless, some success has come from the exhibit there.  They provided refreshments, nice background music and a great facebook page to advertise the reception.  They don't seem to mind me calling about details that need doing.

It's always a treat to have friends support my art exhibits.  I love seeing people respond to the various images.  Nothing is more gratifying to an artist than the compliment of someone wanting to take a painting home.  People are fun.  Even if they don't plan to buy; there is a reaction to the art worth seeing.  I have to remind myself that EVERYONE isn't an art enthusiast or art-educated.  It's been fun, indeedy.  Yup. FUN!