How to Remember

     A visit to the local potter, a staple in our community, was on the list the day after Christmas. My son and I wanted to find out if he made pots for cremains. He showed us some lovely examples for those folks who earlier thought of what we only recently considered. He creates a vessel of your choice with tops. He also crafts small vases which will hold one flower. How do the cremains fit into something small? These tiny ones have a color glaze with cremains added. When he pointed out the exterior of one small vase, in the white area of a red were scattered reflections of silica or the cremains.  A teaspoon of cremains is all that's needed to create a beautiful glaze. In the larger "urns" the glaze is seen but inside are the remainders. If you have a pet's ashes to add to yours, he creates a separate area. When disposed of, all the ashes mix as they aim for their destination. The urns then can hold flowers or sit on a table top.
     On my computer I accidentally hit a key and a site came up in which cremains are added within beautiful blown glass. All shapes and sizes. I recall the site was Artfulashes.com.
     My previous ideas described are just two of at least 17, according to funeral zone.co.uk. There's the diamond which can be worn as a ring, earrings, cuff links, etc. Actually this is an old tradition.
Then added to fireworks so you can "send" your loved one into the skies with a bang; include ashes taken by an underwater company in England who'll add them to reef; and--I'll bet you've not thought of this--have a tattoo artist add to ink and select a design or name or dates to a body part; or allow an artist to add to paints and create a design on canvas for you.
     I can't leave out what many people prefer--plant the ashes around a tree in a memory garden or in you own garden. Place a small plaque under the tree, or hanging off a limb, name, date, etc. If the tree is outside your dining window, you can remember that special person more quickly.
     So many ideas in one place. Hope you find something perfect  for your loved one(s).
   

Caregiving

    This is not an interesting subject but it is one many of us become involved with.  Over ten years ago I cared for my dear mother. This was my gift for the wonderful life she created for me. I loved taking time to talk about yesteryears, driving to her hometown and locating the area where her home once stood. We visited aging cousins and searched for "familiar" places that no longer we're familiar.
    Then she had to have dialysis. That required me to drive her a rather long way from home and spend the four hours required to clean her blood.
    I thought I was handling the responsibility well. I had my dad at home and my husband returned from work waiting for supper nights. Before I knew it, I crashed.  Couldn't take what was needed to keep my wonderful mom happy in her last days.  We had to move her to a retirement home where she was cared for by others. Broke my heart. In the meantime Dad died.
   No one can imagine at the beginning of their care taking that the responsibility will be arduous. Of course, you can move the parent immediately to a home, but I wanted to keep Mother close and show love and appreciation as I know she'd do for me.  However, there comes a time and situation that keeping a parent at home is too much.
   In 1999 there were no guide books to give instructions to the care giver. Everyone had to use common sense. For example: when I found Mother walking down the hallway with her shirt on inside-out, I'd ask,"Mom, where are you going?" She'd wave her hand and keep going. I'd follow and find her in the kitchen where she'd put the skillet on the stove and turned the heat to high.  I thought this amusing. I'd turn off the skillet, guide her back to her room and we'd chat awhile.
   Or, she'd relate at breakfast when I'd eat with her and Daddy, "A man was in my bed last night/A couple was pushing me off my bed/Marvin (her deceased brother) slept with me." Daddy and I would go along and tell her to kick them out. If it were her brother, I'd ask, "Did you ask him what he was doing in the area?" She'd have a plausible answer.  This was rather fun, you know, playing along rather than fuss and declare, "Oh that's all in your mind."
   Mother loved to travel. In those aging days she'd say one day, "Lets go to Colorado today." I'd say, "What a lovely day to go somewhere." So we'd hop in the car and I'd drive around and then tell her it was too late to go to Colorado without plans. We'd spend the next day looking at a US map, plotting how we'd get there. Another time she'd want to go to New York, Chicago, Florida. The map was a way to keep her happy. We'd talk about the sights we'd find in those places.
   Now I'm caring for my husband. The good point is he has his mental faculties. Oh, a bit of forgetfulness, but he can still give me a word I'm searching for as I write a story. He reads and naps. I cook and deliver his two meals, roll him to the bathroom, keep him warm. He is easier than my mother was, so I shouldn't complain. Yet, stress creeps in like a fog and before I know it,  fatigue has embraced me like an old coat. We're solving that situation soon.
   Have a wonderful January, everyone

Relax and Remember

My blog entries were quite some time ago. Those gremlins of age hit at the wrong time. I've beaten ill health, but aspects still remain with different names: memory loss and arthritis. Two worst ailments that refuse to disappear.
Musings while driving today: 
The accident I had last summer day. Every time I turn the corner of those two streets I drive several times a week, I remember clearly what happened, although the facts were mixed like a martini at the time of the impact. I'm positive I turned left behind a car before the light changed. What happened was a small Ford truck slammed into my right fender, both of us turning away from a more serious bender. He didn't want to press charges, the cop said, as I fumbled in the glove compartment for identification. I knew not to say, It's not my fault, Sorry, I didn't see him, or I did not run a red light. Ford driver's comment was She ran the red light.  In the process of police interrogation my  blood pressure hit the top, my innards squeezed and churned, and my voice was a bit shaky. Of course my gray hair and the handicapped card on the dash didn't help me look and act younger. However, I manage to review the scene every time I reach that particular crossroad, and every time I knew, just knew that guy ran into me.

Now my hair has silver stands that my adult children accept. I colored my hair from age 40 til 80, when I realized I wasn't going to see many people I wanted to think I was ten years younger.  And  the walking cane I now use has overshadowed my hair color. Do you know, ladies and gentlemen, that owning a cane and carrying (on your arm) opens more doors and achieves more kind remarks (Good morning, Well, hello, You need a bit of help) than if I leave my cane in the car. I love to know there are thoughtful souls, young folks as well, who exist in my small world.

Driving allows me to rewrite one of two stories I paid to have criticized. Because they have merit, I have to rewrite certain paragraphs the critics suggest.  One story is based on a real incident of a friend of the family. This meant changing names and towns, and anything my friend would attach to her own experience. The second one is based on some poor wives who have husbands who demand too much. This main character decides one evening to find a way to get rid of this non-romantic buzzard she married twenty years ago. My critic suggested a scene to be transferred to the opening of the story. If you have similar problems, ladies, let me know. I need more fire.
Oops, this is enough for one entry.