Beauty Beyond Dementia

I am a year into my life as an octogenarian. I have to look up that word every time I type it. I am in early stages of dementia. I seldom write books and articles these days. I write titles, and hope that if anyone is interested, they will ask about it. I have an entire library of "Titles." No one asks.

When I saw a commercial for a treatment for a woman with dementia, and thought: "Yeah, keep her doped up so you don't have to deal with her." Old people get frustrated when they lose skills they once took for granted. That is an understatement. They become enraged at times, at the injustice of it.

I was a zombie several years ago. It happened when my youngest daughter died in an accidental house fire. My psychiatrist told me a sudden loss can result in a condition similar to a traumatic brain injury. I still struggle, ten years to this day.

Modern medicine is wonderful, but scientists have yet to discover a fountain of youth despite what you see in ads.

Recently, my doctor told me that a urinary tract infection can produce symptoms of dementia. If only . . .

Those card/word/picture games on devices lure you in by claiming to prevent dementia. Play them if you enjoy them, but most are simple games of logic. In time, with practice, the challenge is lost.

I like to say: Dementia is my mind's way of decluttering my brain. Like I used to say, I am giving up celibacy for Lent. Even chronically depressed people have to laugh. Social media will tell you it is all right to be a crazy old lady. Don't fall for that. Your children will be embarrassed, and you won't be invited for Christmas!

But, behold, there is beauty along the road as well. We slow down. We start to appreciate nature. The joy at the end of a struggle is huge.

The first rule of nature is that an ecosystem must have balance to survive. It doesn't matter that we "would, coulda, shoulda." We didn't.

Nature is universal. It teaches us to develop and adapt. There will be good days and bad days, and another day.

I have to keep trying. I live in a camper on property we own, on the water. I get exercise going to the household shed for pantry or freezer items. Houses on this block sell for upwards of half a million dollars. Some folks tried to make those of us in campers move out. The vote failed.

When you try to take care of yourself and your home, people notice. They may step in and help you, as our neighbor helped us with his tractor.

On a nearby island is a bird sanctuary: an Airbnb for migratory birds. We get the overflow, providing winter entertainment.

My husband fishes with a cast net off our dock when not using his boat. Did I say that when you live cheaply, you may be able to afford toys? I have my own goldfish pond where I can watch their antics at my leisure.

I know many older women who live in campers. They are either widowed, divorced, or retired. Or they are women who want to make the best of life as they are able and comfortable. They even have a club called Sisters on the Fly.

I hate being told how to succeed. I do it by being grateful for what I have, willing to struggle to get what I need, while forgetting about the rest. A bonus is that when I learn something for the second time, I discover more than I first perceived. It takes longer than learning as a youth, but is rewarding.

In art studies, I was assigned to make a poster. It read: Every life has a gift. Every life is a gift.