“I’m in the early stages of dementia,” said the cheerful woman of my age or younger.
Now there’s a conversation stopper.
Awakened by the sun in my face one morning, I flung my arm over my eyes to block the light and get some more sleep.
Awakening a second time, I saw the arm with its sagging crepey skin and thought, “My god! There’s an old woman in my bed!”
Is it the wisdom of age or the fading sight of age or the apathy of age that says material things don't matter much – material things like vacuuming? Or the overgrown garden, the peeling paint, the fogged windows?
People matter, family matters – and that includes the animals I care for.