Lucky Number 13

May your worries be few,

And contentment abound,

With blessings and love,

The whole year 'round.

Burma-Shave.

Have a Happy

and Prosperous

2013!

Peace,

ML

Photo Credit: aurostar739, Creative Commons

dMerry Christmasc
May all your sugarplum dreams come true.

Peace,

ML Swift

ggg

For Those Voices Hushed, We Quiet Our Own

Remember in Prayer and in Giving

Peace,

ML

Heaven's Honor Roll

"Jesus wept." 

- John 11:35 

My most heartfelt condolences to the families of the victims in Newtown, CT.

May the Lord bless you and keep you.

Peace,

ML

For those who'd like to send cards of sympathy, support, and encouragement:

Sandy Hook Elementary School
12 Dickenson Drive
Newtown, CT 06482

Photo credit: Justus Hayes, Creative Commons

In the Darkness of Dawn

My first short story to share with you, as it originally appeared in The Alzheimer's Reading Room. 

Coffee Cups by Steve A. Johnson, Flickr

Perhaps today would afford him the chance to make it past the front gate and down the deserted blacktop to a new day, to a new life where his own needs occasionally came first.

When the day began, and he opened up his eyes, he could see through all the lies that the night had promised.

The little rest he accrued in fitful, scattered doses had not rejuvenated his weary soul, and at 4:00 a.m., grudgingly tossing aside the covers and slinging his legs to the floor, he wondered if there would ever come a day he’d feel ahead of the game.

He looked up for an answer. God was still asleep. On a Sunday.

The workouts at the gym – the whole reason for waking up at such an ungodly hour – had not come to pass. Time after time, attempts to steal away before being pulled into everyone's suffocating needs had proven futile.

His body craved the endorphins; he lived exhausted.

Sis was on the couch in deep slumber, as well as Mom in her room, and if his plan worked, then he’d be back before the rooster’s reveille and they’d still be asleep, none the wiser. Mom would be okay with that.

If she arose for the day and he was gone ... well ... she’d panic, that’s all there was to it. Even with Sis there, it was always him she wanted.

Blowing a heavy sigh and with much reserve, he barely dared to hope. Perhaps today would afford him the chance to make it past the front gate and down the deserted blacktop to a new day, to a new life where his own needs occasionally came first.

As he gulped his coffee and quickly changed into sweats, his thoughts toyed with the idea of breaking free from the yoke that weighed heavily on his shoulders - if not but for an hour.

Maybe, as he neared the facility, he’d glance over at the flashing neon light that read, “Open 24 hours,” and keep driving ...never look back... never look back ... but that was something he could never do.

A click of the bathroom switch pricked up his ears and he quickly hushed, barely breathing, wondering if she was up for the day or merely relieving herself. A flush. A ... lengthy ... pause.  The light crawling from the bottom crack retreated; he sat frozen in the solitary glow of his cigarette.

Then the door opened and her dog bounced out, shaking his head and jingling his tags, bringing sounds of Christmas to a home that hungered joy.

“I need a back pill,” she groaned. He led her to her chair and quickly went for one.

“Here you go."

She held her palm out and looked up, weak and vulnerable from the road her body had traveled, wearing the tattered remnants of seventy years.

Placing the white oval pill in her hand and gently closing her fingers, he leaned in and whispered, "I’ll get you some water and a cup of coffee.” A kiss on her cheek. A smile on her face. It was all worth it.

As he filled his mother's favorite mug – the only one she would use – he looked at his own, now in the sink, empty. Reaching to pick it up, he hesitated, allowing his gaze to wander to the front gate ... then reluctantly put it on the counter and poured a second cup.

The cuckoo clock warbled a weak 4:30. Time to wake up God.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

Peace,
ML

Welcome To The New Layout

Hello friends, and welcome to the new, improved blog specifically designed for caregivers and loved ones affected by Alzheimer's and Dementia.  

I hope you like the crisp, clean look and find it easier to navigate.  The background picture of the daisies was chosen because it's my mom's favorite flower; while others may prefer roses or lilies, she has always appreciated the simpler beauties of the world.  

When first developing Treading Water in the Goldfish Bowl, it was to be about these years as a caregiver for my Mom, however, after delving into the publishing world to pursue my other love, writing, I tried to incorporate the two. This proved unsuccessful - the interests were aimed at two entirely different demographics - and I realized that perhaps a separate one was necessary for my literary involvements.

Therefore, Treading Water in the Goldfish Bowl has resumed its original calling as a place devoted to caring for a loved one with Alzheimer's disease, and will contain anecdotes of life with Mary Helen, my mom.

For my writing peers who have been faithfully following me, my new writer's blog can be found at M.L. Swift, Chasing Windmills. I encourage you to go check it out...I think you'll find it to your liking. I'm happy with it. Make sure to sign up and follow me over there, and to add Chasing Windmills to your blogroll.

Eventually, the tab that reads Short Stories will have a little something for everyone to peruse, as I'll be filling that up with past, present, and future creative endeavors. After all, what's a writer who doesn't write?

If you followed Treading Water as a writer, you're more than welcome to continue following as a reader, however, please remember to "refollow" me on my new blog. I can use all the writing buddies I can get!

And if you're a health care worker or caregiver for a loved one, Welcome! I hope you like the new digs and will enjoy traveling along on my journey with Mom.

Peace,
ML

P.S. I've had to leave behind a couple of posts that concern writing, as they are linked to other websites that I'm involved with. All new posts will be specific to Alzheimer's and caregiving.

Tallahassee NaNoWriMo Kick-Off Dinner

The cool table of young, hip writers.
Needless to say, I wasn't one of them.

~~~~~

"At risk of sounding foully pompous, I think that writers' groups are probably very useful at the beginning of a writer's career." 

-  Bernard Cornwell

~~~~~

This past weekend, the Big Bend area of the NaNoWriMo held their 2012 Kick-off Dinner, and I promised to tell you all about it if I went. Well I went, so grab a cup of coffee and hurry back and I'll fill your heads with a tale of writer bonding and merriment entitled, Dinner at the Steel City Saloon. Don’t worry, I’ll wait.

A Friday night and I had gotten off to a late start as it was. Stopped in traffic, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I squinted past the car ahead and saw blue lights assisting an accident outside the Fairgrounds. Afternoon traffic hour-glassed and barely moved, trickling down to one lane, then slowly spreading back out to two. Dang! This was the last thing I needed. 

It was already time for the event to begin with the rest of downtown to maneuver, however, if I knew writers as well as I thought I knew them, dinner would be late, too. A traffic cop waved me to an open lane and zipping past, I left my patience and tread marks at the scene of the fender-bender. Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the overflow lot of Ray’s Steel City Saloon and made my way to the back patio — time to meet my NaNoWriMo cohorts.

More of the young and the hip.
Very Kerouac, I must say.

A bubbly personality in a red dress and black witch’s hat be-bopped around the room making sure everyone was comfortable. “You must be Maggie,” I said.

“Yes … yes … grab a seat anywhere.” We scanned the sea of shiny faces. 'Anywhere' was a problem, for it appeared our lanai was packed to the gills with no room for another sardine. “There’s one…I think,” she wondered aloud, pointing to an extra chair in the far corner of the area.

Filtering through the crowd, I nodded, smiled, and exchanged niceties along the way, squeezing between the tables to reach my chair. When I plopped down and turned to my dinner companions, it dawned on me why this seat was still open. 

The setting sun was a blinding torch that needed a welder's mask! So for the next half-hour, Dia, the poor girl in the corner to my right, and I sat with our faces down, sunglasses on, and hands shielding our eyes like we were famous, trying to remain incognito. Luckily we had Vikki to keep the conversation lively. Tired of fighting the sun, I grabbed my camera and meandered through the crowd taking pictures.

Everybody, this is Dia.
Dia, everybody.

After a few candids, I headed over to the first row, full of young academics. I gathered this was the cool table. “Photo Op! Something for the blog. How’s everybody doing? Ever been in the NaNo before?” 

Crickets.  Hellerrr…is this thing on? 

Now, I realize as writers we are solitary creatures, but this felt strangely like the scene where Lindsey Lohan first met The Plastics in Mean Girls. Everybody just turned and stared, looking at me like I was crazy. Click! It made a great picture. I noticed they loosened up a little when the food came.

John, the other half of Vikki, below,
 and Maggie, our Municipal Liaison.

A couple more crowd shots and I returned to my side of the patio…you know, where the band and chess club sat. Actually, we had a blast over there, and with Vikki taking the lead, never lacked for stimulating conversation. 

Vikki is the creative force behind the husband and wife team of Victoria and John Woodward, penning her pages in longhand before John edits and transcribes to digital. Between bites of my Rabbi Reuben sandwich, I learned they released a book, Terra Luna (The Return of Fiorgaels), “an epic urban contemporary fantasy and paranormal romance,” their business card read. It’s available on Kindle, if you want to take a look.

The bubbly personality I met when first arriving was Maggie, our fearless Municipal Liaison, who did an excellent job coordinating the night’s festivities. Dolled out in red, she topped her coif with a whimsical hat in the spirit of the holiday ahead, which later became The Sorting Hat for the party’s closing raffle.

Vikki is the creative force behind
the husband and wife writing team.

Dia was a quiet little church mouse, but oh-so-delightful when she did pipe in; her words, such a treat, would pull me close to capture the soft-spoken wisdoms. She participated in the NaPoWriMo back in April and knows a little of what to expect. 

As do Jory and Brian, who rounded out our table. Both are in their sophomore years of NaNo, with Brian’s outline tapping out at 25,000 last year. Quite an accomplishment in its own right — a little novella to publish — but he hopes to double it and reach the 50K this outing.

Jory and Brian are confident that this
is the year they'll break 50,000.

Over dinner and drinks a composition book had been passed around with each Wrimo (as I learned we’re called) taking the previous sentence and adding their own to it. Since there was a decent showing of Wrimos, a hilarious forty sentence short story about a fanged, drooling, seven-foot dust-bunny-from-hell came out of the mix. A lack of imagination never presented this gang of wordsmiths a problem.

The lovely Tracy writes Fantasy novels.

At evening’s end, I said my goodbyes, grabbed my welcome kit of a notebook, pen, bookmark and other writer knick-knacks, and drove the dark roads home, now clear and inviting. Write-ins are scheduled for the upcoming month on Saturdays, and I promised to try to make at least one of them. 

Brian also added that after November there was a group that continued to meet, and although I loved the camaraderie and dynamics when bouncing thoughts around with my peers, distance and other responsibilities played against me.  I'd have to think long and hard on that one. By 9:00 I was home, invigorated with renewed energy for the month ahead. It was a great night.

Has your local group thrown an event like this? I’d love to hear about it and how you feel about writers’ groups. For me, I like the spawning of ideas that comes from gathering with like-minded individuals, but when all is said and done, the writing only happens when I’m alone in my quiet space.

NaNoWriMo Parting Gifts.
(Computer sold separately)

Which brings to mind a closing quote for this installment of Sunday Inspirations, also by Bernard Cornwell.

~~~~~

Writing is a solitary occupation.

- Bernard Cornwell

~~~~~

Good luck to all you Wrimos out there!

(Oh, and if you’re wondering what 1667 words looks like…
add 539 more to this)

Peace,

ML