With Thanksgiving almost here, topics of conversation often revolve around food. The grocery stores are bustling with customers loading carts with turkeys, pies, rolls, and other ingredients that will make the meal complete. While subbing this past week, students discussed different food items they enjoy.
Chloe, our daughter, has cooked the entire Thanksgiving meal for several years , much to the amazement of us all. She starts creating the menu in advance, sometimes even in September. Last year, she cooked the meal in her aunt’s kitchen. However, Chloe is still in Ireland.
Two members, who enjoyed the plethora of food last year, are enjoying a heavenly feast– my mother, and Phil, my brother’s father-in-law. What will this new Thanksgiving feel like without their presence?
As in most family celebrations, each family is assigned certain dishes. This year, my task is to bring the stuffing, craft/ supplies, and the sweet potato dish. The craft and sweet potato dish are easy tasks, but the stuffing generates more thought. My sister-in-law has already stated that she will deeply miss her father’s famous stuffing. How can you beat that? Do I create a stuffing somewhat similar? Should I create a stuffing so different that it doesn’t even compare but is still tasty?
As I read through the various recipes, I know that we won’t be able to come close to the memories associated with her dear father. But I can work hard to make a scrumptious stuffing that others will enjoy.
My mom frequently encouraged me to write a book, a comment that always made me smile. Me? An author? However, I enjoyed writing as an elementary student and entered several contests. I also enjoy teaching writing to elementary children, although it can be quite a process!
While on our first sabbatical, I created an ABC book about the Netherlands. It was a fun way to remember the various spots we visited. After returning, I shared the book with elementary students in Kansas. It was also part of a class assignment at Kansas State University.
While on a hike in our Indiana woods, a different book idea came to mind and it was all because of a leaf. The mitten-shaped sassafras leaf, beautiful and fragile, provided the title, Smitten with the Mitten, and content came to mind. After writing it, I decided to share it with a group of first graders while subbing. Their comments, honest and helpful, allowed me to evaluate the first draft. Here are some of their suggestions: It needs color, add more characters, make it longer, add animals, name an animal after a student, have the characters holding animals, add more art, add a sun and moon if possible, and include a hamster named Harwell. I hope to finish the book and read it to another group this week. I can’t wait to hear their suggestions!
I also plan on showing my writing to my father who also enjoys writing. Maybe it will be another way to encourage him in his writing.
This is a sample of the book. My artist friend, Kristi, suggested using stickers to illustrate.
After several days of playing phone tag, the nurse and I finally connected. Her words brought a sense of dread. “Your dad has dementia,”she explained. I stood in stunned silence, not wanting to accept it but knowing I had seen the signs. I tried to categorize the level and she provided the number fourteen. I didn’t really understand the number and mentally noted to research later.
I continue to mull over the diagnosis. Will the SAIDO training I received help him? The last time I encouraged him to complete math problems, it backfired. Should I try more difficult problems instead? Will he end up at Waterford? Would this early diagnosis prolong his life, unlike my mother who never received an official evaluation? Do most elders, termed by the nurse, end up with dementia? Is it inevitable?
Another struggle is my father’s weight. His arms look scrawny and puny. He doesn’t want to eat lunch and states that he isn’t hungry. The aides have told me that they always try, but what can you do? If someone doesn’t want to eat, they won’t eat. My brother brushes off my concerns, saying that he wouldn’t eat lunch either if he had a big lunch. The fact that my father regularly drinks Ensures helps offset lunch. I have my doubts.
After these types of conversations, I often think of how food is such a challenge for society. At school, teachers are always trying to encourage students to eat as well. They know how nutritious food enables learning. At the other end of the spectrum, nurses constantly encourage elderly patients to eat. Walk into any nursing home facility at mealtimes and you will see nurses serving food, encouraging residents to eat, and sometimes feeding residents, like a mother spooning food to her toddler. It is a never-ending battle– eating well.
My thoughts usually continue and I think about my mother in heaven. What happens in heaven with food? Is there even such a thing? Is there an unlimited amount of food? One website, https://www.compellingtruth.org/food-heaven.html, focused on the words of Revelation 19: 9 where the angel mentioned the wedding supper of the Lamb. In Revelation 7:16, it says, “Never again will they hunger or thirst.” Thinking about the many people who battle food addictions reminds me of this glorious hope and I feel peace.
This is the scene from my window. Now the snow has melted, but I love seeing the snow dotted on the branches.
” I watched the little preschoolers today,” my mother told me on the phone. I listened to her description of preschoolers outside, running on the playground, and found myself wondering about her state of mind. Where was a playground located? How could she see preschoolers when she was in a community of elderly people?
However, I discovered she was right. A preschool could be seen from her patio doors. On certain days of the week, the playground was dotted with small children, clad in winter gear.
For some reason, I thought of this phone call yesterday, watching elementary students, also clad in winter gear, enjoying the snow in different ways. Tears filled my eyes and I found myself surprised. Am I really crying again?
I felt myself drawn to the cemetery again, wanting to see my mother’s gravesite covered in snow. Why? I don’t know and cannot explain it, but I felt the need. More tears were shed as I etched the letter “M” atop her gravesite.
I ended the afternoon with a phone call to my sister-in-law, checking in to see how her family was coping. Her comments of how glad she was that her father was no longer suffering once again reminded me of the eternal hope and joy my mother is experiencing. My sadness was replaced with peace.
Even though Michigan received some flurries some time ago, I would define today’s snow as the first one. It is pretty substantial! In fact, I even shoveled! Kenai, our labrador fur baby, reacted with joy and enthusiasm as she tore across the snow covered yard. Her crazy antics made me smile. Snow can be fun!
While living in the Netherlands, we designated Saturdays a day for exploring. Some of our memorable excursions included Amsterdam, Enkhuizen, and Delft. While our goal of traveling to every Dutch province was not met, we enjoyed exploring a variety of areas. We have decided to continue this type of adventure in Michigan.
One main difference of our Michigan journey is that the boys are now teenagers complete with opinions and suggestions. Since our first MI adventure included hiking, we decided that a coffee house would provide variety. Using Yelp as a guide, we journeyed to downtown Grand Rapids for an afternoon cup of java. Surrounded by students of all ages, we enjoyed a time of drinking coffee. Corey, always creative, chose “Dirty Harry”, a tea he claimed was really good. The rest of us enjoyed a variety of lattes. The day ended with grocery shopping for the Sunday dinner.
The word trust evokes powerful images. These images include me driving up from Indiana behind Corey, a newly licensed driver. It includes me watching out the window, praying that he will make it safely to school in blizzard-like weather conditions. It includes listening to stories from my husband, traveling in remote places of the world that include Niger and Senegal. Trusting in God’s provision means that I need to feel at peace with a daughter living in another country, traveling to various destinations. It also means that I must believe that my father’s health is in God’s hands and not mine. Trust– difficult and challenging.
Trusting in the Lord’s timing means that I must believe that His ways are not my ways. At yesterday’s Sunday dinner, my father slept through most of the meal and ended up snoozing for several hours on our bed. We were puzzled by his weariness and wondered if it was related to his mobility. My sister-in-law’s comments yesterday, “We will not plan one more funeral. I refuse to!”, made me pause and remind myself that we don’t get to choose that route. I don’t get to decide how my father’s life will continue. Will he re-energize after a change in his medications? Will he stay at Royal Park or have to move to another facility that offers more care? What will the rest of this Michigan journey look like?
Trusting definitely takes faith. I was reminded of this again when I starting thinking about this year. I could either focus my energies on worrying about the year or remembering the countless blessings. It is definitely more peaceful to remember the blessings– the blessing of being able to live in Michigan to help my father, the blessing of being able to have a family dinner yesterday which included my father and my brother’s mom-in-law, the blessing of substitute teaching in a different state, and the blessing of three children who openly confess that Jesus is Savior and Lord. But… remembering these blessings takes focus and persistence. I can easily start thinking of the “what ifs” and head down a dark route.
As the journey continues, the words to Steven Curtis Chapman’s song remind me– remember.
Well, I’ve been looking back over my shoulder Retracing every step trying to unforget And I see the mountaintops I’ve journeyed over And I see the valleys deep where I crawled on my hands and knees Pages and memories filled with joy and stained with tears They call my name and if I listen, I can hear them saying
Remember the way He led you up to the top of the highest mountain Remember the way He carried you through the deepest dark Remember His promises for every step on the road ahead Look where you’ve been and where you’re going And remember to remember Remember, remember
And now I’m looking out at the road that’s waiting But my eyes can only see so far out ahead of me As sure as the sun will shine there’ll be more mountains I will climb And more deep dark shadowlands where desperate faith is all I have Until I’m home, I’m resting all my hope and trust In the only One whose name is: God with us
Remember the way He led us up to the top of the highest mountain Remember the way He carried us through the deepest dark Remember His promises for every step on the road ahead Look where we’ve been and where we’re going And remember to remember
Remember the day is coming when He’s going to wipe the tears away He’ll look in our eyes and say Remember the way I led you off the mountain Remember the way I carried you, ohh
Remember the way I led you up to the top of the highest mountain Remember the way I carried you through the deepest dark Remember my promises for every step on the road ahead Look where you’ve been and where you’re going Look where we’ve been and where we’re going And remember to remember
Oh remember to remember Oh remember to remember Oh remember to remember
Surprisingly, I am finding a sense of joy subbing in the various classrooms in the Caledonia area. I never quite know what I will be teaching for the day until I enter the classroom, but it doesn’t really make me anxious anymore. I do the best that I can and make education, safety, and classroom control, the top priority.
However, I have quickly learned the necessity of my bag of tricks. These tricks include singing, playing the piano if there is one in the classroom, throwing an orange ball up and down until there is quiet, dog stories, a puppet, and then my favorite: the remote.
Created by my former colleague and one of the most creative teachers I know, Libby, this valuable tool can stop the chattiest student. “And now,” I announce. ” I will use my handy-dandy remote to share with you.” The students’ eyes are riveted on this medium sized piece of cardboard. ” I will turn on the power button.” Complete with my own sound effects, I usually point it at the student who is the chattiest. “This power button means that all students need to turn to take out their math pages. ” When the noise increases, I also remind them that the volume button is on low which means they need to take their items out quietly. In every classroom, there is one student who states, “That is fake!” Ignoring that statement, I continue using it.
Another one of my favorites is one I saw posted on the classroom wall. Walk so quietly that the mice in the school cannot hear you. I also have used this phrase and it never fails to generate comments. “Are there really mice in the school? I can’t believe it”.
The best part of subbing is coming to see the students and provide a day of as much happiness as I can share. For some students, school is a safe haven from the world’s ugliness. I am glad to be a tiny part of their world.
Waking up Saturday morning, I realized that this journey would now include another funeral. I dreaded attending because I feared that I would be a gloppy mess of mascara and eye makeup at the end. I also feared my father’s reaction as this would be the first one since my mother passed away.
Despite the worries, my eyes stayed dry, my father remained composed, and I felt a sense of peace as I reflected on the blessing of a quick passing instead of a lengthy illness.
One of the defining moments occurred when listening to my high school nephew share memories of his grandfather. He spoke clearly and peppered his reflections with fishing events and Grandparents’ Day at his high school.
The day ended with a luncheon and me taking some photos. I found myself feeling thankful that it went okay, but also hoping it would be the last funeral I would need to attend. But why do I keep feeling like there will be more?
“Why did you get training in SAIDO?” my cousin queried. I had to stop and think for a moment. Why DID I do it? It is at Waterford, not exactly right around the corner. “Is it because you want to give back to Waterford since your mom was there?” she continued asking. “I think that’s it,” I slowly nodded.
SAIDO training, a Japanese learning therapy for dementia patients, was definitely one highlight of this past week. Learning about the progression of Alzheimer’s disease, viewing videos of elderly patients before and after they received the therapy, and conversing with those involved with geriatric care intrigued me from start to finish. Time went quickly and I found myself disappointed when it ended.
One part of the training involved actually practicing the therapy on other participants. This included instruction in reading, writing, and math. One of the most fascinating parts is how the Japanese correct the patients’ assignments. Only red pens are used, every patient receives 100 despite errors, and each paper is circled in a certain section of the paper. No percentage sign is used on the paper. The 100 needs to be in the quarter right of the paper. It took me a little bit to make sure I was doing this part right as I don’t necessarily grade every students’ paper with a circle or the percentage in the exact spot each time!
Positive affirmations are essential to the program as well. The system is called MRP– mark, record, and praise. I liked it!
After my training, I was excited to use some of the techniques on my father. I printed off some math sheets and encouraged him to complete them. “This is good for your brain, Dad!” I enthusiastically announced as he sat in his gray recliner. “Okay,” he grudgingly answered. The math, double digit addition, proved to be too easy. “You must think I am really dumb to give me this math,” he said, in a despondent manner. “This is for second graders!” I quickly realized that SAIDO ideas weren’t for him and put the papers away. Sighing, I decided that my training would be better for those at Waterford who actually signed up for the program. I consoled myself with the thought that maybe another day would be better or I should print some word problems instead.
Despite the failed attempt with my father, I look forward to heading back to Waterford to begin my volunteering with the patients!
This is the math part of instruction. Patients match the round numbers to the number board.
