Puzzles-R-Us

The most valuable skills taught to me by Myrtle long ago are the very ones on which I rely so heavily, now that I am her caregiver.   She has always been plainspoken and blunt (but with a heavy does of eternal optimism and cheerfulness).  Growing up, I had the sense that there was no single thing she could not handle and no single thing that would shock her. She was unflappable.  Yet she laughed at herself often, and when life revealed its treachery, she laughed at it, too.   She still does this.

Each day with Myrtle is a cryptogram.   If she is unwell in some way, it will manifest in an odd behavior because she doesn't experience pain directly.  If she gets bored, she weeps and fidgets.  If she is anxious, she demands to be taken to her parents.  As with cryptograms, nothing is what it seems to be.  Each day - a riddle, a brain-teaser to be decoded.  Each day - a new knot to unknot.  

And Myrtle loved puzzles.  Our family always had a 1,000 piece work-in-progress under the tablecloth of our dining room table.  After dinner, she would quietly conduct an unveiling, lifting the cloth, revealing the fragmented impression beneath with its many disordered bits.  We would all join in, slowly.   Never did she say, "Come here and work on this, kids."   Nope.  She simply revealed the unfinished. That was our cue to come to the table and begin the work.

She is still revealing the pieces and I'm still trying to put it all together.  

Of the tools in the toolbox which I turn to each morning to launch our day and to get us through the unfilled hours, some have failed utterly.  Last week, it was a basic jigsaw. Simple.  No more than 30 pieces.  I was pleased with myself for remembering how much she loved putting things together. But,  it proved to be too much for her.  Almost an hour went by and she just sat and stared at the pieces, picking them up, then putting them back down, perplexed.  I had even lined-up the outside border with their interlocking mates, to make it easier.  No go.  I offered to help. "Go Away,"  she said angrily.  It confused and embarrassed her that she could not do this basic jigsaw and that just broke my heart.  I had miscalculated.  

But Myrtle herself had prepared me well for this kind of thing.  Through the decades I heard her voice emerge, as clear as a bell:  "Rosemary, if at first you don't succeed, suck it up.  Try again.  You're not the first person in this world to fail at something, honey."

I put that puppy dog jigsaw away, thinking I have to try again.  I watched as she repeatedly folded, unfolded and refolded a paper towel.  That's it.   I grabbed every cloth dinner napkin and every small terry cloth towel in the entire house and tossed them into a laundry basket.  

"Hey, mom, can you help me fold this laundry?"   Will this work, I wonder?

"Oh, boy, look at all that",  she said.  
And then, just like a mom, she added,  "Yeah, yeah, bring it here, I'll get that done."  

And she did.  

And she smiled.
And she felt useful  

And she was happy.
And the morning was rescued.

Two weeks ago, I had purchased a child's coloring book while at the pharmacy picking up her meds. It was a coloring book of kittens.  For toddlers.   Clear, easy pictures to color in.   I was delighted with myself, thinking how she would be able to do this simple activity and we would do it together and I'd play Frank Sinatra music and she would be happy.   I whipped it out after breakfast and she looked at it a few minutes.  "This is a book for little children", she commented scornfully, pushing the book away.   Hmmm.   Well, you're right, of course, but, boy, that stings.  
This was one of my early miscalculations and once again, I heard her voice.  It was coming out of the year 1974 when I had broken up with a boyfriend and my misery and histrionics were,  I'm sure, inflicted on all nearby.  
"I hope you're not planning on holding this pity party forever," she said firmly.  "You know, the world doesn't stop turning just because you're disappointed."

Right, right, this is not about me.  She taught me that..
Try again.   She taught me this, too.

I did try again.  I bought a coloring book of old movie posters.  Movies from the 50's and 60's.  Not childish at all.  Today, here she is cheerfully coloring "Breakfast at Tiffany's".  First, she commented on all of the flicks she had seen or had not seen.  She was stumped by the big crayons, though, so I quickly and wordlessly substituted colored pencils.  These, she really liked.

So, the movie poster coloring book was a homerun.
This is important, because when Myrtle is successfully occupied, everything works more smoothly; the day takes shape and launches. We do not always cast off smoothly, though.   She is baffling and she is baffled and somewhere buried in between these two states is the key to a good day.