Saturday, April 7, 2007
The eggs are washed and warming to room temperature...
...the acrylic paints and egg holders are bought...guess what we're going to do today: Paint eggs for Easter. Decades ago I found and bought some Romanian painted eggs for my parents for Easter, very similar to the two displayed on in this post.
Mom & Dad managed to keep them for several years until, one by one, the eggs broke, probably during their many moves back and forth between Texas and Arizona. They both loved those eggs (so did I), always had them on display and often commented on them. Not an Easter goes by, now, but what Mom talks about those eggs. So, this year, I decided, we'll paint our own. I figured, we've got the materials, the acrylic paints from the paint by number sets. Although the mess and the profusion of material created so much confusion for Mom that she has yet to put paint brush to canvas on the paint by number sets, the day before Easter is supposed to be messy, what with all the egg decorating activities and such. As well, there aren't any lines on the eggs that dictate where she has to paint. I picked up a few more paints today; base white, base black and some bolder colors than those contained in the sets, including gold and silver, which should be interesting. We'll use upturned egg cups as "easels" (the eggs fits nicely into the bases and this allows for more egg surface access). As well, it takes 15-30 minutes for the paint to dry "to touch", which means that we can do the activity in shifts, so she won't get bored or fidgety, which sometimes happens when we're doing something that takes both concentration and action.
I've been talking up egg painting for more than a few days, now. She's been mentioning that she remembers that we're going to do this. I didn't realize how good her memory was, though, until this morning. Her footsteps shuffling down the hall awoke me at a little after 0600. I thought she was just going to the bathroom but when I met her she told me she was ready to "get up and paint some eggs". Unfortunately, I had planned on picking up the paints when the craft store opened at 0930 this morning. I fed her a mini-breakfast (toast and O.J.), gave her some of her pills and she remained awake, the two of us talking about painting eggs, looking at the colors in the paint sets, deciding which dishes to use as water bowls, etc., until it was time for me to head out to the craft store. She went back to bed at 0900, to "rest up for the excitement." She's so funny! So, I'm letting her sleep in until 0200. We'll have a hearty break-lunch, I've got all our materials arrayed over the tabletop as an incentive (including a variety of brushes and an acrylic "practice pad" on which to practice strokes, color combinations, etc.), and we'll paint our bases immediately after we eat.
This year, I'm filling an Easter basket for her, too. I only do this occasionally. I usually gift her with something on Easter, but it's normally flowers, or a plant (which usually dies), or a book or movie. This year, though, I decided to go all out. I've been picking up this and that for her basket all week as I run errands. Mostly, it'll feature some mandala coloring books, which I think will work better for her than the paint-by-number sets (although, considering the experience she'll get today painting eggs, you never know, she may conquer her
paint-by-number fright), a magnificent set of crayons and colored pencils. Funny thing about buying the coloring books. I explained to the clerk helping me that they were for my mother, who has Dementia-Lite and, while still fairly nimble with her fingers, she would probably be more successful with large images and sturdy lines. The clerk led me to the coloring book section, which had books for adults and children. The adult coloring books were far too detailed, full of tiny spaces and, in some cases, almost non-existent lines, so I gravitated toward the children's books. The clerk had trouble with this. She was sure my mother would somehow take offense at materials designed for children, despite the fact that children's coloring books have become quite sophisticated, and tried, right up to the register, to steer me back toward the adult books. The two I chose, though are perfect for Mom: Interesting, full of unique, exciting shapes...and were in the "3 to 6 year old" section. The clerk continued to point out, "But, they say they're for kids."
They do, but I know my mother won't take offense. She'll probably be delighted to learn that stuff like this is made for kids, now. I can even imagine her saying, "I wish they had these when I was teaching. Wouldn't you girls have had fun with these?!?" referring to her method of trying out projects on her daughters and our friends before springing them on her classes, so she could get an idea of what would be involved and how different ages would handle different media. My favorite activity from those days consisted of cans of transparent, colored, acrylic goo into which the artist dipped shapes contorted from wire, which yielded brilliant, amazing sculptures that dried almost immediately.
Chances are, as we're coloring (I expect we'll both work on the books) she'll also say, "Hmmm, maybe I should copy these and use them in my classes next fall." She'll probably say that about our egg painting, today, too.
Fun, fun, fun!
Oops! I'm running a little over. Better awaken the Mom! Don't want her to be late for egg painting!
Mom & Dad managed to keep them for several years until, one by one, the eggs broke, probably during their many moves back and forth between Texas and Arizona. They both loved those eggs (so did I), always had them on display and often commented on them. Not an Easter goes by, now, but what Mom talks about those eggs. So, this year, I decided, we'll paint our own. I figured, we've got the materials, the acrylic paints from the paint by number sets. Although the mess and the profusion of material created so much confusion for Mom that she has yet to put paint brush to canvas on the paint by number sets, the day before Easter is supposed to be messy, what with all the egg decorating activities and such. As well, there aren't any lines on the eggs that dictate where she has to paint. I picked up a few more paints today; base white, base black and some bolder colors than those contained in the sets, including gold and silver, which should be interesting. We'll use upturned egg cups as "easels" (the eggs fits nicely into the bases and this allows for more egg surface access). As well, it takes 15-30 minutes for the paint to dry "to touch", which means that we can do the activity in shifts, so she won't get bored or fidgety, which sometimes happens when we're doing something that takes both concentration and action.I've been talking up egg painting for more than a few days, now. She's been mentioning that she remembers that we're going to do this. I didn't realize how good her memory was, though, until this morning. Her footsteps shuffling down the hall awoke me at a little after 0600. I thought she was just going to the bathroom but when I met her she told me she was ready to "get up and paint some eggs". Unfortunately, I had planned on picking up the paints when the craft store opened at 0930 this morning. I fed her a mini-breakfast (toast and O.J.), gave her some of her pills and she remained awake, the two of us talking about painting eggs, looking at the colors in the paint sets, deciding which dishes to use as water bowls, etc., until it was time for me to head out to the craft store. She went back to bed at 0900, to "rest up for the excitement." She's so funny! So, I'm letting her sleep in until 0200. We'll have a hearty break-lunch, I've got all our materials arrayed over the tabletop as an incentive (including a variety of brushes and an acrylic "practice pad" on which to practice strokes, color combinations, etc.), and we'll paint our bases immediately after we eat.
This year, I'm filling an Easter basket for her, too. I only do this occasionally. I usually gift her with something on Easter, but it's normally flowers, or a plant (which usually dies), or a book or movie. This year, though, I decided to go all out. I've been picking up this and that for her basket all week as I run errands. Mostly, it'll feature some mandala coloring books, which I think will work better for her than the paint-by-number sets (although, considering the experience she'll get today painting eggs, you never know, she may conquer her
paint-by-number fright), a magnificent set of crayons and colored pencils. Funny thing about buying the coloring books. I explained to the clerk helping me that they were for my mother, who has Dementia-Lite and, while still fairly nimble with her fingers, she would probably be more successful with large images and sturdy lines. The clerk led me to the coloring book section, which had books for adults and children. The adult coloring books were far too detailed, full of tiny spaces and, in some cases, almost non-existent lines, so I gravitated toward the children's books. The clerk had trouble with this. She was sure my mother would somehow take offense at materials designed for children, despite the fact that children's coloring books have become quite sophisticated, and tried, right up to the register, to steer me back toward the adult books. The two I chose, though are perfect for Mom: Interesting, full of unique, exciting shapes...and were in the "3 to 6 year old" section. The clerk continued to point out, "But, they say they're for kids."They do, but I know my mother won't take offense. She'll probably be delighted to learn that stuff like this is made for kids, now. I can even imagine her saying, "I wish they had these when I was teaching. Wouldn't you girls have had fun with these?!?" referring to her method of trying out projects on her daughters and our friends before springing them on her classes, so she could get an idea of what would be involved and how different ages would handle different media. My favorite activity from those days consisted of cans of transparent, colored, acrylic goo into which the artist dipped shapes contorted from wire, which yielded brilliant, amazing sculptures that dried almost immediately.
Chances are, as we're coloring (I expect we'll both work on the books) she'll also say, "Hmmm, maybe I should copy these and use them in my classes next fall." She'll probably say that about our egg painting, today, too.
Fun, fun, fun!
Oops! I'm running a little over. Better awaken the Mom! Don't want her to be late for egg painting!
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
St. John's Wort does not, I am pleased to announce...
...alleviate caregiver burnout.
How do I know this? I've been hunkering through a fairly prolonged spate of caregiver burnout for a couple of weeks, now. But, I'm not depressed! I'm considering this an extremely interesting observation: That caregiver burnout is not depression, although, admittedly, it can, and often does, lead to depression.
What is caregiver burnout like when it isn't accompanied by depression? Well, it's much easier to delineate the anger, frustration and emotional exhaustion that fuel caregiver burnout. Caregiver burnout is, as well, a lot more active and a lot less helpless and hopeless when it's not accompanied by depression. It's enlightening to know this.
Before medicating myself with St. John's Wort to take the depressive edge off my current life experience, I, frankly, thought caregiver burnout was a depressive state. I thought that the psuedo fugue state I previously experienced, which often led to a sort of physical paralysis in which I simply couldn't find the energy to do much of anything except those things that absolutely had to be done, was caregiver burnout. It's not.
Over the last few weeks of this episode of caregiver burnout I've been unusually active, mentally, emotionally and physically. My desire and willingness to involve myself in a variety of activities and considerations that have nothing to do with caregiving has surprised me. My dreams (yes, I'm dreaming again, or, I guess I should say, I'm remembering my dreams, again) have been unusual in that they haven't been suffocating, even as they tend to linger over some of the same ground my previous caregiver burnout dreams traveled. I am much more willing, as well, to avoid, without guilt, as many classic caregiver activities as I can, and, as it turns out, I'm able to do this. I compare it to being able to settle into the eye of the storm instead of remaining in the tempest to be whipped about by the winds and rain. I'm still in a storm state, but I'm not wreaking havoc on myself or my environment. It's refreshing to know that there is a place in which I can take a vacation even as I can't take a vacation.
I'll probably cover more of this later, when I'm ready to fully hoist myself back into the caregiving "saddle again", but that may not be for a few more days. Why, though, you may be asking, am I pleased that caregiver burnout can't be alleviated (yet, anyway) by a pill or supplement? Because it shouldn't be. Because it's a societal condition, rather like slavery, that should be addressed through our living arrangements and attitudes toward life, work, caring, and the value of individual humans within the collective of humanity. Because if we figure out a way to diminish caregiver burnout and its attendant anger, frustration and emotional exhaustion with a pill or with "happy talk" (which we continue to try but, thank the gods, at which we haven't yet been successful), we will also have figured out a way to sap even more dignity and stature from those of us who find ourselves in caregiving circumstances.
The anger, frustration and emotional exhaustion, I've discovered, are always there when one is caregiving. Always. Burnout happens when they rise to the top, refusing to be ignored. Depression keeps the caregiver from remembering (as caregivers tend to know when they aren't burnt out) that anger, frustration and emotional exhaustion are inherent in caregiver circumstances at this time and in this society. Depression takes these states and turns them inward, into fornlorn, illegitimate guilt. We need to guard against this.
Thus, I am now prepared to say, treat the depression, definitely, but don't touch the anger, the frustration and the emotional exhaustion, let's continue to allow these to smolder and occasionally flame, until we in this society are prepared to face them down and come up with solutions that will dignify each of us and defend all of us from the current devastating indignity of what has become the caregiver's plight.
How do I know this? I've been hunkering through a fairly prolonged spate of caregiver burnout for a couple of weeks, now. But, I'm not depressed! I'm considering this an extremely interesting observation: That caregiver burnout is not depression, although, admittedly, it can, and often does, lead to depression.
What is caregiver burnout like when it isn't accompanied by depression? Well, it's much easier to delineate the anger, frustration and emotional exhaustion that fuel caregiver burnout. Caregiver burnout is, as well, a lot more active and a lot less helpless and hopeless when it's not accompanied by depression. It's enlightening to know this.
Before medicating myself with St. John's Wort to take the depressive edge off my current life experience, I, frankly, thought caregiver burnout was a depressive state. I thought that the psuedo fugue state I previously experienced, which often led to a sort of physical paralysis in which I simply couldn't find the energy to do much of anything except those things that absolutely had to be done, was caregiver burnout. It's not.
Over the last few weeks of this episode of caregiver burnout I've been unusually active, mentally, emotionally and physically. My desire and willingness to involve myself in a variety of activities and considerations that have nothing to do with caregiving has surprised me. My dreams (yes, I'm dreaming again, or, I guess I should say, I'm remembering my dreams, again) have been unusual in that they haven't been suffocating, even as they tend to linger over some of the same ground my previous caregiver burnout dreams traveled. I am much more willing, as well, to avoid, without guilt, as many classic caregiver activities as I can, and, as it turns out, I'm able to do this. I compare it to being able to settle into the eye of the storm instead of remaining in the tempest to be whipped about by the winds and rain. I'm still in a storm state, but I'm not wreaking havoc on myself or my environment. It's refreshing to know that there is a place in which I can take a vacation even as I can't take a vacation.
I'll probably cover more of this later, when I'm ready to fully hoist myself back into the caregiving "saddle again", but that may not be for a few more days. Why, though, you may be asking, am I pleased that caregiver burnout can't be alleviated (yet, anyway) by a pill or supplement? Because it shouldn't be. Because it's a societal condition, rather like slavery, that should be addressed through our living arrangements and attitudes toward life, work, caring, and the value of individual humans within the collective of humanity. Because if we figure out a way to diminish caregiver burnout and its attendant anger, frustration and emotional exhaustion with a pill or with "happy talk" (which we continue to try but, thank the gods, at which we haven't yet been successful), we will also have figured out a way to sap even more dignity and stature from those of us who find ourselves in caregiving circumstances.
The anger, frustration and emotional exhaustion, I've discovered, are always there when one is caregiving. Always. Burnout happens when they rise to the top, refusing to be ignored. Depression keeps the caregiver from remembering (as caregivers tend to know when they aren't burnt out) that anger, frustration and emotional exhaustion are inherent in caregiver circumstances at this time and in this society. Depression takes these states and turns them inward, into fornlorn, illegitimate guilt. We need to guard against this.
Thus, I am now prepared to say, treat the depression, definitely, but don't touch the anger, the frustration and the emotional exhaustion, let's continue to allow these to smolder and occasionally flame, until we in this society are prepared to face them down and come up with solutions that will dignify each of us and defend all of us from the current devastating indignity of what has become the caregiver's plight.
