I stand at our meeting place waiting for Mom and her caregiver Sahlee and watch people walking down the path towards me. From far away, the people look tiny, and with my fuzzy focus, I can’t determine whether Mom is among them. Will I recognize them right away? What will give them away from this distance? Will it be Mom’s slow, sloping gait? The faded pink of her jacket? Maybe the white hat she always wears. Perhaps they’ll walk here from a different direction, come upon me w

We’ve been watching National Geographic’s Emmy-nominated series, “Brain Games.” With interactive games and hidden cameras, this show reveals how brains process information related to topics like stress, addiction, competition, food, trust and language. And, of course, memory. One episode on memory, “Remember This,” starts out by stating that memory is faulty. Almost immediately, we become witnesses to—along with about 20 other unsuspecting participants in the film—a mugging i

It’s official! My parents now own a property just down the lane from me. Though we only live 90 minutes apart by car (or 2½ hours by public transport), even that distance is sometimes too much. How often I’ve wished I could pop in for a short song and dance with Mom, stop by to help out, do their shopping, or give my dad some alone time. They won’t be moving right away. The house purchase is to help us plan ahead. We’ve hired a contractor to make some internal changes, includ

I grew up singing a song called, “Three Young Ladies Locked in the Lavatory,” a whimsical romp about, well, three young ladies who got stuck in the bathroom, “and nobody knew they were there.” Each verse is bursting with risqué British humor. Like this one: The first one her name was Elizabeth Humfries, she only stopped by to make herself comfy She tried to get up but could not get her bum free. And nobody knew she was there. Mom was the culprit. She taught us all manner of s

I knew they’d be hanging there, knew I’d have to share the paintings with others. Yet they still caught me by surprise. It’s my daughter’s last week in high school. As part of her graduation, Liora presented her 12th grade final art project. Rich in scope and imagination, the project focuses on Mom’s Alzheimer’s. Seven water colors, arrayed chronologically, recreate scenes from Mom’s life from her childhood to her engagement and marriage; to her motherhood; playing with her g

It was the advertisement for the red toilet seat that caught my attention. What’s with that, I wondered, and why is it appearing on an Alzheimer’s website alongside red plates, red utensils, red handrails, red…well, you name it. Our eyes are expert at seeing red. Of the 6 to 7 million cones, the tiny cells in the retina that respond to light, about 64 percent of them respond most strongly to red light, while about a third are set off the most by green light, and another 2 per

I stole a shirt from my mom’s drawer. Or maybe I borrowed it permanently. Does the nuance in the confession ameliorate my guilt? It happened so innocently. As we were getting ready to leave the house, Daddy noticed that Mom was wearing two skirts. “How did that happen?” Mom wondered. “They must have been stuck together,” I suggested, trying to spin it positively. “Yesterday you had on two shirts,” Daddy said, chuckling. “Maybe you’re balancing the scales today.” Mom laughed t

Post-Independence Humus Situation Here’s the perennial question: What do you do with your left-over humus after Israel’s Independence Day? If you are lucky enough to have a friend named Ken who loves to cook and share his creations, you make Ken’s amazing Meat and Humus. Our family has a tradition of getting together with our University of Maryland friends who have also chosen to live in Israel. Even my parents have joined in some years (though this year, Daddy decided to sta