Lay Down Your Weapons and Lie on the Couch #Essay

In my new novel, The Red Dress, my main character’s mother used to be a librarian before she developed Alzheimer’s and ended up in a nursing home. Now, she’s fond of correcting everyone’s grammar. When aides ask her if she’s ready to lay down, she says, “No, I want to lie down.”

When I was my late husband’s caregiver after he suffered two strokes, we would often have a similar conversation. He would say, “Can I lay down?”

I’d say, “No, I will lay you down. You can lie down, but you cannot lay down.” He’d only laugh, and the next time he was ready for a nap, the conversation would be repeated. He wasn’t losing his memory. He just loved getting my goat by using incorrect grammar. You can read more of our story in My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds.

The use of “lay” and “Lie” can be confusing. So, here’s one way to look at it. You can lay down your weapons, but if you want to take a nap, you need to lie on the couch.

 

! The Red Dress

Copyright July 2019 by DLD Books

Front cover contains: young, dark-haired woman in red dress holding flowers

When Eve went to her high school senior prom, she wore a red dress that her mother had made for her. That night, after dancing with the boy of her dreams, she caught him in the act with her best friend. Months later, Eve, a freshman in college, is bullied into giving the dress to her roommate. After her mother finds out, their relationship is never the same again.

Twenty-five years later, Eve, a bestselling author, is happily married with three children. Although her mother suffers from dementia, she still remembers, and Eve still harbors the guilt for giving the dress away. When she receives a Facebook friend request from her old college roommate and an invitation to her twenty-five-year high school class reunion, then meets her former best friend by chance, she must confront the past in order to face the future.

***

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WebsiteImage contains: Abbie, smiling.

I Want to Spend My Lifetime Loving You #Monday Musical Memories

Image contains: Abbie, smiling.

In February of 2005, a month after my late husband Bill, living in Fowler, Colorado, proposed to me, living here in Sheridan, Wyoming, he sent me a care package. This included, among the obligatory chocolates and other items, a cassette of love songs he’d downloaded from the Internet. This song was one of them.

I was amazed that a man wanted to spend his lifetime loving me. After Bill suffered his first stroke, the song inspired me to write a poem, which appears at the end of My Ideal Partner. You’ll find it below the video link and can click on the title to hear me read it.

This song would be easy for me to sing. But even now, almost seven years after his death, I tear up when I hear it. So, I’m not even going to try. But I think you’ll be moved, as I was, by this stunning duet performance. Although Bill is no longer with me, I’ll spend the rest of my life loving him. By the way, My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds is still available free from Smashwords through Wednesday.

 

I WANT TO SPEND MY LIFETIME LOVING YOU – TINA ARENA DUET WITH MARC ANTHONY (YouTube)

THE RISE AND FALL OF MY ZORRO

 

With cape, hat, mask, rapier,
he rode out of the darkness.
“Take my hand. Dance with me,” he said,
“I want to spend my lifetime loving you,”
but happily–ever–after was not to be.
My hero fell and rose many times.
I felt the glory
until he fell for the last time.
Where there’s love, life begins again.
When life dies, love goes on.

 

***

How about you? Did your spouse have to convince you to marry? If you were the one proposing, how did you convince your spouse to marry you?

 

My Books

 

New! The Red Dress: A Novel

Front cover contains: young, dark-haired woman in red dress holding flowers

When Eve went to her high school senior prom, she wore a red dress that her mother had made for her. That night, after dancing with the boy of her dreams, she caught him in the act with her best friend. Months later, Eve, a freshman in college, is bullied into giving the dress to her roommate. After her mother finds out, their relationship is never the same again.

Twenty-five years later, Eve, a bestselling author, is happily married with three children. Although her mother suffers from dementia, she still remembers, and Eve still harbors the guilt for giving the dress away. When she receives a Facebook friend request from her old college roommate and an invitation to her twenty-five-year high school class reunion, then meets her former best friend by chance, she must confront the past in order to face the future.

 

My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds

Click to purchase My Ideal Partner from Smashwords absolutely free!

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

How to Build a better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

We Shall Overcome

My Other Links

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The Defiant Mind #Thursday Book Feature

Image contains: Abbie, smiling.

The Defiant Mind: Living Inside a Stroke

by Ron Smith

Copyright 2016.

 

In this memoir, Canadian author and publisher Ron Smith describes what it was like for him to have and recover from a stroke. He starts by describing, in great detail, the day he had his stroke in November of 2012. He then discusses his hospitalization and recovery: how he re-learned to eat, walk, and perform other personal care tasks and how he developed friendships with his roommates and other patients in the hospital.

Because of his determination and by some miraculous twist of fate, he was able to go home for Christmas that year. He describes the period After that when he went through several more months of outpatient rehabilitation, then tried other treatments such as acupuncture and massage therapy.

Throughout the book, he describes the love and support from his wife and other family and friends he received during his recovery. He explains how not being able to eat right after the stroke triggered memories of a trip to Europe fifty years earlier when he nearly starved to death. He shares other memories brought on by his experiences after the stroke. He quotes other sources of information about strokes and provides a bibliography at the end of the book.

Having been a caregiver to my late husband Bill, who suffered two strokes, I agree with many of the points made in this book, including the fact that the system often gives up on stroke victims too soon. In Mr. Smith’s case, he only had about six months of rehabilitation before he was left to fend for himself. With Bill, therapists claimed he’d reached a plateau two months after his first stroke. When I brought him home, we tried two outpatient facilities. They both gave up on him after a few months. I don’t know about Canada, but part of the problem here in the U.S. is that Medicare and other insurance programs don’t cover therapy if progress isn’t being shown. There’s no coverage for therapy to maintain the strength you have once you reach a plateau. So, unless you can afford $70.00 or more per session, you’re out of luck.

I wish Ron Smith’s book had been around when Bill was alive. Maybe if Bill had read it, he would have been inspired to write about his own experiences, with my help, of course. I’d suggested it to him, but he hadn’t been interested. So, after he passed, I wrote My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds, which is available from Smashwords free until the end of the month. I hope those who read both books will be encouraged, if they’ve suffered a stroke, or if they haven’t,  be persuaded to do all they can to prevent one. As Bill once said, strokes are no fun.

 

My Books

 

New: The Red Dress: A Novel

Front cover contains: young, dark-haired woman in red dress holding flowers

When Eve went to her high school senior prom, she wore a red dress that her mother had made for her. That night, after dancing with the boy of her dreams, she caught him in the act with her best friend. Months later, Eve, a freshman in college, is bullied into giving the dress to her roommate. After her mother finds out, their relationship is never the same again.

Twenty-five years later, Eve, a bestselling author, is happily married with three children. Although her mother suffers from dementia, she still remembers, and Eve still harbors the guilt for giving the dress away. When she receives a Facebook friend request from her old college roommate and an invitation to her twenty-five-year high school class reunion, then meets her former best friend by chance, she must confront the past in order to face the future.

 

My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds

Click to purchase My Ideal Partner from Smashwords absolutely free!

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

How to Build a better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

We Shall Overcome

My Other Links

Visit my website.

Like me on Facebook.

 

 

French Silk Pie (Fiction)

Image contains: Abbie, smiling.I glanced up from my dessert and saw him. He was sitting at the next table, also alone, also eating French silk pie. Our eyes met. He stood, picked up his plate, and carried it to my table. Sitting down across from me, he asked, “You like French silk pie too?”

“Yes,” I answered, surprised by his boldness.

“You come here often?”

“Yes,” I said.

We stared at each other for a moment. Then, I picked up my fork and started eating again. Being a happily married woman, the last thing I needed was to be distracted by another man. Couldn’t he see the wedding ring on my left hand?

Finally, he extended his hand. “I’m Jack Baker.”

With an inward sigh of resignation, I put down my fork and took his hand. “I’m Jill Tanner.”

“Jack and Jill, how about that? I was transferred here a couple of weeks ago. I work at the Veterans Administration Hospital.”

“My husband was at the VA for a few days after his stroke. We weren’t too impressed with his care. We thought he’d be better off in a nursing home.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you. Our nursing department has been short-staffed. I’m the volunteer coordinator, and I’m trying to recruit more people to help, but there isn’t much they can do unless they’re certified. It would be nice to get people who could fill patients’ water pitchers and do other tasks that don’t require certification. I already have a woman who’s blind and plays the guitar and sings. Those old guys really like that.”
“Linda was one of the few things we liked about that place. She has such a sweet voice. She knows all those old songs the men like, and she’s so good with them. Fortunately, she also volunteers at Fernwood Manor, so my husband can still listen to her music.”

“How badly has he been effected by the stroke?”

I sighed. “He can’t use his left arm or leg, and his speech is somewhat affected. His mind is still pretty good, but he might have lost some short-term memory. The therapists at the nursing home have been great, but the neurologist says there’s no telling if or when he’ll walk again.”

Jack reached across the table and took my hand. “I’m sorry. How long ago did this happen?”

I dislodged my hand and picked up my fork again. “A few weeks ago,” I answered.

“You look awfully young. How old is your husband?”

“I’m forty-six, and my husband’s sixty-four.”

He stared at me in amazement. “You don’t look a day over twenty.”

“I know,” I said, and I smiled in spite of myself. “but when I’m sixty-six, it’ll be a blessing.”

“There’s quite an age difference between you and your husband.”

“Yeah, when Don’s mother saw a picture of me, she accused him of robbing the cradle.”

He laughed. “How did you two meet?”

“I met him at a writers’ conference. I write romances, and he writes science fiction mysteries. I don’t like mysteries of any kind, and he doesn’t care for romances, but somehow, we hit it off. We both like to write, and that’s what matters.”

He looked thoughtful. “Wait a minute. Your husband is Don Tanner?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I love his stuff! I bought a copy of his latest yesterday and started it last night. He just had a stroke?”

“I’m afraid so. Before it happened, he signed a contract for another book. I talked to his agent, and he said he would see if he could get an extension, but I don’t know…”

As the stress of the past few weeks settled over me, I found myself looking deep into his blue eyes. After a moment of silence, he said, “Maybe I could be his ghost writer.”

“Have you done any writing?”

“I’ve had a few stories and poems published, but with a forty-hour-a-week job, it’s hard to find the time. This could be a big break. I’ve read most of your husband’s books, and I know his style. If I could meet him and get some idea of the direction he wants to go with his next book, I could write it for him.”

“I’m not sure how the ghost writing business works. Besides, Don has always been very independent. I’m not sure he’d like the idea of someone else writing his work, even though he may not be able to write it himself.”

“Are you finished here?” asked the waitress, as she started to remove our plates.

“Yes,” I answered, anxious to end this conversation. “Could you please bring us our checks?”

“Actually, we’re both on one check,” he said.

The waitress hurried away before I could protest. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes I do. I’m one of Don Tanner’s biggest fans. I’m not going to let a stroke interfere with his career. I’ve made up my mind. I want to help him.”

The waitress returned, and after she left with his credit card, he said, “Why don’t you come over to my place, and we’ll talk about it some more? We could even go online and do some research on ghost writing.”

I looked at my watch. “It’s late. I really should see Don. He goes to sleep early, and I like to talk to him while he’s awake.”

“I understand, but this is important. If we could work something out tonight, we could both see Don tomorrow, and I could give him a proposal.”

The waitress appeared. As Jack signed the slip, I considered making a run for it, but I happened to glance into his eyes. He looked so sincere. “Okay,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll follow you to your place.”

He lived in a red brick building with four apartments, two upstairs and two on the ground floor. His was on the second floor and had a balcony plus a living room, two bedrooms, and a kitchen. After giving me the grand tour, he asked, “Can I get you a drink?”

“No thanks,” I answered. I wandered into one of the bedrooms which had been converted into an office. The shelves were lined with books, and I was reassured to see some of Don’s titles. I sat in an armchair next to Jack’s computer, hoping he would take the hint when he appeared with his drink.

My heart sank when he said, “It’s more comfortable in the living room.”

“I thought you wanted to research ghost writers.”

“We can do that later,” he said, as he approached me, extended his hand, and pulled me to my feet. “Come on. The night is still young.”

With trepidation, I allowed him to guide me into the living room where we sat side by side on the couch. We talked about this and that, as he drank glass after glass from a bottle of Scotch on a nearby coffee table. I tried several times to steer the conversation in the direction of our project and suggested we get started on the research, but he kept putting me off.

After the third drink, he set the glass down and put his arm around me. I shouldn’t have been surprised, I thought. “Excuse me, but I’m a happily married woman,” I said, trying to pull away.

He tightened his arm around me. ”I find that hard to believe. Your husband is partially paralyzed. He may never be able to walk, let alone write, and he’ll never be able to make love to you like I can.” He pulled me into an embrace.

With my free hand, I slapped him hard on the cheek. Startled, he released me, and I jumped to my feet. “You bastard! My husband may never be able to walk or write or have sex, but I still love him, and he loves me, and that’s all that matters.” I snatched my purse from a nearby chair and hurried through the kitchen and out the back door, slamming it behind me.

My legs were shaking, as I descended the steep wooden staircase to the parking lot. I expected to hear the door open and his running footsteps behind me, but the only sound was the faint chirping of crickets. When I reached the car, I climbed in and locked all doors and windows. I took several deep breaths. When I felt calm, I started the engine and glanced at my watch. It was late, but I had to see Don.

When I reached the nursing home, I was surprised to find the main entrance still unlocked. “Hi Jill, you’re a little late, aren’t you?” said Beverley, Don’s nurse, as I passed the desk.

“Yes, I got held up.”

“I’m sure Don’s still awake. In fact, Bernadette might still be with him, although I doubt it.”

I’d forgotten about Bernadette, Don’s speech therapist, but would she be here this late? Because she worked somewhere else during the day, she came early in the evening to work with Don and other residents. In her mid-twenties with long blonde hair and blue eyes, she was also a fan of Don’s books.

The door to his room was closed. Thinking Bernadette was gone and Don was asleep, I inched it open and stepped into the darkness, stopping short at the sounds of kissing and voices. “Oh Don, even though you only have one good arm and leg, you’re such a lover,” said Bernadette.

“Ummm, you’re so soft, so silky, so delicious, my French silk pie,” said Don in the same seductive voice he’d used with me. “If I could write with the same part of me I use for loving, my troubles would be over.”

“Don’t think about that now. Just love me some more,” said Bernadette, and I heard more kissing. In shock, I cried out and flung the door open wide, flooding the room with light from the hall that illuminated the naked bodies on the bed.

***

The above story was published in this year’s spring/summer issue of Magnets and Ladders, an online journal featuring work by authors with disabilities. It won an honorable mention in the magazine’s fiction contest. It also appeared last year on Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

 

My Books

 

My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

How to Build a better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

We Shall Overcome

My Other Links

Visit my website.

Like me on Facebook.

Open Book Blog Hop: Dropping the Mic’

Image contains: Abbie, smiling.

Thanks to Stevie Turner for inspiring this. In her post, she challenges bloggers to write about a time when they dropped the mic’. Dropping the mic’ means experiencing a moment of glory. There are several such moments in my life. One stands out and is mentioned in My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds.

When I published my first book, We Shall Overcome, my late husband Bill was confined to a wheelchair as a result of two strokes. I’d written the book several years earlier. Getting it ready for publication was a great way to escape from the stress of being a family caregiver.

One evening during the summer of 2007, I held my first book in my hands for the first time. Bill was sprawled in his recliner, as I removed one of the fifty author copies I’d ordered from the box. “Wow,” I said, as I gazed at the cover image I’d chosen, then turned it over to see my profile picture on the back.

“Let me see it,” said Bill.

He was totally blind, so of course he couldn’t see it, but he could hold it in his hands and share my pride and joy. I handed it to him and described the cover. Despite my limited vision, I could imagine the shit-eating grin that crossed his face when he said, “My wife, the published author.”

I held him. It didn’t matter that he would never walk again, that he could do little for himself and depended on me for everything. I had a man who loved me and a published book.

What about you? Can you think of a time when you dropped the mic’? Please tell me about it. I look forward to reading your stories either in the comment field or on your own blog with a pingback here.

 

My Books

 

My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

How to Build a better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

We Shall Overcome

My Other Links

Visit my website.

Like me on Facebook.

 

How Bill Got My Attention

Daily Inklings, a site providing prompts for bloggers, inspired this. In the post, bloggers are encouraged to write about how someone drew them into a conversation. In my case, the conversation wasn’t face to face.

On a Saturday evening in January of 2005, I was perusing the mail after a long day on the job at the nursing home where I worked. Among bills and junk, I found a braille letter from Bill Taylor, with whom I’d been corresponding for the past couple of years.

We’d communicated by email daily and phone occasionally, and he’d sent me cassettes of songs he’d downloaded from the Internet. He’d supported my writing endeavors by providing feedback on poems and stories I’d emailed him. Now, his words on the page jumped out at me. “Dear Abbie, I’m writing to ask for your hand in marriage.”

Stunned, I wondered how in the world I could marry this man. I’d only met him twice when my father and I drove from our home in Sheridan, Wyoming, to his home in Fowler, Colorado, on our way to visit relatives in New Mexico. I was under the impression he just wanted to be friends.

Because I worked in a nursing home, and his mother lived in one, we’d hit it off when we’d met a couple of years earlier through Newsreel, an audio magazine for people with blindness or low vision. We’d also discovered that we liked some of the same kinds of music and loved to read and that our favorite beverage was Dr. Pepper.

Did that mean I could just marry him? I was already in my mid-forties, and he was in his mid-sixties. We were both set in our ways. Could we make this work?

Long story short, six months later, I married him. He wanted to leave his home in Colorado, so we settled here in Wyoming.

Three months after our wedding, he suffered a stroke that paralyzed his left side. A year later, he suffered a second stroke, not as severe, but enough to hold him back so he never could walk. I cared for him at home until he passed in October of 2012. You can read our full story in My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds.

How about you? Can you think of a time when someone got your attention? Please tell me about it, either in the comment field or on your own blog with a pingback here. I look forward to hearing from you.

 

My Books

 

My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

How to Build a better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

We Shall Overcome

My Other Links

Visit my website.

Like me on Facebook.

 

Song Lyric Sunday: Bridge Over Troubled Water

According to newepicauthor, this week’s theme is “water under the bridge.” I have the perfect song, one of my favorites. It was on one of the first eight-track tapes I had as a kid.

During the seven years I was married to Bill before he died, he was my bridge over troubled water, even after he suffered his strokes. Whenever I was frightened, sad, angry, I would go to him. He would hold me, and although there wasn’t much else he could do, I felt everything would work out in the end, and it usually did. You can read more about us in My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds. I hope you’ve found someone who can be your bridge over troubled water.

Bridge over Troubled WaterSimon & Garfunkel

Lyrics Courtesy of Google

 

When you’re weary, feeling small
When tears are in your eyes, I’ll dry them all (all)
I’m on your side, oh, when times get rough
And friends just can’t be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
When you’re down and out
When you’re on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you (ooo)
I’ll take your part, oh, when darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Sail on silver girl
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
See how they shine
Oh, if you need a friend
I’m sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Songwriters: Paul Simon
Bridge over Troubled Water lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

 

My Books

 

My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

How to Build a better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

We Shall Overcome

My Other Links

Visit my website.

Like me on Facebook.