Magic Moments

Which memory in life most matters to you?

In what is dementia awareness week, the Alzheimer’s research charity BRACE is asking people to record a memory that’s important to them.

I had a long hard think. How to choose? Something recent. Something from childhood. Something amusing. Something poignant. Which one of my memories best says who I am? Which one would best help raise awareness?

It was a multiple choice question with a multitude of different possible answers.

Then a few days ago I set off for a run on what was a glorious spring morning, full of sunshine and clear blue skies.

Part of the route was across open heathland, a rolling common of gorse, ferns and heather, bordered by woodland. The bluebells were at their best, a dense carpet of colour, broken only by a few narrow winding paths.

As I jogged along lost in thought and enjoying this tranquil unspoilt scene, a herd of wild ponies appeared, walking in single file – bays and chestnuts, a single grey. I stopped to watch as they made their way, silent and unconcerned, tails swishing, in the dappled sunlight.

There wasn’t another soul around to witness their gentle progress – nature in its raw untamed beauty.

It cost me nothing, yet was priceless.

Unexpected. Enchanting.

The magic moments in life are the memories I treasure most.

 

Where You’ll Find Me Still

Copyright – Jo Earlam. A bit of poetry this week in memory of my mum’s favourite skewbald Arab cross, Apache, who was born on 16th May 1973. She had him from a foal to when he died in January 1993. He’d fallen very ill and we knew he had to be put down. The night before the vet was due to arrive, as I slept in a room that adjoined Apache’s stable, this poem just came into my head. I felt then, and still do all these years later, that he somehow communicated his thoughts through the wall between us. Hope you enjoy reading it.

 

Don’t grieve for me, for I’m running free,

Far across the moors,

With the eternal hunt and eternal hounds,

My spirit knows no bounds.

 

My hooves are the wind as it whispers through the trees,

And when it’s calm I’m quietly grazing,

The patter of the rain – drip-drop, drip-drop,

That’s me trotting down the road – clip-clop, clip-clop.

 

A hot summer’s day, and I’m a shadow in the shade,

No longer bothered by those flies.

Whilst in the autumn leaves, see the colour of my coat,

Right there, before your eyes.

In winter you’ll find my long white mane

A part of each new frosty morn,

And in the spring hear the birds call out my name

In a chorus of song at dawn.

 

You see I’m a part of the air now,

The very breeze as it blows,

The sun’s rays that warm you,

And the river that flows.

 

And I’ll never leave you, in your pastures I’ll stay,

Just quietly grazing – and wait till the day.

The day when you join me, and we ride once again,

Through the hills and the valleys,

Over mountain and plain.

 

We’ll ride on together, dear mum, you and I,

And I’ll be with you always – so this isn’t goodbye.

It’s merely farewell, till we meet once again.

 

In the meantime you’ll find me –

In the sun,

In the trees,

In the wind,

In the rain.

 

Weighty matters

Twenty-five years ago this very month – that’s May 1989 to save you doing the maths – I signed up to Weight Watchers.

Throughout my mid to late teens and early twenties I’d struggled to keep the pounds off, trying various diets, but never quite succeeding at maintaining a constant weight I was happy with.

Then….

I still have my Weight Watchers card – it tells me that I tipped the scales at 12 stone 9lbs, and it charts my progress over the next six months in reaching 10 stone 2lbs.

Friends commented on the improved difference, and I certainly felt better in myself about the way I looked and the clothes I could choose to wear.

But it wasn’t until some little while later when I went on a camping trip that I realised the full impact of having lost 35lbs. I was walking 100 miles in a week and my rucksack weighed just short of 40lbs. Oh boy! The sheer effort of carrying that load. I incorporated a bag stop every hour, just to ease the strain.

I was reminded of the difference weight can make, when running the North Dorset Villages Marathon this weekend. I ran it with a 12lbs backpack, in training for an event next month, when I need to carry my own supplies.

That 12lbs really slowed me down, made me heavy on my feet, and, for the last few miles, felt like quite a burden. But in a strange way, it was good as well, to know that I could run with this extra load, still get round and not be worn down by it.

I was aware also, of carrying weight on my mind – my on-going concerns about my husband John’s recovery from his stroke, and my Dad’s worsening dementia. Dad was in the back seat of the car a few days ago, and struggled desperately to get out, not making the connection that it was the seat belt that was holding him in. I’d been distracted by trying to sort out two lively dogs, so it was a few moments before I realised and un-clipped it for him.

I was struck by the thought that the answers that seem clear – eat less, lose weight…….undo seat belt, get out of car – are not always obvious.

….and now.

I know how hard I’d struggled with losing weight before finding Weight Watchers.

Something about the very focussed way of literally watching each week what you weigh, seeing it come up on the scales, seeing the pound and stone signs diminish, learning about diet and healthy eating……something about all of that has stuck with me, and I’ve managed to keep within a few pounds of my goal weight ever since.

You can be whatever weight you choose…..unfortunately dementia doesn’t come with many options.

If only there was a programme, as effective, to keep your memory and cognitive ability in shape. Wow – we’d all be signed up, wouldn’t we.

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