Making ice

While it can be difficult to navigate his ever changing reality, the day-to-day details of care-taking some with cognitive decline can be mundane. Routine is important, oh so important. I’m convinced that routine is one of those tenuous bridges that crosses the abyss, connect our reality with theirs. Without that particular bridge, it’s hard to reach out and anchor them, to remind them who they are.

In any case, the other day -as per routine- I was making ice. Mum and I use ice relatively regularly, so twice a week Apa and I make it. At one point, I’m filling the moulds with water. He looks at me and says I’m doing it wrong.

Trying to contain my impatience (I had a long day editing my thesis), I barely choked back a snap. I asked him how? How does one make ice?

He looks over his glasses and simply says that in order to make true ice, one is not to use water, but rather wine.

I really don’t know whether it was dementia or not, but on that particular point, I whole heartedly agreed.

No, I didn’t make ice with wine. I drank it instead…


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