Appreciating what you have.
KT53
South WestPosts: 6,971
I was in the front garden this morning when an elderly lady asked me where No151 was. We live at 53 (hence my userid). When I told her where it was her face dropped, and she asked where the nearest bus stop was. That is also a long walk and I could see she was getting stressed. I offered to take her up to 151 and she said she just wanted to look at it because she had lived there 30 years ago. We have been in our house longer than that which is relevant to what happened next.
I stopped outside 151 and she said "Yes, that's the number but the house didn't look anything like that when I lived there". I know the houses were built in the 1950's so alarm bells started ringing loud in my head, even more so when she asked if I could drop her at the bus stop as she could get home from there. I asked where she lives now in order to drop her at the correct stop, and she gave 151 as her address but was insistent that it was in the next suburb out of town. The road name doesn't exist there, and there is nothing even similar.
I then decided the best course of action was to take her to our local police station, and on the way there she was pointing out all the road names and saying they are the same as where she lives. At this point she still thought I was taking her to the bus stop and said she'll just ask the driver to drop her at ****, (the road we were in). About the only thing she said which actually made sense was "Oh dear, my husband will go mad if he knows this has happened again", so a moment of clarity in a sadly very befuddled brain.
I finally called in to the police station and they took her into the office and have hopefully found out where she actually lives.
I was feeling sore, stiff and frustrated in the garden because I can't get on with things properly because of my duff knees and hip. By comparison I have no problems at all.
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Some while ago I took my mother to visit the house we moved out of in the late 1950s. I knocked on the door to ask if the owner minded if we took a couple of pictures of the outside of the house, explaining that it was our family home in the 1950s. “Yeah, fine,” said the owner and promptly shut the door. If it had been me, I would have loved to learned about the house and the neighbourhood over half a century ago.
By contrast, we had an Australian visitor to our village looking in the church graveyard for the tombstones of some ancestors. He was directed my way (I have written a book on our village history) and we had a long chat and went back to the church to find the gravestones. I then took him to visit a couple of the residents who have strong ancestral connections in the village. I introduced Tom to Betty and over a cup of tea and biscuits - he loved such archetypal hospitality - they discovered not only did they have ancestors in common, they were actually first cousins once removed. Neither was aware of the other’s existence. They’re still in touch with one another today.
The entry door onto the wards was usually unlocked (a locked door could be construed as imprisonment and required special permission) but there was a series of locks which had to be opened in a certain way. Everybody, including relatives, who needed to could come and go without any problems but the lock sequence was too complicated for most of the patients to work out or remember.
One day I was working in the office when there was a knock at the door. Chap in his sixties wearing a work jacket and trousers and carrying a work bag. He said "I'm all done now - would you mind letting me out please?"
I said "Oh I didn't realise we were having any work done today - what was it?"
"The bathroom taps - but they're sorted now"
Then he started chatting about the weather and how he did a lot of work here, how nice the staff were etc etc. All a normal everyday conversation but I still thought it was strange I didn't know there was a workman on site.
Checked with a nurse - "Oh that's our 'Joe'. He was a plumber and he thinks he's doing a job here. Spends all day asking people to let him out."
He was very convincing and on good days seemed very 'normal' - but sadly his Alzheimers was quite advanced. Apparently he was let out a few times by well meaning but unsuspecting visitors and members of staff.
Very sad - he seemed such a lovely chap.
I hope some kind people will be around when or if we get to that stage in life.
The family were extremely wealthy had gardeners, house staff and a number of chauffeur's but the old lady would always insist on driving herself and would often get lost then two of the chauffeur's would have to go and get her to bring her home.
It eventually stopped when apparently on one shopping trip she ended up in North Wales.
"You don't stop gardening because you get old, you get old because you stop gardening." - The Hampshire Hog