catalyst for Gary Glazner’s Poetry Project, a global outreach that encourages communicating through poetry.
For some people, the spark comes through music; others are moved by storytelling, theater, dance, movement, cooking, technology, art, or gardening. This book shows you simple ways to use these art forms to relate to people who are living with dementia.
Today, thousands of people living with dementia are waking up their creative spirits through music.
“You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star.” —Friedrich Nietzsche
The demands on your time are legion. Your stresses are mountains, and your periods of calm and solitude are as rare as snow leopards. When people encourage you to try various activities to connect with a person living with dementia, you may think, Why bother? She won’t remember anyway. She won’t like it or won’t agree to participate. Besides, I don’t have time, I’m worn out, and I’m not creative.
Yet, there are many reasons to pursue creative connections. The experts I interviewed for this book believe imaginative activities boost energy and increase the ways to stay connected and stimulated. These interactions can also add purpose to your lives.
“Meaningful activities have to be as big a priority as medicine, bathing, and meal times.”
Marie Marley, PhD, former care partner and coauthor (with neurologist Daniel C. Potts, MD, FAAN) of Finding Joy in Alzheimer’s: New Hope for Caregivers, has experienced going beyond resistance. Marie’s beloved partner Ed was a devotee of classical music. When he developed dementia, friends suggested Marie and Ed listen to symphonic recordings together. But that sounded boring to Marie, and for weeks she resisted the recommendation. Then one day, when conversation with Ed wasn’t working, she put on some Mozart. Ed instantly began moving with the music. Knowing how Ed loved a flamboyant conductor, Marie waved her arms, tossed her head, and jumped up and down, urging the invisible orchestra to play its heart out. Ed was thrilled. Afterward he told her, “That was really beautiful.”
“Once I overcame my resistance, I intuitively knew I should emulate a conductor.” Marie says. “Listening to music became a meaningful way to spend time together.”
Later, Marie hired a violinist who arrived, suited up in a tuxedo, to play a special concert for Ed.
“Ed loved the experience,” Marie says. “I knew he wouldn’t remember it, but you have to live in the moment. Research shows that even if people don’t remember, their joy and happiness can linger on.”
Marie learned to encourage Ed to try new things and was surprised when he enjoyed pursuits he would never have considered in earlier life. She also learned to try something different if an idea didn’t seem to be working.
“When you find activities you like, it’s great for both of you,” Marie says.
Author Mara Botonis agrees: “Meaningful activities have to be as big a priority as medicine, bathing, and meal times.”
“The project might not look like it is going as planned, but to your partner it may feel simply marvelous!” —Carmen Mendieta
If you want to feel more connected to someone who’s living with dementia, if you want to add meaning to daily life and work, if you want a dash of inspiration and a long cool drink of hope, then you’ll enjoy exploring this book.
The experts I interviewed graciously shared real-life examples. I have changed the names of those living with dementia to protect their privacy. Also, to avoid excess wordiness, I will often refer to people living with dementia as “your partner.” Whether you are a family member, friend, or a healthcare professional, you’ll appreciate partnering for these creative projects and activities.
I’ve divided the book into topics. Each segment reveals the benefits and offers the reader succinct how-tos in the form of Creative Sparks. These activities are participatory and adaptable for people of varying physical and mental abilities. You can enjoy them one-on-one or in a group, either at home or in a care community setting. Some of these ideas may seem easy, while others may appear more challenging. I encourage you to sample them all.
Take a New Look at the Yellow Crayon
Take a New Look at the Yellow Crayon
“To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong.” —Joseph Chilton Pierce
Before he leaves for his outing, my father beckons me out onto the ramshackle porch of the rental cottage. He solemnly hands me a tablet of thick, white artist’s paper and a pristine box of twenty-four crayons.
“I want you to get your mother interested in art again,” he says. “I believe she can still draw and paint, but she resists when I mention it. You’re the only one who can help her.”
My parents, my brother’s family, and my two daughters and I are on a family trip to Hot Springs, Arkansas. Mom has been struggling with forgetfulness and odd behaviors (or rather, Dad has been struggling with her forgetfulness and odd behaviors) for a couple of years. As long as Mom is near Dad, she seems happy enough, paddling around in the swimming pool, being near her young grandchildren, and reminiscing about her earlier life. But when Dad takes even a short break, Mom’s mouth tightens and her eyes search wildly. “Where is . . . ?” she asks, over and over again, twisting her hands.
Today, my father is joining my brother and the children for boating and tubing. Since Mom doesn’t like such heat and noise, I volunteer to spend the day with her.
I nod gravely when my father hands me the “art supplies.” I seriously believe I, Super Daughter and Muse, can fulfill my father’s request to reunite my mother and her passion for art.
I haven’t yet accepted Mom for who she is now. I’m still grieving the loss of the mom I’ve always known, and I earnestly believe that the best possible idea is to return her to the artist, mother, wife, and grandmother she used to be.
That afternoon, shortly after Dad leaves, I lure Mom to the small Formica kitchen table with coffee and chocolate chip cookies.
“Where is . . . ?” Mom asks, knotting together her fingers.
“He’s out with Dan and the kids. They’re going boating,” I tell her. “He won’t be gone too long.”
Mom stares at me accusingly.
