First Day

On Wednesday I went to Thornton Hall for my first day sitting with the old people. The Garden residents are an Alzheimer's population, with a median age of 75. One woman, Rite, short for Magarite, sat next to me and really listened, focused, reacted in real time, sang and recalled songs. But Sam my guide told me later she likely wouldn't remember any of it. Most of the others were near catatonic, though one woman, I think her name is June and missing a few front teeth, was happily chatting inanely as a madwoman before being taken away to her appointment at the beauty parlor.

Earlier that morning I found the Topsham Public Library, a new building with enough novels and a lot of light and picked three selections to bring, hopeful but uncertain. An Andy Rooney diatriabe, perhaps a little cliched but germaine, seemed like an ice-breaking opener. I found one that was self-evidently obervant, in his fashion, but that I liked; it was about names. Next, I had already decided I would read The Lady of Shalott. Whether they liked it or not. I like to read this poem aloud and for once I had a captive audience. I thought if nothing else the rhythm and cadence would be pleasant music for their ears and I got to use my very important poetry voice. I concluded with a Time Life collection of photography from the 1940s and 50s. Nostalgia and imagination, photographs that are literal but open to interpretation. We read about the rise of adolescent culture during World War II, teen dance and fashion trends. Some of them smiled.

I felt very comfortable from the beginning. Much like when I was so anxious to teach my first Nia class and then was completely in the moment and at ease during the hour, I was a little trepidacious that morning but it all cleared and was serene as soon as I started introducing myself. What luck! And what a revelation. It was so nice, even though it was frightening, and desperately sad and unbelievable what can become of an individual life and her once so strong brain. A sort of Zen exercise - immediately over and gone as soon as I'm done reading the words, if not sooner. It happened, but is fleeting, and when I am gone I've disappeared though the sound may linger. Does it resonate, or reverberate, or disappear into the ether altogether? I hope they experience a flash of peace or joy or relaxation. Maybe it's nothing like that at all.