I Used to Dread Mondays

I Used to Dread Mondays.

Mondays are for learning. Today there were new faces at the Feet to the Fire Writers' Workshops table, a mixed bunch of people from different "levels" of CCRC - the Continuing Care Retirement Community - joined together for the common goal of sharing the stories they'd written. I struggle sometimes to make sure that our program works for people on "all levels" - who are challenged with memory loss (Alzheimer's dementia) to fine motor skills (stroke and Parkinson's...being able to hold a pen, for example) to those who are still very independent, yet aging nonetheless. What happens on Mondays is nothing short of human grace because what I see are PEOPLE. No separation, despite the clearly demarcated levels of care in their communities. They rise to the occasion of interacting and engaging with each other, generously. They help each other in the door, they remind each other what the prompts are when I am gone. They look out for each other. Their laughter bounces across the table, no matter their cognitive challenges. They connect and understand and reminisce as if they are a family gathered at Sunday dinner. They are friends. The stories are lively and detailed and universal. One woman shared a story about her recent trip to Santa Fe, with pictures of the brightly-colored Native American woven rugs and that sparked a clear memory for a gentleman with Alzheimer's. He sat across the table and came alive. He offered to her that he'd lived exactly where she'd travelled to and vowed to write a companion story for next week! Another woman, wheelchair bound, wrote a compelling piece about being disenfranchised by her parents as a teenager, though not a dear aunt, who survived the 1937 flood...the clear image of a woman sitting atop her roof in West Louisville, clutching a chicken, her last living possession. The nodding heads among the group served to encircle everyone. There are people who have trouble hearing. They lean in, transfixed. There are people who tremble with Parkinson's. They lean in. To join. There are shared pens, gifts of help with chairs and cups of water for struggling voices and oh, the smiles. There are smiles. Maya Angelou said, “Words are things. You must be careful, careful about calling people out of their names, using racial pejoratives and sexual pejoratives and all that ignorance. Don’t do that. Some day we’ll be able to measure the power of words. I think they are things. They get on the walls. They get in your wallpaper. They get in your rugs, in your upholstery, and your clothes, and finally in to you.”

I am a lucky soul to have Mondays. And words. ??