A Well Earned Patina and Comfort In The Familiar

Like a moth to a flame, I'm drawn to rusty metal.  Bright, shiny, and new is nice; but the character and history of a rich patina thrill me to no end.  I suppose that the same is true of the relationships in my life.  Those that stand the test of time hold a special place in my heart.

Since my Mother received her diagnosis of Lewy Body Dementia last year, her world has been shrinking.  At first our time was filled with physical therapy, doctor's appointments, church, store visits, and her weekly hair styling.  She seemed to thrive on the activity and the social nature of these trips, and we even discussed enrolling her in several programs at our local senior center.

Then, slowly, things shifted.  One by one her activities dropped away, and her steady stream of excuses for not leaving the house grew.  I know that it's a symptom of her disease.  She now thrives on routine.  A rigid schedule helps; but it's still sad to see.  Those activities and people who used to bring pleasure are no longer familiar, and they cause her anxiety to rise. 

Her visits with Robin at Salon 165 are now her one constant outside of our home.  She loves Robin, and today as we arrived for her appointment, I heard her greet her twice by name.  This isn't always the case, and it made my day.

Salon 165 is located in a sweet cottage on Rhode Island Avenue in Downtown Southern Pines.  We always park next to the ramp at the side of the building.  This shed stands in the neighbor's backyard.  It's identical to the first one that my Dad built at our house on Highgrove Road.  He was so proud of that shed, and this one brings a smile to my face every time that I see it.

I can still feel the way that he door stuck;
I can still hear the screech of metal on metal;
and I can still smell the mix of lawn clippings and gasoline.
There is comfort in the familiar.


Some days that's enough.