Tag Archives: dementia

The doors that look out in my backyard are what I believe they call French doors. Don’t know why. The point is they are full-size, double doors that are all glass. This morning it is a bright July day, the lawns are greenish but dry, and the trees are a deep, lush green. Summer in Maine. The sun warms the morning air, it will be another hot one, the slightest breeze barely makes it any cooler. Harpswell Bay is a brief walk from here down a sylvan road. There are some tangled woods, some birch, balsam, and other firs that cover my view. But this morning the gulls fly over and their calls make it clear that the Bay is nearby. My six-year-old granddaughter and her dog flash past my doors, so of course, I open the doors and greet them. I’m a sucker for a grandchild and her dog.

I confess here that I never got to 312.2 (Part Two), and in attempting to edit 312.2 (Part One) I accidentally deleted it. So…after an agonizing attempt to fix the problem I decided to just eliminate it and start with a blog draft that I had on hold. It’s more current. Now that you are completely confused I suggest you forget that whole confession. Not important. Not that any of this is important, but you know what I mean.

Brinley is my six-year-old granddaughter. She has privileged access to my apartment and I welcome her visits. One of the things she likes to do is read. She also likes to climb; do cartwheels; jump on my bed (I have to be alert to catch her now and then); dance; have pillow fights; do yoga, (cracks me up); tease for snacks, jump from the sofa to the chairs, and more recently play checkers, (she plays well, but squirms after a few minutes). She informed me that she wants to learn chess. I suggested we learn checkers first. She’s also impatient.

We have conversations. She likes to ask questions. Lately, she has shown an interest in the universe. Lots of questions about that! I suggest she play her piano, she asks about how high is the sky, I suggest she play her piano (her mom’s a pianist and teacher, and Brin is following in her mom’s footsteps) I cave in, and attempt to answer her questions. Next time she broaches the topic I’m going to teach her how to use Google. The problem is she isn’t ready to read at that level so I’m going to be reading it to her. Perhaps I’ll learn about the universe in the process. My point here is first, how much I love this child’s inquiring mind and also how she brightens my days.

Recently, during one of her reflective moments (moments: it doesn’t last longer than that), she was reflecting on her reading and asked me about a word. I don’t recall the word, but she was curious (oh yes, she’s curious) about how the letters make up a word. This was a topic as a writer, that I thought I could elaborate on and take the discussion as a lead-in to a talk about reading. She likes books and is eager to read. So…we, or I, started to sound out some words, she was genuinely engaged (this only encouraged me more on the topic). Somewhere around a discussion about the verb to be, (kidding) I looked over at her eyes (glassed over by now) and asked her if I was keeping her up. (Old grandpa is corny). She said, almost politely, “Nope. But I just wanted to know about the sounds that letters make.”

I love writing and I love reading. But It occurred to me that she knew exactly what she needed and it was a moment I will not forget. Speaking is about the sound that letters make. Reading is what letters sound like in our head. I need to keep that feeling I had at that moment. I’ve not been writing much lately.

Writing is the sound that letters make. A lesson. A simple truth from a six-year-old’s session with grandpa.

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