This is a very poignant entry... have you ever read any of Oliver Sacks' works? Not necessarily about Alzheimer's, but many cases of perception & expression that change because of some physical problem. One is "The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat."
It does bring closer to home that all our perceptions are waking dreams.
The poetry you shared also brought to mind the poetic or visual collaboration called an "Exquisite Corpse" -- the first person writes a line of poetry (or draws a head) and then the next person (without being able to see the writing or head) continues, and then finally someone finishes. And when the paper is unfolded... an Exquisite Corpse. I believe the game was begun by the Surrealists:
http://exquisitecorpse.com/
http:/anexquisitecorpse.net/
Anyway, the people chronicled in your post seem to be collaborating in a similar way... theoretically they are all looking at the same thing, but each is telling a different story... yet somehow we, the audience, manage to link them into a poetic whole.
thanks as always,
d

Hi Desmene -

You aren't the first to associate "Timeslips" to the parlor game. I didn't realize that it was called "Exquistite Corpse", or that is was a Surrealist invention. Probably the "Timeslips" folks had some hesitancy about calling a spade a spade.

It's so interesting that my powder room, as mother would say, has a substantial pile of "Exquisite Corpses" in the corner. They are Andrei Codrescu's long, skinny "journal of books and ideas". Haven't subscribed in awhile, but always found them offbeat and fascinating. Now I know where the name of his publication originated, probably twenty years after everyone else.

As always, grateful for your rich contributions D

I love this post and the picture, Dako. Was one of those ladies your mother?
See you when I get back from Paris.

My mother is on the left, next to her is her best friend of that era, Lois. My mother would not approve of this picture, since she isn't wearing makeup, which she did (as does Lois) well into her 90's.

Lois was full of joie de vivre, and her spirit shone through even when her conversation made little sense. Mother and Lois would visit often, repeating the same three lines to one another with great animation.

You can see the loving friendship beween them, it is very moving. I wonder what three lines they repeated to each other. Very Samuel Beckett isn't it?

Usually it would be some fragment from reality, like "In January, I'll be 94" "Yes, you'll be 94 in January and I'm 94 too" -- one of them would look for fact confirmation to someone on the staff or to me, if I was there. "She'll be 94, won't she?" Lois owned a clothing store in her heyday, and so the fragments would often concern wardrobe selection, always complimentary of course.

how moving. don't know if it's just cuz I'm premenstral but I was touched by the playfulness and love that was there in the photo and the respones.