Where to begin...

I am a chronic blog-starter. There was the blog about interior design-which I abandoned when I stopped working. There was the blog about clothes. I quit that one shortly after I quit working too, because my new wardrobe consists mostly of sweat pants and converse. HAWT!

Then there was the one about gardening. I started that one a while ago, after my Mom died. For months, I worked in what was her garden, hence the title: Tending Mother's Garden. Initially, the work I did there was rehab for both me and the garden. The weeds had taken over during her illness, and it was several months (19 to be exact) before I felt like dealing with much of anything. Then the fog lifted, as I wrote in the blog- and I felt like doing nothing more than spending hour after hour getting dirty. Digging up weeds, pulling the vines apart and clipping back overgrown bushes was my therapy. Eventually I decided to make the garden my own, putting in raised beds to grow vegetables and removing roses that were old and diseased. My goal was, and still is to create a proper potager. I haven't written here for months, but as winter lets go of us- I hope to start updating it.

Why a new blog? Obviously I am fickle and have a short attention span. Depreciating Jim is again therapy for me, as I look at how complicated my life has become as time and age continue to redefine who I am and what my responsibilities are. My new life revolves around taking care of my aging father, who suffers from various illnesses-diabetes, heart disease, ulcers, etc. Recently, it became apparent that dementia has set in.

Jim is (obviously) my father, and while my hope is to help him grow old with dignity, I find that sometimes his problems cause us both to devalue who he is, and who he was in the past. It is a sad fact that old age can really suck. 'Depreciating' or devaluing my father is the opposite of who I hope to be for him during the final stages of his life. Some days though, that is easier said than done.

It may have happened gradually over the years, but now it's undeniable. His lapses in judgement become more pronounced, as do the holes in his memory. So, I play the role of "reluctant caregiver". I am also a mother to two sons and  a college aged daughter. I am a wife and  a sister. I am a recovering alcoholic, and I am a woman looking desperately for balance in her life. I hope that through reflection and possibly feedback if anyone finds me here I will gain some much needed perspective.