I am making butterscotch chip cookies today. I am making them in memory of Gord. I haven't made them for a couple of years. He loved them. He would take them hot off the cookie sheet or cooling rack. He would go to the cookie jar and take out 4 or 5 at once. He would insist that it wasn't his fault. He said they were stuck together. We called him the Cookie Monster. Then he forgot that he loved them. The last batch I made sat in the cookie jar despite frequent reminders until I threw them out and made them no more.
My heart breaks for you. My FTD+2 loves oatmeal raisin cookies that I make. I am noticing that the cookie jar does not empty quite as fast as a few months ago. I'm happy that you are now able to make them again. I don't know if I will be able to when the cookie just sit there and I have to through them out.
aww jang*, those cookies sound so wonderful. And how I can picture you seeing him, feeling him, missing him. Please envision me sitting with you, giving you a genuine hug, having a little prayer of comfort, and gaining a pound from your scrumptious cookies.
Thanks Jazzy and Coco. I made them for my son and grandson who are coming today. I thought it would be a celebration of Gord. I didn't realize how painful it would be. I wish you were here Coco.
I hope through the pain you were able to have a few smiles as you remembered Gord and the cookie monster ♥ How wonderful would it be if we could get together one day. ((hugs)) Dear jang*
Mary, that's bogey allright. "Lishen kid, I never met a dame that didn't understand a slap in the face." Who writes that stuff?
jang*, I've taken a picture of your picture and have cropped it to fit. If you want to send me an email with your sign on and password and I'll put it up for you.
It's a very nice face to see, Jang. Wolf, so which one are you, Bogey or Paul? There is a certain fascination with Bogey. I guess all women are secretly thinking that they can reform the Alan Ladds and the Bogeys. Those were great movie star combinations: Ladd and Veronica Lake, Boey and Bacall. The screen seemed to sizzle.
Got that right mary....I remember reading years ago that when Alan Ladd was in a movie they had to dig a ditch for some of the women in the movie to stand in because he was so short it was the only way it would look good.
Judith beat me to it. Alan also stood on boxes. I'm neither. That painting of Paul is cut off and I haven't fixed that yet. With him cropped like that it doesn't really come across. I never finished his hair. That's pencil your looking at. He was very good looking. Humphrey had his own style and he was from his own time. I put that icon in because when I read what I said I can't help put in a bit of a bogart voice and I thought that was fun.
I've never considered how I would describe myself. I guess I would say I'm unusual.
Unusual. Now we're going into Humperdinkel. (Wish I could google here to get the right spelling.) Let's face it, you're downright cute. I would tell you that more often, but Miss Vickie might be watching.
And what women really want is someone who can ride a white horse well but also put the kids to bed. Actually who the heck knows. I have explained in all honesty that I never grew up and I mean exactly that. It's that little boy perhaps that if you squint from a hundred yards away and use your imagination might be cute. Little boys can become tiresome though after it becomes clear they're not going to listen to anyone else.
You women are a tricky bunch. Besides being a garden of delights, you want your Humperdinck and your Angelbert too (sorry...I couldn't resist, my apologies to everyone especially that poor man).
As for me, I'm pretty sure I'm entering my early self indulgent period (ESIP) as wild overcompensation for the unsettling void that is my life right now. When truffles taste like sand you know you're in the zone. And the thing about being lost in the desert with a broken cart, a map that doesn't work here, a mule that won't pull, and you're having strange dreams about travelling pajamas and poop queens - well, I don't know what that is. Oh sorry, right, it's my life.
Talking here about music and memories, maybe this is a good thread to ask how others react to music. Music leads to memories of happier times which leads to feelings of loss and grief. But music is a comfort too. I am torn between wanting to be transported back to the time and place when a particular song embedded in my brain, and wanting to not be reminded of "the old days" before AD. Nothing brings on sorrow quite like a favorite or meaningful song. Please weigh in on how music affects you.
it can make me happy and I smile...or make me sad and I want to cry. My dh was a great dancer and I wasn't too bad myself...if I might say so. We went dancing every Sat. night for years. When he got to where we couldn't go out much he would still dance with me here at home. Now if I am playing certain music at home by myself ....I get up and dance by myself...it makes me happy and sad at the same time. What a great part of our life that was. Ohhh myyy...now I am getting sad.
Music affects me very deeply and always has. I'm a singer and was always singing or humming a tune. I truly always had a "song in my heart". Music also has the ability to make me cry. Now, living with AD, I don't sing easily because I always end up in tears. I listen to the Easy Listening channel on XM Radio to comfort me and keep me calm. That is music's current role, but i've promised myself that it won't be permanent.
Music is powerful. Like smell and taste it can transport you the way just memories can't. Some songs I don't want to hear yet because they make me cry (her favourites like Old Man by Neil Young). But music is critical to my healing. I am playing "I'm too sexy for my shirt" right now. I tend to be on the computer so I use Utube and my own library. I have them all marked because I don't want to hear the radio.
My leitmotif song is "The First Time". It plays in my head often. It is the only song that can begin to touch the place inside. Music is architecture of the mind. It's irrelevant what the music is - and critical what your music is.
The thing is humans in the longer run live in the house they are the architects of. Like poor Joan right now and so many of us that are fighting to keep going. We don't always have a choice at all; but, we also often do. Like Nikki and like me who choose what placement of our spouse means.
We could be talking about not eating what both of you used to like together anymore. We could be talking about not wanting to sleep in the same room or bed. Our closure to things that remind us are selective and our opening to them are too.
I think music is very powerful and for many of us is a part of what matters in life. I also think any songs that we can relate to in our lives now can make a difference in helping us or hurting us and when I reclaim a song or a movie what I mean is I listen to it or watch it until it loses it's power.
I have watched Grumpy Old Men now at least 10 times in the last few weeks. This morning I went to Utube and it's gone (movies don't last). But I have seen so many things Dianne and I hadn't and I played it in the background to hear the soundtrack and I think I could now write all the scenes in order. And now I have lost that too but it doesn't matter anymore. I'm looking forward to when it comes on TV (I can't buy movies. Once I own them I don't watch them). Out of that came that "I'm too sexy for my hat" song. So I'm listening to that and starting to look for other movies. I found "Good Morning Vietnam" and I'm going to watch that later. And so it goes with music. Having re-learned there are songs I love to hear right now regardless of any feelings I may have and that the music does good things to my insides - I'm expanding outwards and learning that engaging pays off.
There are songs that can reach us in good ways. I think it's a powerful thing to find them because I think music has a special corridor in the mind.
Thank you Mary. As for music.....I can no longer listen to music. I used to love it and loved singing. GERD has taken care of my voice and since Gord's death, I have no longer been able to listen. Maybe one day.