Tag Archives: anthropology

Farewell

Since my last post here in August of 2011—from Beijing, to London, to Marseille, to Yerevan, Armenia—Alice and I have seen the world.  In the process, the drawings and stories that are here on this blog have become a book, … Continue reading

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Through the Looking Glass

A patch of four-leaf clover grew in the field outside my fourth grade classroom. Still years before ninth grade biology, before I understood genetics, I had noticed that four-leaf clovers grew together, spreading their luck to each other, so there would … Continue reading

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The Lobster Quadrille

the lobster quadrille My mother, Alice, practiced dying on a regular basis. “Get a shower curtain or something to put under me, would you?” In the middle of Alzheimer’s disease, she retained the bit of scientific knowledge that our bodies … Continue reading

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Falling Slowly

Remember Dave? He was “Up” a tree back in March. Alice still sees him when she looks up. Right after Dave died in August of 2006, Alice explained her memory loss to me: “It’s like a curtain dropped and I can’t … Continue reading

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Because You Are My Mother

“Dana, why are you so good to me?”   I had just finished helping Alice get dressed. Picking out clothes to wear and getting them on was long since too hard. Now I stood behind her brushing her hair as she sat at her … Continue reading

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Light, Years, Later

Light, Years, Later “This meat is delicious,” Alice said as she scarfed down another big bite of fresh grilled steak. Alzheimer’s brought out her carnivorous streak. Peter and I accommodated. “I don’t dare ask where you got it.” Alice glanced … Continue reading

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Apples are Better

apples are better My mother, Alice, was never a starving Armenian. Still, she dreams about food, the way a starving person might. Most people with Alzheimer’s lose interest in meals. Instead, hunger consumes her. Her particular conformation of plaques and … Continue reading

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Aliceheimer’s

Aliceheimer’s “Dana, am I going crazy? You would tell me if I had lost my marbles wouldn’t you?”  I’ve heard these questions many times. Repetition. Anyone who lives with Alzheimer’s knows from repetition. As her rudder, I always supplied my … Continue reading

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Flight

The summer I was fifteen, just as I was about to fly alone to Brazil, I read Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying. Bad idea. I checked in with my mother, Alice, about my mounting trepidations. She said, “Driving is far more … Continue reading

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Missing Parts

My mother, Alice, was always beautiful, Armenian immigrant beautiful, with thick curly black hair, olive skin, and big dark eyes. But as a girl in New York, she wanted soft golden hair, and everything that went with it. She was … Continue reading

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