The Madonnas of Leningrad

Here's a book I really enjoyed. A magical mix of past and present (you know I like that kind of thing!), the past is 1941 and Marina is a tour guide at The Hermitage, the Russian museum and repository of countless works of art. Now, as the German army advances, Marina is helping to pack the artworks so that they may be taken away for safekeeping.

Soon the walls are full of empty frames but an old woman shows Marina the secret of remembering the paintings that were there -- so vividly that Marina can see the Madonnas that once adorned the walls.

In the present, the empty frames take on another significance as the elderly Marina begins the slow slide into Alzheimer's, losing her short term memory but filling the gaps with memories from long ago.

The book is sad, at times, but not gloomy. I am in awe of the beautiful writing and the artful connection of past and present.

(By the way -- I don't know where I got this book. I thought Josie had lent it to me but she denies all knowledge. Was it a Christmas gift I've managed to forget about? A loan from someone else? If anyone out there can clear up the mystery, I'd be oh so grateful. A mind is a terrible thing to lose . . .)

As the Darkness Falls

Speaking last night with a friend whose mother is slipping into dementia, I was reminded of times I spent with a college friend who fell prey to this insidious illness. And this morning, looking through my pictures for something to adorn a blog, I saw this puzzling scene, taken yesterday with a storm cloud lowering, a tree full of twittering birds and one brilliant shot of light -- as well as a puzzling spherical object in the foreground. I almost deleted the picture but then I realized that it was a good representation of a confused mind with the darkness closing in.

And I offer to you -- hoping all the while that you'll never need it, this poem that floated across the internet some time back.


REMEMBER ME
Do not discuss me as if I am not present
My mind is foggy, but my heart is clear.
Do not resent my frequent questions.
I am scared and confused. Your answers slip from my desperate grasp.
Do not stop loving me because my actions are inappropriate.
Use patience and kindness to remind me of my manners for they have disappeared with other fragments of my mind.
Do not resent my frequent pacing or attempts to “go home.”
This is not my home. Nothing here is familiar or reassuring. If only I could go home, I would surely find my memory there.
Do not remind me of my recent hurts.
I do not recall that my mate has passed or my house burned to the ground.

Do not speak to me as a child.
I have a lifetime of experiences despite my childlike ways.
Remind me of your name and the place you hold in my life.
I would love to recall, for I feel your love and kindness.
Show me the world – nature, music, art – for I have forgotten the amazing joy it holds.
Allow me to use the tools that remain, to hammer out my mark and unwrench my heart.
Forgive me for my imperfect past;
If only I remembered, I would surely apologize.
You need not fill our time with many words.
Your presence helps fill my void.
The blame does not lie with you or me.
Love me for who I am now and the person I used to be.
J. Al-hafez
June 1997