Yellow Rose

   Intelligent people don't stop being intelligent because they are demented, not in my experience.
   My mother-in-law, during the dementia after her stroke that was worsened by Percocet and morphine, became playful and goofy, but she wasn't stupid.
   And my dear Mom sometimes gives me her familiar acute glances that suggest she’s taking things in and thinking them over, putting two and two together with a grain of salt.

   I brought her a vase of three yellow roses Sunday, and it led to a wonderful, happy visit in which we sang bits of the Yellow Rose of Texas, which, turns out, was originally a sad song about separated slaves, who knew? We certainly didn’t when we were little and it was fun to sing together.
   I like singing with and for my mom. She is the most appreciative playmate of all.
   There was a political talk show on AETN that she had been watching, and every so often she would toss words like "the uninsured" in with the lyrics of “Yellow Rose.” It was pretty odd but also suspiciously smart sounding, as though she was not just confused.

During this visit she kept asking if she was in her big black truck, or telling me that she was in her big black truck, until finally I got it: The big black truck is her big black bed. When she’s in her gerichair and she asks if she still has her big black truck, she means she wants to be back in her bed.

   She absolutely loves the new soft blanket, which is gray and covered with pink and white flowers of some sort. I thought they were cherry blossoms, but they might be dogwood. She calls them her roses, and her embroidery. She laughs and holds the blanket up and says, “This is my embroidery. Oh God, I need a big box for it.” And she says, “This is my embroidery, it keeps me warm on a cold winter’s night.”
   Stupid people do not talk about “a cold winter’s night.” That is some smart people talk, right there.