There isn’t much time left! Download my ebook today!

5 min readJul 26, 2021

Graphic by me. Book cover designed by me. And yes, that’s me on the cover. Donna Clement took the photo, and Luis H. Ruiz chose the font colors and sizes and placed the text where I told him to. I’m bossy that way.

Here’s what one reader said about my memoir, The Grapes of Dementia:

While I find the story of this book uplifting and am so glad for Wren and Alan but I find I cannot relate it all to my life and experiences.

Hahaha! I find this hilarious.

Don’t we read to learn new things, to experience stuff we wouldn’t have otherwise?

So if you like to learn about real-life experiences that are beyond your own, you might want to read The Grapes of Dementia.

It’s available worldwide.

AMAZON UNIVERSAL LINK: smarturl.it/TheGrapesofDementia

AMAZON UK LINK: www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01N8QYW5A

AMAZON .COM LINK: www.amazon.com/dp/B01N8QYW5

To honor the 10-year anniversary of my husband’s passing from Alzheimer’s disease, I’m offering my ebook for free. You don’t need a Kindle to download it, but do it before this offer expires at midnight Pacific Time on Tuesday, July 27, 2021.

And please consider leaving a review after you’ve read it, and feel free to share with others who may be interested.

An excerpt from the book:

A Special Occasion

Every day I bring a treat from the nearest coffee shop to the nursing home for my husband. He asks for little yet gets such gleeful joy from the small gifts I bring, so I treat him every day. Maybe I spoil him, but I don’t believe there is such a thing as spoiling someone who’s slipping away from life. I love to offer him a small token and watch the childlike delight burst from his eyes. I love to make him laugh, to make him happy, to indulge him.

This afternoon I enter the Rose, bypass the hall leading to Alan’s room, and head straight to the back of the building and to the left. This is the private dining room I’ve reserved for a little while this afternoon. I systematically unpack the contents of my tote bag and begin to set the small square table. First, a satin white tablecloth and matching napkins nestled in their own hammered silver napkin rings. I light two white tapers as soon as I put each in its own silver candleholder. Next, I position two dessert plates and two coffee cups and saucers from my set of 1930s amber Madrid depression glass. I lay two heavy silver forks beside each and pull out a thermos of hot cinnamon apple tea and a package of two generous slices of strawberry cheesecake (his favorite) from the bakery down the street. I plate the cheesecake and garnish each with a sprig of mint and situate a chocolate covered strawberry on each. Finally, I arrange a small bowl of roses, Alan’s favorite flower, in the center of it all. I move one of the cherry wood Queen Anne chairs to make room for Alan’s wheelchair and stand back, surveying my work. I am pleased. This private tea party is to celebrate a special occasion: Alan proposed to me five years ago today.

I wheel a delighted Alan into this surprise party for the two of us, pour the tea, and we toast our good judgment in choosing each other and begin a trip down memory lane, my husband uncharacteristically and confidently in the driver’s seat of the conversation, just as he was back then.

“Five years ago, I proposed to you. It was the day after we met.”

I smile and nod. What Alan remembers surprises me at times.

“That afternoon we took a long walk. It was beautiful outside, and not too hot for that time of year.”

He’s not making eye contact with me, and I can tell he’s time traveling back to that day five years ago. He’s there, reliving the moment in person. His eyes contain faraway laughter and fill with love still alive. I don’t interrupt.

“We came back to your place and chopped vegetables. We must have cut up two tons of carrots, broccoli, onions, mushrooms, a small amount of ginger.”

We giggle remembering the never-ending slicing and grating and chopping.

“It did indeed seem we were slicing a small organic farm. Maybe it was the plum wine. Perhaps we shouldn’t have had any until we sat down to eat.”

Again we laugh at the memory of what happened that day. Alan is still in charge of this conversation, something that seldom happens anymore. I savor these moments and let them unfold without influencing him.

“That was the best tasting dinner we’ve ever cooked. Vegetable stir-fry, steamed brown rice, the plum wine, almond cookies for dessert.”

“Food is best made with new love,” I say.

“Later that night, I…well, instead of telling you about it, let me re-enact what happened that night.”

Alan turns toward me, takes my hand just as he did that night.

“If I remember correctly, this is what I said to you.”

He clears his throat. “I know this is way too early to ask. I’m going to ask you later, but I want to ask you now, too.”

I nod my encouragement.

“Wren my love, my sweetheart, the love of my lifetimes…will you honor me by becoming my wife? Will you marry me?”

Yes, it’s true. Alan proposed to me the day after we met — the day after we met! At the time, and even now, it didn’t seem odd, strange, weird, or premature. In fact, it seemed overdue. I remember thinking to myself what took you so long to ask? From the moment we met, everything about the two of us being together was right, and we both knew it from the start. A marriage proposal the day after first meeting? Of course.

“Alan, I give you the same answer I did that night. And that answer is: Yes, without a doubt in my mind.”

He raises my hand to his lips and plants a gentle kiss. “You’ve never had a doubt or regret? Not even now, with me in the state I’m in?”

“Never a doubt, never a regret. Never.”

We kiss then raise our mugs to toast whatever comes next in this dementia journey.