Wednesday, June 22, 2011

My throat has been sore for a few months now.  Not the kind of sore that comes from the ever present allergy season, nor from the frequent summer colds I have been getting lately.  This soreness comes more in the voice, more resembling the sore voice I used to get as a new teacher, trying to project in a classroom.  In spite of my educational background I seem to react as if I need to speak much louder in order for him to understand me.  Not so.
I continue to try and ask him for help, as much for his sake as for mine.  He needs to be busy, to have a sense of purpose and accomplishment, but it is a labor intensive effort.  Each time I learn that if the project itself is important, I need to do it myself and avoid the anguish of the communication disaster that awaits us in each episode.  But I alternate between forgetting the trouble we're having and automatically including him in chores and trying consciously to help him be helpful.
Tonight I asked him to fill the litter box.  It would be hard to explain how many trips in and out of the garage, up and down the stairs in our tri-level house it took.  I say "litter"; he hears "water".  When I ask him what he heard me say, he said tonight, "Well, I heard you talk about North Carolina."  Needless to say, I discussed NO state of the union, only cat litter, poop, and pee.
We are going up north tomorrow to the "blue house", which apparently is an "example" of the image he has of our condo.  I can only hope that the change in scenery doesn't add to the general confusion for him.  I know that sitting on Lake Michigan will be a God send for me.

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