It may be challenging for some to look at the cognitive diseases, of the many forms of Dementia, as teachers. Especially those so close to the effects of the disease. I have written about Alzheimer’s and Dementia as having something to teach all of us, before. Today we shall look at it from a slightly different angle in the hopes of gaining some new insight and inspiration.

Yesterday evening I was inspired to spend some time in the Jura Care Home with our people. There I sat, with our very first resident, Mr Wright, (and what a fitting last name, for according to him he is always right) an English gentleman with a strong character. I sat there and we talked about the rugby and which type of alcohol we both prefer. (he owned several liquor stores in his day) I asked him what he was drinking lately and he said; “what ever I get chap!” He continued by saying that at his age he’ll take whatever he gets and appologized for not having anything to offer me at that moment. “If I can get some bucks on me, I’ll be able to get some you know.” Suddenly in that moment,  I seemed to develop a spontaneous interest in the mortality of life and everything which passes through it. I looked at his eyes, his ears, his face, examining the closeness of his skin to his skull. I was momentarily fascinated by the process of life. Before me sat someone relatively well into his maturity. I wondered if the hand which awaits us all at the end of life looks at us as we look at wine. We look at its age and say; ‘hmmm yes, this one has matured beautifully, lets give it some air and then a taste.’ Perhaps the voice will say; ‘hmmm, how lovely this soul has aged. I shall drink in its splendor and we shall be united again.’

Or perhaps we are more like cheese, with a ‘best before’ date and those who have climaxed in their age become the likes of stinky blue cheese. Oooh I hope not. I find my taste buds were not designed to consume, nor the olfactory sense within my nostrils designed to smell, such revolting a creation. I say we stick to the previous metaphor before I find myself forced to abandon this article entirely.

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Buddy showing me one of his cash books for the liquor store dating 1944

There we sat in the embrace of each others company. He showed me a gift from one of his friends, from long ago and I laughed at his rather British humour. I looked once more into his eyes and noticed that while his entire body shows the signs of aged tannins, the life in his eyes provided a glimpse into that which hasn’t aged even one day. It is his child-like, playful and energetic nature that has withstood the venerable notion of time. A cultured bottle of wine who’s bottle shows the signs of its wonderous journey through life, yet who’s inner fluid, untouched by even the deadliest of dangers, including time.

We were given eyes to see. When two eyes meet, they have a momentary opportunity to quickly steal a taste of that delicate and divine inner fluid which has no obligation to space or to time, and is the relieved gasp that euphorically escapes the confines of an aged bottle when its master finally lifts the cork. Pop!