therestlessnest

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Archive for the tag “Alzheimer’s”

Love in the time of Chaos

img_2891What is so fascinating, in this new and disorienting era in which we’re now living, are the connections that form amidst the chaos.

Last week, I was in Olympia for Alzheimer’s Advocacy Day. What a day of connections: of hearing and sharing stories; of witnessing the love that motivates families living with Alzheimer’s to go to the state capitol and talk to their representatives, even in this chaotic season when so many other causes cry out for their attention.

If you—or your husband, wife, mother, father, friend—are living with Alzheimer’s, you are accustomed to a baseline level of chaos. But when there’s a sense that chaos has been unleashed in the world on a larger scale, too, life can feel very—untethered. EndAlz

My mother’s Alzheimer’s disease began to rapidly accelerate in the summer and fall of 2001. She was quite unaware of the events of September 11. This may have been a blessing for her, but to us it was alarming. The country was in chaos. Our mother’s brain was in chaos. How to care for her, whether and where to move her, were the urgent questions that crowded our minds, even as we worried about war and terrorist threats. And then there was the daunting and dismaying challenge of explaining it all to our children—explaining not only what was happening in our country, but what was happening to their grandmother’s brain. Our hearts were breaking for her, and for the world, all at the same chaotic time.

img_2886“Let love reign,” is the symbolic message of the Irish Claddagh rings my husband Rustin and I wear as our wedding bands. On this fraught Valentine’s Day, let love indeed reign. It is our best chance at finding pathways through this time of chaos. Romantic love. Familial love. Friend-love. But most of all, the compassionate love we are suddenly seeing everywhere. While I was in Olympia, Rus was filming for the International Rescue Committee: emotional stories of refugee families reunited at SeaTac after the presidential immigration ban was stayed.

Let love reign and rain: in airports, town halls, capitols, courtrooms; let it reign wherever people are saying, “We are better than this. We are more loving than this. We can find ways to help families overwhelmed by dementia; we can welcome refugees overwhelmed by long, long journeys away from war and danger.”

Last week, I was lucky. I got to witness love reigning and raining everywhere: in the stories my husband told each evening about the refugees; in the stories I heard in Olympia. So now, in that spirit, I’m offering a Valentine’s Day gift. HBBfinalcoverEmail me your address (annhedreen at gmail.com) and I will mail you a free copy of my book, Her Beautiful Brain. Those many kinds of love are all there in my story, along with more than a few kinds of chaos. I’m also happy to send it to someone you know—just give me their address. I promise not to save or share anyone’s info.

Happy Valentine’s Day from the Restless Nest. Let love reign in this time of chaos.

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My media adventures

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Alzheimer’s disease is so hard to talk about. Or write about, or make films about. But here’s what I’m learning this summer: focusing on volunteering for Alzheimer’s research is somehow easier, and if it’s a way to get people to talk about this deadly illness that now affects 5.3 million people and costs our country $226 billion a year, then I’m willing to do it. And if you actually saw me on Fox News’ Health Talk and you’re inspired to volunteer for research, here’s the Alzheimer’s Association’s Trial Match page. Go for it! IMG_1988As I wrote about earlier this summer in the Wall Street Journal, you will feel more useful than you ever have in your life.

I am forever grateful to Dr. Manny Alvarez and his wonderful producer, Paula Rizzo (check out her lively website and book on productivity, Listful Thinking) for inviting me to share my experiences on Health Talk. Ann_Fox makeup _2873I’m still taking in the crazy whirl of it–lights, camera, makeup–but hoping, more than anything, that a few viewers are persuaded to volunteer.

Momandme1998I volunteer for my mom. But I also do it for myself, and my children, and their future children.  And for the millions of people, worldwide, who are living with Alzheimer’s now, or will be someday soon: unless, that is, there’s a research breakthrough. Which is more likely to happen if more research volunteers step up. Remember, you don’t have to have Alzheimer’s, or have it in your family; control subjects are always needed.

Buy Her Beautiful Brain from the small or large bookstore of your choice. Find a bookstore here. Order the Kindle version hereHBBfinalcover

Dining Alone

IMG_1068     Cacio is an old central Italian word for cheese, but I didn’t know that until I looked it up later. What I wondered, as I crossed Second Avenue on a silky spring night, was whether it might mean “gift:” as in, a gift for me; the gift of a restaurant where I would have the courage to sit and dine alone on a Friday night in New York.

On any night, the East Village is chock-a-block with groups of friends and tightly clinched couples. These days, the trendiest restaurants have lines out the door and deafening crowds in the bars. But Cacio e Vino was a quieter place, just around the corner from my friend Lisa’s apartment, where I was staying. Its garage-style windows were rolled up, its tables invitingly half-outdoors. I thought I could do it.

I knew I needed to do it. I was hungry and thirsty and fresh out of mojo. I wanted to do it. But after 27 years of marriage, dining out, alone, is something I just never seem to do. Or maybe it’s something I have forgotten how to do.

11228506_10152771366521394_8112740348622402682_n         Funny thing is, the week I’d just spent in New York had been all about female empowerment with a capital E. With the help of Lisa, who is president of the Women’s Media Group, I gave my first New York reading from Her Beautiful Brain at Book Culture on Columbus Avenue. Later in the week at Book Expo, I was on a panel of women entrepreneurs. I spent one evening with old friends from my all-women’s college and one with new friends, fellow authors with my all-women’s publishing company, She Writes Press. IMG_1813I even had a ten-second encounter at Book Expo with Julianne Moore, who was signing copies of her latest children’s book, in which I managed to thank her for her Oscar-winning performance in Still Alice and, gulp, give her assistant a signed copy of my book.

By Friday afternoon, I was ready to rest. Lisa went out to see her mom in Brooklyn. We had plans to meet up later, but Lisa called to say she needed to stay put in Brooklyn. It’s OK, I assured her. I was exhausted, and I had an early flight the next morning.

And so that is how I came to be dining alone on a Friday night in New York.

You must do this, I told myself. It’s too beautiful an evening to get take-out and hide in the apartment.

I walked in to Cacio e Vino. The waiter offered me a choice of tables. I chose to look out on the street instead of hiding along the wall. He brought water and bread with fragrant oil. I ordered a glass of wine and a plate of pasta with zucchini, mint and goat cheese. Mint! Why not?

I didn’t have a book with me and I didn’t want to stare at my phone, so I pulled out a pen and a few note cards I’d bought. But for a long while, I simply sat and sipped and ate slowly, gazing out at the soft lights along the avenue, watching the New Yorkers walk by.

A young couple, oblivious to all but each other, stood outside Cacio e Vino for several minutes. Eventually, they came in, which made me happy, because I knew they’d love it. And because the sight of me, a solo diner so quaint as to have note cards and a pen on the table, had not scared them off.

It’s strange now to try to articulate the reasons why I might not have sat down and enjoyed that solo meal. Was it that I did not want to be looked at and pitied? Was I afraid someone—a man, most likely—would spoil my solitude by trying to strike up a conversation? This is much less likely to happen to me now, in my fifties, than it once was, and maybe that bothered me, in some illogical way. Was it the money? Did it feel too indulgent, spending restaurant dollars on me, alone? But here’s the real question: would a man ever, ever go through these mental hurdles before he took a seat at a restaurant table for one?

What’s odd is that sometimes I secretly daydream about dining alone. When I’m at a restaurant with other people, I have thoughts like: oh, that small plate would be the perfect thing to eat alone. And yet back in Seattle, if an evening comes along when I could actually do such a thing, I never do. But maybe now I will. Because here’s what I learned, last Friday night in New York: after a week of wall-to-wall empowerment, it was wonderful to be alone, and taken care of by a good waiter. As if I deserved it.

HBBfinalcoverBuy Her Beautiful Brain from the small or large bookstore of your choice. Find a bookstore here. Order the Kindle version here. An audiobook version will be available later this year.

Watching Still Alice

images“I wish I had cancer,” 50-year-old Alice Howland says to her husband, not long after learning she has younger-onset Alzheimer’s disease. With cancer, she explains, come pink ribbons and talk of empowerment and courage. With Alzheimer’s, she sees only shame and isolation ahead. The end of her career. The distaste and inevitable distancing from friends and family. And she is right. Though the Alzheimer’s Association and many other advocates are doing everything possible to change our perceptions about the disease, we still have a long way to go towards the compassion and empathy with which we now view nearly all other illnesses.

images-1          Alice Howland is a fictional character, but in the movie Still Alice, Julianne Moore brings her to life with shattering clarity. A professor of linguistics at the top of her game, Alice is an almost unbelievable paragon of ordered, focused achievement. When she and her on-screen family are introduced, it’s hard to like them, they’re all so successful and so—chilly. It’s as if they live in a walk-in fridge, where everything is in its place and nothing is warm or sensual. But like a power outage in mid-summer, Alzheimer’s quickly breaks that down. We watch Moore melt in the middle of a presentation. We watch her forget that she just met her son’s new girlfriend. We see her panic because she can’t find the bathroom in her own home. Meanwhile, her husband and three grown children respond as they are able, or not. Turns out it’s the youngest daughter Lydia, played by Kristen Stewart, who has the love and depth to handle the horror of caring for Alice as she crumbles. julianne-moore-kristen-stewart-watch-julianne-moore-and-kristen-stewart-shine-in-new-still-alice-trailer

Still Alice had me from the first minute. Alice’s story is not my mother’s, but it was close enough to make me squirm. My mom was in her late 50s when she began to worry about her brain. Though she was not a Columbia professor, Mom was brainy and proud of it. And like Alice’s children, we were proud of our mother; proud of the fact she’d gone back to college after our parents divorced and earned a bachelor’s and a master’s degree. This made it even more surreal to have to accept Alzheimer’s as her fate. Still Alice brilliantly captures that surreal air that seeps into a family along with a diagnosis of early dementia, without the use of special effects or camera tricks but instead by staying very close to Alice and her ever more claustrophobic and confused point of view. Moore’s eyes say everything: not in a silent movie way but subtly, alternating between distilled effort and brackish flatness.

As I watched, I shifted from identifying with Alice and imagining the terror I know I will feel if Alzheimer’s turns out to be my fate to remembering how I was with my mother, identifying first with Anna, the severe oldest child who can barely stand to be in the same room as Alice and then with Lydia, whose heart is breaking but who is able to still treat her mom with humanity and grace. I wish I’d been Lydia more of the time. But this also is something the film captures so well: we don’t know until we get there how we’ll do. What will make us recoil and what will inspire us to rally.

10439509_10152589930319379_3980131392185575086_n         The most brutal scene for me was when Alice tries, and fails, to follow the suicide instructions she had left herself earlier in her illness. I remember reacting this way to the same scene in Lisa Genova’s best-selling book by the same name. It is perhaps the cruelest aspect of Alzheimer’s: death with dignity, as we call it in the state of Washington, is impossible. And yet: in the final scene of the movie, we see that Alice, now beyond words, is still capable, somehow, of love, thanks to the daughter who is still there to give it. I didn’t have Lydia’s strength and devotion. But lucky for me, I had brothers and sisters, children, nieces and nephews. Together, we did the best we could.

Still Alice is a small, slice-of-life film. It is only one Alzheimer’s story. But thanks to Julianne Moore, who has been nominated for an Oscar for her performance, and Kristen Stewart, who should have been, the movie treats this horrifying illness with exactly the compassion and courage that Alice moans is missing from the way we view Alzheimer’s: never guessing that by the end of her story, she herself will be raising the bar.

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Buy Her Beautiful Brain from the small or large bookstore of your choice. Find a bookstore here. Order the Kindle version here.

 

 

Being Fragile

IMG_1380Human beings are fragile, though we prefer not to dwell on this. We prefer to celebrate our resilience, our strength, our endurance. But in the end, we are fragile, because we are mortal. Some living things—for example, the bristlecone pines of Nevada’s Great Basin—can live for a thousand years. Not us. Not a single one of us. Not ever. Unknown

Mortality is what Atul Gawande wrestles with in his book, Being Mortal. Gawande is a surgeon, and he is trained to fix broken humans so they can go back to being strong and resilient and busy. But when his own father was given a diagnosis that both father and son knew was incurable, Gawande realized how ill-prepared he and his parents—both also doctors—were to accept what medicine can’t do to fix things. And he realized he and his family weren’t alone in this. He began to look around his world, the world of surgery, oncology, all kinds of high-tech solutions to human fragility. He started asking hard questions about how and why doctors so often aggressively treat terminally ill patients—frequently causing great distress and discomfort—and why they so rarely ask questions about what their patients might actually want from life in their final years, days or months. He sought out people who were trying to do things differently, and learned from them how to ask the right questions. A piano teacher with, at most, weeks to live, told him what she most wanted was to leave the hospital, go home, and be given just enough pain relief to enable her to teach as long as she could. She got it, and in her last days, her students played a final recital for her in her house.

Gawande also takes a long look at what life is like in America for people who may still have years to live, but who have reached that most fragile phase of all: old age. He questions whether safety—the stated priority of most adult children, when they look for a place for their parents to live—should really be our number-one concern in housing the elderly. What about joy? Meaning? The dignity of privacy; the pleasures of community? Gawande tells the story of how one assisted-living residence was transformed when dogs, cats and 100 parakeets were brought in. He also looks at programs to help seniors stay in their homes by zeroing in on small things: finding someone nearby they can call to change a lightbulb, or take them grocery shopping.

It may sound like a tough read, and at times it is. I wish he had wrestled more with the emotional and ethical challenges posed by Alzheimer’s disease and other dementias. But Being Mortal is ultimately an uplifting book because Gawande seeks and finds examples of how we can do better at facing mortality: our own, and that of the people we love. His focus is on the medical end of the conversation, because, he contends, we have come to view old age and death as medical challenges. He wishes this was not the case, but given that it is, he wants us to think about ways to steer the conversation from what the intensive care unit or nursing home has to offer to what human beings nearing the end of life really need and want.

Gawande writes that he “never expected that among the most meaningful experiences I’d have as a doctor—and, really, as a human being—would come from helping others deal with what medicine cannot do as well as what it can.”

After reading Being Mortal, I felt less fragile. Less fearful. There’s something about facing fear head-on that does that, especially when you’ve got a good guidebook. 

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Buy Her Beautiful Brain from the small or large bookstore of your choice. Find a bookstore here. Order the Kindle version here.

Registration is open for Introduction to Memoir Writing at Seattle Central College. Starts February 11, 2015. Six Wednesday nights. Non-credit = all inspiration, no stress!

 Radio lovers: you can hear the Restless Nest commentaries every Tuesday at 7:45 a.m. on KBCS, streaming online at kbcs.fm and on the air at 91.3 in the Seattle area. Podcasts available too.

Whole Hearted

IMG_1447“The Great Heart Split,” writer Gail Godwin calls it: that moment, about 400 years ago, when our knowledge of how the physical heart works leaped forward, sending ancient beliefs about the heart as spiritual headquarters backward, to be filed under folklore and mythology. News flash: the powerful, tangible pumping of the heart is what keeps our bodies alive. The heart’s emotional value, its mystical properties? Not actually located in the center of our chests. Ever since, rational knowledge has trumped what used to be called, simply, heart.

And then December comes along, and people start doing things that make no sense. We string colored lights from rooftops and balconies. We feverishly bake cookies, as if eating sweets mattered more than eating anything else. And, strangest of all, we cut trees and prop them up in basins of water in our living rooms. Even scientists and doctors do these things. And the scientists and doctors who study the brain—that mysterious organ where the intangible version of the heart has been hiding all along—they know that the protean behavior in which we indulge during this strange season called the Holidays can be both wonderful and awful for our brains, often at the very same time.

From Thanksgiving through New Year’s Day, our hearts and heads are bombarded with memories. Many are good. Some are not. If you’ve lost someone who used to be a big part of your holiday season, you’ll be feeling that pain. If you have a family member or two who ever excelled in causing holiday misery, you’ll be zapped by those memories too. And if your brain is not at its best—if you are suffering from mental illness or if you have Alzheimer’s disease or another form of dementia, then this season can be like a walk through the carnival not-so-fun house.

Several years ago, ABC Nightline aired a report called, “Experience 12 Minutes of Alzheimer’s Disease,” which has become a popular Youtube video. In it, a reporter and a caregiver put on goggles, gloves with some fingers taped, small objects in their shoes to throw off their balance, and, worst of all, headphones that emit static and gibberish, which is what many people with Alzheimer’s describe hearing in their heads all the time. They then tried, and failed, to perform a few simple tasks. It’s devastating to watch. And to think about how it would feel to be so impaired, this time of year, with all the extra stimuli of the holidays.

Chances are, you are going to cross paths in December with a relative or friend who suffers from dementia, which makes this a great time of year to try to gain a little insight into their world. But you won’t have to put on goggles and headphones to do it. Hollywood is here to help. Julianne Moore has been getting stellar reviews for her portrayal of a college professor with young-onset Alzheimer’s in the movie Still Alice, which opens in Seattle in January. While you’re waiting to see it, read the book it’s based on. Lisa Genova’s novel, Still Alice, was the first thing I ever read that captured the anguish and frustration of Alzheimer’s I remember seeing in my mother’s eyes.

Another good read is Stars Go Blue by Laura Pritchett. It’s the story of Ben, a Colorado rancher who copes by keeping notes in his pockets bearing important facts like his wife and children’s names. What drives the plot of Stars Go Blue is not just Ben’s Alzheimer’s, but his broken heart. He has an idea of how to mend it, if he can only get it done before Alzheimer’s gains the upper hand. The static in his head, the words and logic that elude him as he tries to accomplish this task—which I won’t reveal because I loved this poignant, poetic book too much to spoil it—make for a page-turning read. It’s almost as if, as his rational faculties leave him, he’s trying to go back, to function on the old-fashioned fuel of Heart with a capital H. It’s a perfect story for the holidays, when we’re all doing some version of that. Putting Reason in the back seat. Letting Heart rule.

Registration is open for Introduction to Memoir Writing at Seattle Central College. Starts February 11, 2015. Six Wednesday nights. Non-credit = all inspiration, no stress! 

Buy Her Beautiful Brain from the small or large bookstore of your choice. Find a bookstore here. Order the Kindle version here.HBBfinalcover

 

 

 

Alzheimer’s + Anger

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I am not an angry person. I’m not. I’m sure I’m not. So why, then, am I riveted by Greg O’Brien’s rage?

O’Brien is an investigative reporter who, as Maria Shriver put it, “is embedded in the mind of Alzheimer’s, which happens to be his own mind.” Five years ago, at 59, O’Brien was diagnosed with younger-onset Alzheimer’s. Now, O’Brien told Shriver in an NBC interview, “60 percent of his short-term memory is gone in 30 seconds.”

And it fills him with rage. When he can’t remember how to dial his cellphone. When he looks at a lawn sprinkler and can’t remember what it is. When suddenly “you don’t know where you are, who you are, or what the hell you’re doing.”

When you recognize that there will never be enough research dollars directed towards Alzheimer’s until people understand that it’s not always a disease, said O’Brien, that “you get at 85 and then you die, and who gives a s*it.”

O’Brien’s memoir, On Pluto: Inside the Mind of Alzheimer’s, is coming out in 10552552_1505946412957424_2136751528538458501_nOctober. I look forward to reading it. I know it won’t be sugar-coated. I’m glad.

O’Brien was fresh in my mind when, a few days later, I read about 16-year-old Alicia Kristjanson of Edmonds, Washington. Kristjanson will be walking in the upcoming Walk to End Alzheimer’s in honor of her father Doug, who died of the disease this year at age 49. She told the Edmonds Beacon she “would never wish what I went through with my father on anyone else, not even on my worst enemy.”

“I am not a very angry person,” Kristjanson explained to me later. “So when I do get angry, for me, the way I’ve gotten out my anger is by volunteering and doing what I’m doing to try to find a cure.”

Alzheimer’s disease: it’s not just for old people.

quibro_loresMy mother was in her late fifties when she began to worry that something was wrong with her brain. She was diagnosed at 66 and died at 74. Like Alicia Kristjanson, I would never wish what she went through on anyone. Like Greg O’Brien, I am filled with rage when I think of how much frustration and misery she had to suffer. How little we still know about why it happens. How helpless we still are to treat symptoms, let alone cure or prevent Alzheimer’s, which currently affects more than 5.2 million Americans, including 200 thousand who are younger than 65.

It does help to write. The body of literature about Alzheimer’s is growing. Lisa 10439509_10152589930319379_3980131392185575086_nGenova’s best-selling novel, Still Alice—which she finally self-published after two years of rejections—is now also a feature film starring Julianne Moore and Alec Baldwin and premiering this month at the Toronto International Film Festival. Trailblazers in our own region include poet Holly Hughes, editor of the luminous anthology, Beyond Forgetting: Poetry and Prose about Alzheimer’s Disease; Unknown
poet Tess Gallagher, journalist Collin Tong, who curated a collection of essays called Into the Storm: Journeys with Alzheimer’s; poet and memoirist Esther Altshul Helfgott, (Dear Alzheimer’s: A Caregiver’s Diary & Poems) and poet Lon Cole, diagnosed with Alzheimer’s at 61, whose latest book is called alive & thankful. I will be honored to join their ranks when my memoir, Her Beautiful Brain, is published this month.

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It also helps to find ways to feel less alone. This month, the Alzheimer’s Association is staging Walks to End Alzheimer’s all over the country, including ten in Western and Central Washington. The Seattle Walk is on September 20th.

When you see or hear news stories about the Alzheimer’s walks, remember that Alzheimer’s is not a condition that inevitably comes with age. It is a terminal illness. It is deadly and indiscriminate. It is the sixth leading cause of death in our country, and the most expensive: more than 200 billion dollars in direct costs this year. And yet research funding for Alzheimer’s lags far behind funding for other illnesses.

Anger is an appropriate response to Alzheimer’s. Those of us who have lived with it or near it have been too quiet for too long.

Thanks to everyone who came to the September 7 Her Beautiful Brain book launch at Elliott Bay Book Company in Seattle. So wonderful to see you all there! 

Radio lovers: you can hear the Restless Nest commentaries every Tuesday at 7:45 a.m. on KBCS, streaming online at kbcs.fm and on the air at 91.3 in the Seattle area. http://kbcs.fm/listen/podcasts/

The Longest Day

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On the longest day of the year, the Alzheimer’s Association wants you to think. Use your precious and, God-willing, still-intact brain and think. Spend five of those one thousand glorious minutes of summer solstice daylight thinking about the people you know who are dealing with dementia and what the words “longest day” might mean to them.

The Alzheimer’s Association is betting you do know someone whose spouse, parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, friend or neighbor is living with Alzheimer’s disease. Someone who knows the loneliness of caring for a person who once had so much to say and now says nothing at all, all day long. Or maybe she says the same thing over and over again. Or maybe he speaks, but it makes no sense. Maybe she or he is sundowning—there’s a good “longest-day” word—but in the dementia world, sundowning is not so pretty. It means getting agitated and cranky and sometimes even scary right when the rest of the world is getting ready for bed.

The longest day. Where my ancestors came from, it was and is a day of IMG_0461celebration. Of joyous gratitude for summer light and warmth. And many of the people who are in the early stage of Alzheimer’s are going to be able to enjoy the longest day of the year just as much, if not more, than the rest of us, because no one is better at living in the moment than people who can’t remember. If you can no longer follow a book or a movie, then why not get outside and smell the June flowers and soak up the extra June hours? Why not savor every strawberry as if it’s the first one you ever ate? Because as far as you know, it is.

But for people who are in the middle or later stages of the illness, all that extra daylight could be confusing or exhausting or both. Which means it will be exhausting for their caregivers, too. And lest you think we’re talking about a boutique illness, a sliver of the medical world, here are the hard facts: more than five million Americans are currently living with Alzheimer’s disease. Officially, Alzheimer’s is now the sixth leading cause of death in the U.S. But new research shows that it could be third, right behind heart disease and cancer. Last month, the New York Times ran a story headlined: “Alzheimer’s, the Neglected Epidemic,” citing research showing that in just one year, 2010, Alzheimer’s was the underlying cause in half a million deaths in this country.

For all kinds of reasons, it has been very hard to get people to feel the urgency of the Alzheimer’s epidemic. Maybe, until you see it up close, it is easy to dismiss as some sort of inevitable curse of old age. Something far off in the sundowning distance. But as the baby boomers grow old, we are going to be in deep trouble if we don’t step it up. Current federal funding for Alzheimer’s research is half a billion dollars a year. Sounds like a lot, doesn’t it? But cancer research commands more than five billion federal dollars a year. Heart disease: nearly two billion. And those investment have made a huge difference. Heart disease and cancer death rates are declining, even as Alzheimer’s deaths soar.

Some of the people you know who are affected by Alzheimer’s disease might be part of a “Longest Day” fundraising team. Give them a boost, if you can. But at the very least? Think of them. On the longest day or, better yet, every day.

Need help getting fired up about the urgency of the Alzheimer’s epidemic? Watch actor and comedian Seth Rogen’s testimony before Congress.

Her_Beautiful_BrainAnd save the date for my book launch: 3pm, September 7, at Elliott Bay Book Company in Seattle. You can pre-order Her Beautiful Brain from Elliott Bay, Powell’s Books, or the bookseller of your choice.

Bookstore Love

logoRestless Brain Syndrome strikes again. Early this morning, my mind was like a pinball machine that had me reaching for a Post-it and scribbling inscrutable phrases in half-asleep handwriting: follow up on A, send an email about B, and for God’s sake, don’t forget about Z.

But the thought that made me sit straight up was this: Ann! Why haven’t you Her_Beautiful_Braintold everyone you know to save The Date? That date would be September 7, 2014 at 3pm: the book launch for my memoir, Her Beautiful Brain, at the Elliott Bay Book Company.

To you, Seattle may be the fastest-growing city in the United States, an epicenter of technology, global health, outdoor sports and online shopping. To me, Seattle is the big small town I grew up in. The town that taught me to love books. And bookstores.

As a very young child, the library was my first temple of book love. Then, just about the time I was allowed to go without a grownup to the University Village Shopping Center, a bookstore about as big as my bedroom opened across the breezeway from Lamont’s Department Store. It was called Kay’s Bookmark. Rarely could I afford to buy an actual book, but Kay didn’t seem to mind. Maybe she understood that kid-browsers like me—the ones who were more comfortable in her store than they were in Lamont’s—might be her future customers.

A handful of years later, about the time I was in the teen-angst-reducing habit of taking long bike or bus rides to more interesting parts of the city, another bookstore opened called the Elliott Bay Book Company. It was in the picturesque, new-old Pioneer Square district. Like Kay’s, Elliott Bay welcomed browsers of all ages. Unlike Kay’s, you could get a little bit lost in it, in the very best way.

I went off to college. I was away from Seattle for eight years. I visited many legendary bookstores: the Coop, the Strand, Foyles, Shakespeare & Company. But when I had my homesick wallows, it was Elliott Bay for which my Northwestern heart pined. How I missed the creaking wooden floors, the log cabin stairs, the café in the basement. Novels in one room; hiking books in another.

Kay’s was finally laid to rest by Barnes & Noble, which of course is now also gone from the U Village. But Elliott Bay hung on through some very tough years. Seattle’s book-lovers were shocked when it moved to Capitol Hill in 2010, but wasn’t that better, we all told ourselves, than if it had closed altogether? And didn’t we all start going more often than we had in the dark days of the recession, when Pioneer Square was kind of lonely and scary?

Now, we live in a city where the online juggernaut, Amazon, is headquartered a stone’s throw downhill from our standard-bearer of surviving bookstores. Where Pioneer Square is slowly coming back, despite the endless Viaduct teardown. Where our “fastest-growing” status is fueled by the unbeatable combo of good jobs AND a city people really want to live in. And what makes rainy Seattle so livable? Places like the Elliott Bay Book Company.

I’ve always referred to it as the Elliott Bay bookstore, but Company is its real name, so I’m trying it on here. Now that I’ll be both a longtime loyal customer AND an Elliott Bay Book Company author. Really? Me? Did I ever dream—Yes. Yes, I did. And that’s what makes this so exciting that I am compelled to announce it three months in advance.

You can already pre-order a copy of Her Beautiful Brain from Elliott Bay. Right on their website. Tell them you’ll pick it up on September 7th. That’s the weekend after Labor Day weekend. I’d love to see you there. 3pm.

You can also like my new author page on Facebook.

Radio lovers: you can hear the Restless Nest commentaries every Tuesday at 7:45 a.m. on KBCS, streaming online at kbcs.fm and on the air at 91.3 in the Seattle area. Podcasts available.

 

 

Happy Birthday, Gloria Steinem

UnknownHappy Birthday, Gloria Steinem. If you are what eighty looks like, then there is hope in this world. And it is high time I thanked you for a few things.

First: Six years ago, for two weeks of my life, you gave me courage to get out of bed. It was April 2008. A cold April: frost every day, even a few snow flurries. Every morning, I huddled under the covers in my cottage at Hedgebrook, the Whidbey Island retreat for women writers, reading your brilliant book of essays, Outrageous Acts and Everyday Rebellions.

You have to understand, Gloria: I did not deserve to be at Hedgebrook, because I was not a real writer. Documentary filmmaker, occasional journalist, effective public affairs bloviator—you could call me all of the above. But writer? What was Hedgebrook thinking, giving me a cottage for two weeks on the basis of a script I’d written for a doc film about Alzheimer’s disease?

It was you who gave me courage to get over myself, get out of bed and start writing. Your honesty—about being a Playboy bunny, about your mother’s mental illness, about being a woman—inspired me to write honestly. Your voice—frank, funny, humble, confident—inspired me to try out my own.

I was writing about my mother, too. Or trying to. Her birthday is also March 25th. She would have been 83 today, had Alzheimer’s not marked her and claimed her far too young: at 74, after nearly two decades of relentless assault.

Even though my mother was just a few years older than you, Gloria, her life could not have been more different than yours. Six children. Divorced twice, widowed once. But the work you did in the sixties and seventies? Gloria, you changed my mother’s life. You gave her courage.

She may not have openly acknowledged the debt. She may have thought that it was all about her own pluck and stamina. But after my parents divorced and my mother went back to college at 38, what she was doing was taking charge of her life in a way that you and your colleagues in the women’s movement had made possible. Who knows? A few years earlier, she might have accepted alimony or gone back to work as a secretary. Instead, she fulfilled her long-deferred dream of studying English and becoming a teacher. Instead, she exemplified for her impressionable daughters the women’s movement—your movement—in action. Feminist rhetoric was reality, not theory, at our house.

So I thank you, Gloria, for being who you were at the end of the 1960s. And I thank you for being who you were, to me, as I lapped up your book at Hedgebrook on those frosty mornings in 2008. I knew you too had spent time at Hedgebrook (and would continue to come for several summers). Which meant that you too knew the power of a cottage and privacy all day followed by good food and conversation in the evenings.

And now, on this your 80th birthday, which is also my mother’s birthday, it gives me great joy to tell you that the memoir I started scribbling at Hedgebrook, inspired by you, is going to be published in September by She Writes Press. It’s called Her Beautiful Brain. Her_Beautiful_Brain

And here’s a remarkable thought: in your lifetime, Gloria, we have gone from a world where it was quite acceptable to believe that all women’s brains were actually inferior to men’s to a world in which we women know our brains are beautiful. You helped us get there. You helped me get there. So did my beautiful, brainy mom. Happy Birthday to both of you.

Arlene and 6 kids

Only  a few spots left in my non-credit, no stress Memoir Writer’s Workshop at Seattle Central Community College. This is a new class for writers who feel ready to write 5-7 pages a week. Six Monday nights, starting April 7.

The Restless Nest is on the radio every Tuesday morning at 7:45 a.m. on KBCS.fm; 91.3 in the Seattle area. Podcasts available.

 

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