I’m not
sure that it is a total coincidence that Jim was also a good cook. It could
have been dumb luck that I married two master chefs. Yeah, I’m sure it was a
coincidence or dumb luck.
It also
happens that they both had mothers who were well known for their cooking/baking
talents. When Harold’s mom baked, it would have been picture perfect for a
cookbook or magazine layout. Dorothy’s cakes, pies, brownies, or cookies looked
as beautiful as they were heavenly scrumptious.
Jim’s
mom had always cooked for a large family. I never knew anyone who could prepare
a meal at warp speed and still be as tasty as everything Virginia cooked. She could
perform magic with flour, milk, shortening, and baking powder. Virginia’s
biscuits and gravy were legendary. She could bake a pie faster than anyone I
ever saw in my life. And her light rolls were to die for.
Jim
found solace in cooking. Between his physical pain, PTSD, and depression, there
were times he could not work. A VA psychologist suggested that he take on some
household chores to combat his feelings of worthlessness. Jim started cooking
the meals and washing the dishes. His method was to clean as he cooked. By the
time the food was on the table, the only thing that hadn’t been washed was the
dishes necessary to eat the meal. I was never that organized when it came to
cooking, and usually left a pile of dirty dishes in my wake.
Dementia
is a thief that steals talents and personality traits. At first, the losses were
minor and barely noticeable. I noticed differences in Jim’s skill level about a
year before anyone else did. When I started telling people that Jim was having
difficulty with his reasoning, I think most of his family thought I was the one
with a problem.
We were
all in denial and hoping against hope, that Jim would get better. He was so young
that several specialists thought his condition could be reversible. It took a
full day of testing to determine that he couldn’t do simple math or complete
any questions that required abstract thinking. We both cried when he was
diagnosed with dementia of the Alzheimer’s type.
In the
early stages of dementia, Jim could still cook. The transition was so gradual
that I don’t remember exactly when he no longer prepared the meals or when he
stopped cooking completely.
More
prominent in my memories are Jim fixing a complete meal on his camp stove at
Moraine Park in the Rocky Mountain National Park. There’s nothing better than drinking
coffee by a campfire and watching Jim fixing bacon and eggs on the camp stove. That
culinary delight lingers in the recesses of my mind and in the depth of my
heart.
Copyright
© July 2022 by L.S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com
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