For some reason “for the good times” was bouncing in my head this morning. I’m not talking about the song, just the phrase. I sometimes go with my gut when writing my blog posts and that was, obviously, what I was supposed to write about today.
So the question remains—what are the good times? Strangely enough for all the writing I do about Jim’s and my dementia journey, I am not a person who thinks a lot about times gone by.
Some people’s idea of a good time would be parties, bars, and vacations. Parties never were my thing. I’ve enjoyed a few parties in my lifetime, but they wouldn’t make the list of “good times.” As far as bars, I’ve been in a few, but nothing memorable ever happened at one of them.
Now, vacations are a mixed bag. I thoroughly enjoyed most of our Colorado vacations. I loved camping in Moraine Park, animal watching, Jim playing his guitar to serenade the chipmunks, hiking the lesser traveled trails, and relaxing around the campfire. Good times.
On the other hand, we made an emergency trip home one year, had our tent drip ice water in our faces after a six-inch snow another time, and we had to settle for a different campground one time. All in all, it’s safe to say that the good times far outweighed the bad until the master camper lost his ability to become one with nature.
Our trips to Colorado became more challenging when dementia changed the landscape. One year, we almost failed at pitching our tent because Jim kept putting the wrong pieces together. We had to tear it down and start all over.
The year my mom and nephew went with us, we stayed in a cabin. We were able to prepare Jim’s meals and had room to relax. It was a good vacation until one morning I was taking a shower, and Jim wandered out the front door. My nephew went after him. He convinced Jim that I wanted to talk to him, and they turned around and came back to the cabin.
When I think back, good times were always tainted with a few bad ones, and the bad times were bolstered by the occasional good times. The ups and downs of life flow like a highway through hill country. We navigate hills, valleys, hair-raising curves, long stretches behind slow moving traffic, and dead spots where we cannot communicate with the outside world. Sometimes we pause at a scenic overlook and experience the euphoria of a wondrous view.
I’ve found that attitude alone can make or break the good times. I want to be lost in the joy of singing my songs, and not worry about the occasional mistake. I want to experience the sunrise filled with hope in my heart and not despair. I’d rather enjoy the sunset and not fear the dark. I want to watch the electric lightning and rushing clouds without worrying about the brewing storm.
Good times are not magic, but they can be magical. Optimism, fortitude, and good luck are all the magic we need. We make the good times, and we should make the most of them.