It is important to keep family members who have Alzheimer’s or dementia active. It can be beneficial to give Alzheimer’s patients an activity to do that they enjoy. Specifically an activity that they did before they were diagnosed with the disease. Activity (for all people) keeps your mind sharp, increases energy and morale. Tinky Weisblat is an author and former caregiver for her mother who had Alzheimer’s. She has written books about her adventures with her mother in the kitchen as well as cookbooks with recipes for family with Alzheimer’s. For the next few weeks we will post Tinkey’s stories, recipes, and tips on how to cook with someone with Alzheimer’s or dementia. Visit our site each week to learn these valuable easy cooking tips.
Carlos Barrios, Founder Endear for Alzheimer’s
A Useful Life
By Tinky Weisblat, M.S., Ph.D
We live in a society that prizes productivity and usefulness. Americans define themselves by their work and often feel guilty when they are not doing something “constructive.”
Dementia patients cannot always remember work-related tasks with their brains—and those tasks eventually disappear from their muscle memory as well. Nevertheless, caregivers can help their loved ones feel useful as long as possible.
In her prime my mother was a whirlwind of activity. She moved swiftly from mothering to teaching to entertaining. And she always loved to cook. When I was a little girl she invited me help her in the kitchen as a miniature sous chef. She lovingly taught me to stir and baste and knead. She showed remarkable patience with my learning curve (she was not generally a patient person).
When she contracted Alzheimer’s disease in her 80s it was my turn to learn patience and to accept help from a less than perfect but much loved sous chef. About a year and a half before her death towards end of 2011, my mother could still perform many complex culinary tasks: rolling out pie crust, kneading bread and sifting flour. As long as I was around to get materials ready for her and assemble the final food products she could still cook delicious meals.
Eventually, her fingers could no longer remember those tasks. Standing near the stove became dangerous for her. Even so there were still many things she could do in the kitchen. In her final year she managed to stir dry ingredients, shell peas, and even (under supervision) cut vegetables. The conditions under which she could perform these tasks were limited. She could only be assigned one small task at a time. She had to have someone else in the kitchen to keep an eye on her. And that person had to make sure that she did not become confused by her work.
Occasionally, cooking with my mother in her final months was frustrating for me. I knew I could accomplish her tasks far more quickly and neatly than she did, and I itched to get meals on the table in a hurry. I did my best to remember that life was even more frustrating for her, however. I stopped worrying about making our meals look good or preparing them efficiently. After all, cooking is about process just as much as it is the final product. So is life.
Every once in a while, when family members or guests were waiting for a meal, I had to refuse her offers of help. I cushioned my refusals by saying: “There’s really only enough work for one person so I don’t actually need you to do anything. But it would be a HUGE help if you would sit in the kitchen and keep me company. Sometimes working all alone isn’t very much fun.” She sat down and chatted, happy that even her conversation and companionship were useful. Looking back after her death, I realize that these times together in the kitchen were among our happiest, even at the end of her life. As long as she had simple kitchen tasks no one criticized her work (I did occasionally have to redo it on the sly). She was content being there, simply being part of the process.
Our conversation as we cooked was limited by her cognitive decline, but we still managed to laugh and chat and praise each other’s efforts. From time to time we sang simple songs to keep our hands in rhythm as we stirred or chopped.
These culinary moments reassured my ailing mother that she was someone who mattered, someone who still contributed to her household and her world. I know they made the end of her life richer. I cherished these moments and their cognitive decline makes my own life richer.
Tinky is one of the many acclaimed authors and professionals in our Affiliate Writers program. The program offers professionals and authors an opportunity to help others by showcasing their work on our site. If you would like to be a part of our program please submit a request by contacting us through this link.
About the Author:Tinky Weisblat is the author of Pulling Taffy: A Year with Dementia and Other Adventures and The Pudding Hollow Cookbook. She has a master’s degree in journalism and a Ph.D. in American studies. She likes to explore the connections that link food, story, and song. She loves to cook, spend time with family and friends, and walk in the woods with her dog Truffle.
