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Archive for the ‘our children’ Category

At the post office, an elderly man with a cane and I approached the door at the same time and I opened the door for him. He thanked me, put his back against the door and let me in first. I thanked him. Yes, ladies first.

Leaving the post office, a young man tried to enter as I was leaving. He  opened the door and entered, closing the door into my face.

Walking into the Alzheimer’s Office, I saw a caregiver and an elderly man with a cane coming out of the office. I opened the door and the caregiver walked out. The elderly man exchanged looks with me and I got his message. He held the door open for me, a bit unsteady on his feet,  and I walked in, thanking him. Yes, ladies first. I saw his caregiver waiting by her car.

After a business lunch in Hawaii, my host walked me to the car and opened the door for me. I told him,  “I can’t remember the last time someone opened a car door for me.”  When I was in high school, I asked one of the boys to open the door and he said, “What? You cripple?” But we forgive boys in high schools, don’t we?

We speak in fear of what the electronic world is doing to humanity and how invisible we are becoming.  Are these men I mention the last disappearing act?

 

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(My  advice column for caregivers called Dear Frances that appears monthly in the Hawaii Herald was written by Wordsworth, my little mouse poet this month.)

 

June 2019 Dear Frances,

Dear Readers,

Frances is away from her desk, giving lectures and book talks in Hawaii so I volunteered to do the column. I’m Wordsworth the mouse poet from four of her children’s books. At  first she was skeptical until I reminded her that  in all of my  books, I resolve human problems through poetry just like her. So please stay and read my column.

I’m still dancing the waltz after Patrick Toal, Director of the Alzheimer’s Association in Hawaii made me a mascot. My job is to visit schools and libraries to teach our younger generation about memory loss and how to live with our elders with compassion, dignity and respect.

We already visited libraries in Kohala and Hilo and will be flying to Maui and Molokai soon. If you want us to visit you, please call your Alzheimer’s Office or get in touch with Frances.  I would like to visit schools.

Frances and I did some work with students from Kindergarten to Middle School in Honolulu and will share some of their poems.

But first, let me brag a bit. I was in the Merrie Monarch parade in Hilo. I think I saw some of you waving to me. At first I felt a bit insulted when children began to shout Chucky Cheese at me. Luckily, Patrick Toal,  showed them my name and for the rest of the parade, I heard “Wordsworth! Wordsworth!”  What a relief.  Have you had someone call you by the wrong name?  Not good.  Hey Frances, have you ever been in a parade?

Here, I’m dancing with waltz as I did with Grandma in my book.

 

WW dancing 2

 

The children we visited are wonderful. They draw pictures, write poems,  play games and talk story about their grand or great – grand parents. They are preserving so many good memories. Some of the children are confused about the changes that happen after their grand or great-grandparents get dementia. That’s where I come in and show them what is really happening. Once they understand what dementia does to our brains, they are less confused and fearful. But you know all about this and why it’s important that we don’t isolate children from our loved  ones no matter what stages of dementia are at hand.  If they are given  truthful information, they are able to handle ailments and changes.  And you’ll be surprised how aware they are of our elders.

I like the story of a young mother who said her two pre-school children are like me and are teaching her how to be a better caregiver. After they heard my Wordsworth Dances the Waltz, they told their mother, “Why do you talk so mean to grandma?” Wow. Their mother said she respected her children and they have become her teachers. She told them, “You are like Wordsworth, keep reminding me when I talk mean.”

Another mother shared how her two young grandsons taught her how to hang loose and laugh instead of getting so stressed out. When their grandpa wore his pants inside out, their grandma began to get stressed and upset because it meant more work for her. Before she could change her husband’s pants, she heard her grandsons and husband laughing. Her grandsons had told Grandpa, “Hey Grandpa, you made new fashion.” And they all laughed and let Grandpa wear his new inside out pants.

Sometimes, our young children know exactly what to say and do so we need to leave them alone and let them become our teachers.

Here are some poems written by  6th  and 3rd graders when Frances was their teacher. I left their names out to protect their privacy. Please note how aging, dying and death claim their thoughts a lot and how poetry helps to express them. Too often we try to be silent in these areas, thinking we need to protect our children but listen to them here. Except for the last poem, they were written by sixth graders.

Grandma

 

Grandma is a beautiful name.

I know she didn’t go to hell.

I know she went to heaven.

My grandma, a humming bird on a branch.

 

***

 

My Grandfather

 

I don’t know why God wants to take him someday.

He’s not old, he’s not young.

But he’s been good to me.

Please God, don’t let him die.

 

I don’t know why

We are born

If  we are going to die.

 

 

***

 

Aging

 

An old woman sits by the fire.

Quietly she drapes her old tattered shawl

Across her shoulders.

A drop of rain lands on her cheek,

Like a tear.

 

An old tired work horse

Limps to the barn.

Then a young excited horse

Trots to the plow.

Soon he, too, will limp.

***

 

My Grandmother

 

While I think of my grandmother

Lying dead in a coffin

Under the ground,

I feel a tear drop on my arm.

Why did she have to die?

I love her.

I didn’t even get to say

Good-bye.

 

 

***

 

My Grandmother

 

My grandmother is like

A stale piece of bread,

I feel sorry for her

Now that she’s almost dead.

 

As she limps down the dark road,

She looks wrinkled and so old.

I wish my grandma was young again,

Like a freshly baked loaf of bread.

 

 

***

( When Geof wrote this, he shocked himself and put his head down on his desk and kept saying, “Miss Kakugawa, Miss Kakugawa, this is so bad. Oh, this is so bad. I said my grandma’s like a loaf of stale bread. I can’t believe I said this.” After Frances  read the poem, and  told him, “This is beautiful. This is what poets do, using metaphors as you did  with the loaf of bread,.” he was pleased to know he had written a good poem and allowed it to be published.)
****

Photographs

 

bring back memories

more and more each time.

if they are of grandpa

I look at them and cry.

I see his light blue coffin

going

down

into

the

ground.

 

 

***

 

Old Bird

 

The old bird sits there

Ready and willing to die,

Weeping with its last song.

 

***

This last poem was written by a third grader:

Memory

 

Oh, sadness comes to me.

I feel like a puzzle being apart

Into a hundred pieces.

Sadness of a memory

That I don’t have.

I don’t have the memory

Of my grandfather.

He was gone

Before my mother was born.

I wonder…

 

If he were here,

Would he take me out

To From the Heart

And buy me erasers?

Would we talk together

And have a good time?

I wonder what name

I would call him.

 

 

3rd grade

 

***

 

This was enjoyable, doing the column for Frances.  You can send me comments and questions through Frances or directly to me.

 

I have my own email address: wordsworth@bookshawaii.net

You can also check me out at my own FaceBook. https://www.facebook.com/WordsworthThePoet/

Maybe if you fill my mailbox with letters and questions, this column will be called Dear Wordsworth. Oh, oh, hope Frances doesn’t read this.

By the way, do you know how she sent me from Sacramento to Hawaii? In a Fed EX box!  My head was all squished. I hope after all this work I’m doing for her, my trips to Maui and Molokai will be on first class. Maybe you can suggest this to her?

Aloha, readers.

Wordsworth the Poet

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So it has finally come to this: Walking into the Hilo public library, a man stopped me and asked, “Aren’t you Mrs. Wordsworth?”

Here are photos of WW doing his work at the Hilo library. He’s dancing the waltz with pre-schoolers after helping them understand about memory loss in our elders. The children enjoyed Wordsworth Dances the Waltz story.

Even a dog came for Wordsworth and he was a better listener than three adults who were hushed by me, conversing loudly as WW spoke to the children.

After Wordsworth finishes his work on the Big Island, he goes to Maui and Molokai with Patrick Toal of the Alzheimer’s Assoc.

If any school wants a visit from WW, please let me know. fhk@francesk.org.

Yes, my lecture and poetry writing workshop at the Hawaii Island ADult Care was a huge success, thanks to Patrick Toal, Marcie Saquing and Lizby Logston but the stage belong to

Wordsworth.

 

.liz and me

Lizby and me

Patrick, Marcie and…

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This came in from Wordsworth:

Wow, call me teacher/poet/mouse from now on. I worked with some pre-schoolers and they loved me. One little girl was afraid at first but she became a fast friend. The teacher who read my Wordsworth Dances the Waltz had to stop because she got tears in her eyes. Wow…we were connected. Thank you Patrick Toal. Frances wasn’t even there…I went solo. My next class is at the Hilo Library on May 23rd. 2 WW in HI classWW in HI class6WW HI class

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To Wordsworth the Poet fans, please check him out at his own FB page. He’s complaining that no one goes there much. In today’s post, he is complaining how he was not flown first class from Sacramento to Honolulu to Hilo. He also explains how he was created. He’s getting pretty verbal, now that he’s so well-sought by his fans in Hawaii. Do you know Maui has now invited him over to visit their schools to teach them about Alzheimer’s and memory loss?  No, I was not invited.

https://www.facebook.com/WordsworthThePoet?fref=ts

 

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A Matter of Perception

weeds

The weeds have been crying for a weeder for weeks.

Still frozen in my winter lazy bones, I thought surely I can find a way to

get out of this…a little boy came to mind.

When I was a student in College of Educ, the professor demonstrated “how to read a story to 4 year olds.” Before she  could begin, a little boy asked, “Teacher, why is your hair all grey?”

Before she could respond, another boy turned toward the little boy and said, “Her hair not grey, her hair silver.”

So I took off my garden gloves and walked away, “Dem weeds not weeds, dem weeds flowers.”

 

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Seven year old Kollin was given my Wordsworth the Poet book and according to his mother, he kept rereading the book. You see, Kollin has Wordsworth inside him, too, because he wants to be an artist someday. Not a fiction artist, he said, but a non-fiction one where he will draw nature. One day his uncles took him shopping with “Buy anything you want.” Kollin chose a tablet and a box of crayons. His uncles told his mother, “Hey, something wrong with your son, we expected to buy him all kinds of electronic games but he only chose this paper and crayons.”

 

This is his book report on Wordsworth the Poet: He used a pumpkin to reproduce Wordsworth.

No wonder Kollin feels so connected to Wordsworth. I have offered to visit his class as Share and Tell and perhaps help release the little poets inside each child.

A generation ago, Kollin’s uncle had the same dream but his immigrant Hmong parents told him this is not why they came to America…he needs to let go his artist dreams and get a real job and he did.

4 WordsworthBooks

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