Last night I went to a biker bar with friends to listen to one of my favorite live music duos, Mike and Rob.  My friends are exceptionally wonderful people:  Julie, a late blooming, protege guitarist, singer and leader of the band 'Bad Girl No Biscuit,' her husband Peter, the chairman of the  art department at a local college and talented painter, and Sundee a high school English teacher cum songstress.  We were joined by my friend Robin, who went with me to see the Dalai Lama in New York, and her aging parents, Tony and Donna.  

Tony and Donna rode Amtrak from Massachusetts to Iowa last month to come live with Robin and her husband on their horse farm.  Robin's mother, Donna, has had increasing difficulty with her mind to the point that it is hard for Tony to manage her.  She confuses her son with her brother who died when he was 23, and thinks that her son who dropped them off at the train station, is dead.  She does not always know where she is, and becomes beligerant and combative and insistant on her own way at times.  She "runs away" or wanders off.  She is no longer able to care for her own needs, forgetting to eat, drink, and having trouble with the bathroom.  Tony has become exhausted caring for her, and ended up in the hospital himself, and was followed immediately by her being admitted to the hospital for dehydration because Tony could not monitor her.   She takes Aricept, the Alzheimers drug, which helps  somewhat.  Robin is a horse trainer, works a part-time job, teaches Pony Club and riding lessons, and runs the barn with eighteen horses.  She never sits still.  Now, in addition, she is caring for her aging parents.  I see where Robin got her energy.  Neither Tony nor Donna sit still, which isn't that great when you don't know where you're going.  

So now, Robin is making sure they eat three meals a day, drink water,get outside stimulation, and exercise, which I think has helped.  Donna seems more grounded.  She feels safe only around Tony or Robin, so they are on full time.  And both of them are so loving to her, even when she is acting like a difficult child.  

Robin has made sure to take them out.  They love to go out to eat, and go to the casino thirty minutes away.  In Massachusetts, they rarely went out because it was too difficult.  Donna was almost completely housebound.

They also love music and dancing.  Especially Donna.  She dances everywhere she hears music, at the restaurant, in the hallways, at the bar.  She's a really good dancer for a seventy-some year old.  This lady can shake her booty.  Robin has figured out places they can go where there are very few people and tolerant waiters in slow times, so Donna can dance.  Robin and Tony, and whoever else, just need to keep her corralled so she doesn't run into the band, or other people.  She doesn't have much of a sense of propriety or boundaries.  Robin smiles.

We are in Cooters, the biker bar, at five p.m. on Sunday night.  Fairly safe, I'd think.  I truthfully couldn't figure out why Cooters would have live music on Sunday night, but what the heck.  When I walk in, they haven't started the music yet, and Donna is getting restless.  When they do start it, Donna immediately starts a strut the entire length of the bar, brushing by a number of drunk bikers playing pool, with Robin dancing after her.  It takes a few minutes to get her under control, with my joining the dance. Tony is up on one side keeping her out of the band equipment and from between tables, Robin is between her and the front door which is open to the mild night, and I am dancing in front of the pool table, keep her from strutting her stuff by the biker guys.   Donna tries to dance past me, and I deflect her with a gentle twirl, sending her back to Tony.  Tony catches her, smiles and kisses her on the cheek.  Donna leans over to me and says, "I'm going to dance with my husband now!" and turns back to him.  I smile, and Tony smiles. 

We are all dancing to the same music.  We are all smiling.  We are all in different places, in different stages of life, but we share a love of movement, and a gentleness and tolerance of people being different.  A knowledge of the value of the light within, even when the light is changing and flickering out.  

I am so lucky to have these wonderful people in my life.  I feel blessed.

 Tony and Donna at the Biker Bar last night, stilling loving each other through Alzheimers and forty-seven years of marriage. c. C.Berg 11/10