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Articles by Daphne Simpkins
Between The Pages | January 2025 Reading Wrap-Up
Welcome back to the blog, bookworms! January 2025 has flown by in a whirlwind of pages turned and stories devoured. This month’s reading has been a real emotional rollercoaster, taking me from the depths of heart-wrenching tales to the giddy heights of lighthearted adventures. Whether you’re looking for a good cry, a laugh-out-loud romp, or something in between, I’ve got you covered in this month’s reading wrap-up.
Broken Limbs Falling Down
(I see them everywhere—all kinds of limbs in everyone’s yards.) We pass each other discreetly on our regular morning walks. She is a current caregiver. I am a former one. From what I know of the quality of life she has created with great perseverance for her husband who has Parkinson’s disease, she is a far better caregiver than I.
An (Addams) Family Caregiver Halloween
A Halloween Ode to Caregiving Sung to The Addams Family theme music They creep around your house, Ask questions of your spouse, All your plans up they will louse, Your Visiting Family. You never ever see’um, They make you want to scream, Arriving for the season, With them you cannot reason, Your Visiting Family.
Her Bodyguard
He stood behind his new bride at the dinner party, wearing the poker-faced expression of a caregiver who feigns invisibility until the patient in his care requires assistance. His too-thin wife sat in the only wingback. Her legs splayed comfortably in an uninhibited posture that contrasted with the modest Southern-girl bonnet she wore to hide her bald head.
The Art to Successful Family Meetings
Recently a very articulate, very independent older friend of mine did some rehabilitation time in an assisted living home (probably the best one in town, and we know all of them), and though younger than she, I have always had a Nancy Drew kind of brain, and so I impertinently asked Marge, “What was it like?” Back in her own home now, Marge can afford to assess how it was and could be again, for that is the question.
The Wisdom of Assisted Living
Recently a very articulate, very independent older friend of mine did some rehabilitation time in an assisted living home (probably the best one in town, and we know all of them), and though younger than she, I have always had a Nancy Drew kind of brain, and so I impertinently asked Marge, “What was it like?” Back in her own home now, Marge can afford to assess how it was and could be again, for that is the question.
I See You
She raised her hands, exasperated. “They don’t have my yogurt!”“Is there some other brand you could eat?” I prompted.“I can’t get back here to the store. I’ve got a sitter taking care of my husband who is crazy! Crazy! You don’t know,” She shook her head as if clearing visions that she wanted to forget. “You’re probably right,” I agreed soothingly. She took a deep breath and tried to read the names of the other brands of yogurt. “I like low-fat yogurt,” she said. “With peaches.
"Commitment Sunday" — Heartlight®
All the women who owned fur coats did not wear them to church on Commitment Sunday. It was a mostly universal response to the challenge to write down one's financial pledge to the Church - or was it to God? - for the coming fiscal year. Mildred Budge did not own a fur coat, not because she couldn't afford one or want one.
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