Front Porch Cafe to the rescue...

One of the reasons I could tell that last night's sleep disruptions were excessive is that, the third time, I didn't snap awake until there was light pouring in from the hallway, one of my shoes had found its way onto the dresser top, and the entire 3-layer bedcover ensemble had been twisted into a bow-tie and replaced sideways. So when I finally turned the bedside lamp on, again, at 3:36 a.m., and guided Jeff to the bathroom, my instructions were at best curt.

Another reason I could tell is that the literary character I most resembled in the morning--at least until a cinnamon bun and a coffee on the way to the grocery store kicked in--was Gollum, in one of his less obsequious moments.

Conveniently, our room at the Nags Head Annex--that is, the rental house where the bulk of our extended family stays during beach week--is equipped with a bathroom, and we can stumble around in the wee hours in various states of abject disorientation without too much bothering anyone else. And, as for the morning aftermath, I'm not bad at glowering quietly to myself until I begin to feel human again. This is good, since Jeff certainly cannot be held accountable for his state of mind any more than my 3 year old nephew (who squeals a good deal more.)

As I recall, last year about this time, Jeff asked me if I was hoping to divorce him. Sometimes that's the sort of thing that's stewing in his brain which is, for the most part, disconnected from the influence of the prevailing moods of me or anyone else in the house. About all I can say to that is "Sorry buddy, no such luck," and try to maintain whatever gravity of delivery the situation seems to call for.

This week, his thinking has not plumbed such dark depths, and he rode along with me to the Harris Teeter grocery store, smiling placidly and benignly, with no notion that my pinched brow existed, let alone was the result of sleep deprivation caused by his funky and erratic biorhythms.

Even after years of Alzheimer's it can sometimes be hard to make yourself accept that--to the AD person--kindness is all in the overt actions and the facial expressions. Cranky is as Cranky does, and if Cranky behaves tolerably, and smiles--even if it's a facade--that works for the AD guy.

Tonight I'm cooking--locally caught tilefish and not so locally caught tofu, marinated in teriyaki--and perhaps with a smidgen of an afternoon nap, I will not burn it.