Nothing political today. It’s Sunday.

Hey, who’s the old guy sitting with my 95-year old father?

Oops. That’s me. Photo taken during a late afternoon visit. My sister had just taken him out for a walk along Beretania Street to the next corner and back, aided by a fancy 4-wheeled walker. He was pooped out and asked to sit down when they got back. That’s when I walked into the picture.

Memory and perception are very complicated things. My dad is suffering from dementia. For a couple of weeks, he was at his old family home in Southern California, at least in his mind. He repeatedly asked how I managed to find him, surprised that I showed up all the way from Hawaii to pay a visit. One day when I dropped by while he was eating dinner, we got to talking about the kitchen. I explained that there was a nice commercial kitchen downstairs in the building.

He looked back at me with a puzzled look. “In the basement? Commercial kitchen? Isn’t this the Euclid Avenue house?”

Of course, it wasn’t. He’s in a skilled nursing home on Beretania Street in Honolulu. Try to tell him that, though, and he would get testy. “Why would you think I’m in Hawaii?”

When I arrived for one visit, he was quite agitated.

“I had a meeting but they wouldn’t let me go,” he said. “They keep telling me to sit down, that I’m going to fall.”

But then he recalled that he was able to get out and went to the place where the meeting was supposed to be, but no one was there.

“I must have gotten mixed up,” he said. “But then I saw the place where I’ve been sleeping for a few days, and went to sleep.”

All very confusing.

One day he said he felt like getting some exercise.

“I’m thinking about walking to San Diego,” he said.

I wasn’t quite sure what to say, so I asked: “How long do you think that will take?”

He looked at me, his eyes appearing slightly out of focus. “What do you think? Maybe a month?”

I nodded. What else could I do? Getting down the hall with the aid of a walker is a chore, but in his mind he’s ready to walk to San Diego. More power to him.

Yesterday, after that walk up the street, he seemed quite alert. He recognized me without a pause, remembers that I’m working at the legislature, seemed to follow the conversation with my sister.

When the carts carrying meals arrived, she asked if he preferred to eat in the dining room or get served in bed. He looked as she pointed at the dining room. “That looks okay,” he said. They use this large room, just down the hall from the room where he sleeps with several other men, for meals, for daily programs, recreation,etc.

So we moved into the dining room and his meal was placed in front of him. Bonnie said her goodbyes and left. I asked how he was feeling. Good, he said, but then looked around the room. “I don’t recognize this. Where am I?”

I’ve been searching without much success for a book or two about such memory issues. Any suggestions would be appreciated.

On Friday, I went over to Kaaawa School to support its annual “Jump Rope for Heart”, a mini-competition at the end of several weeks raising money for the Amerian Heart Association. The kids compete in six different activities, including jumping rope. The kids were great, the diversity of the students remarkable.

Just click on this photo to see a lot more of this year’s “Jump Rope for Heart” in Kaaawa.