I foresee that Marjorie's developing dementia is going to be fertile ground for fun tales.  Hopefully we can continue to laugh about them.

Last week we were looking at one of her flower gardens when she declared, “I need to water that peony!”  She headed for the house, presumably to get a pitcher of water..

Two minutes later she emerged, and held out half of a cored apple to me.  I thanked her, ate the apple, and reminded her that she had gone to get some water for the peony.  “Oh!” she exclaimed, and dashed back into the house.  She reemerged with a glass of water, which she handed to me.  I thanked her, drank the water, and reminded her again that she had intended to water the peony.

The peony never did get watered.

Yesterday, being Saturday, Marjorie became fixated upon getting dinner ready for Sunday.  She poured over recipes, began one, and discovered that she was missing an ingredient.  She changed recipes, and also began a dessert.  She found that she was missing an ingredient for the dessert, too.  I was sent to the store to get some whipping cream.  When I arrived home, the dessert was just waiting for the whipping cream, and the counters were covered with bowls, utensils, and recipe cards.

Marjorie later came into the living room, puzzling over what she should make for Sunday dinner.  She asked what I wanted.  I reminded her of her previous plans.  She said, “Oh, yeah, I forgot,” and hurried off to the kitchen to start making the dinner.

“Where is my 9 x 13 pan?” she asked as she rummaged through the cupboards.

I looked, too.  It wasn't where it should have been.  I glanced around the kitchen, and said, “Here it is, right here on the counter where you already put it.”

“Oh,” she said, and began assembling the ingredients for the dinner.

“What do you have in the oven?” I asked.  “Is it done?”

“I don't know,” she said, and opened the oven door.  There we found two bread pans filled with a delicious-looking casserole.  They were perfectly cooked, and ready to come out of the oven.  Marjorie looked befuddled.  She didn't remember putting the pans in there.  She didn't remember what she'd made.  We put everything away, cleaned up the kitchen, and put the casseroles in the refrigerator.

The story didn't end there.  The next morning Marjorie asked what she could fix for dinner that day.  She was grateful to be reminded that she already had dinner prepared, complete with a dessert.

If I had kept quiet, yesterday she'd have prepared two dinners for Sunday, and a third one today.  For the foreseeable future, I think that I'm going to be well fed.

Just before church she said, “I can't wait to see what I've made for dinner.”