Dear Friend Archives - Joy M Walker

March 8 2024

A Ray of Sunshine

Blog A Ray of Sunshine, Dear Friend, Florida Keys, Living the Life 20

We’ve been friends since the moment we connected on a beach somewhere between Galilee and Jerusalem in the summer of 2021. His name is Ray. Smart. Tall. Dark. Handsome. Single again.

When I told him about my dream to ride in 50 states, he encouraged me to go where my heart led me. “Follow your dreams,” he said. Being from Connecticut, he was familiar with Galilee and Jerusalem, Rhode Island. He gave me directions to a lighthouse and suggestions on where to camp in my motorhome.

Since I started writing Finding Joy, my memoir about riding my bike in every state, which includes the people I meet, the places I visit, and the challenges I overcome as I travel in my RV, he has supported me 100%. He supports me by reading my blogs and the articles I have written for Calhoun Magazine and posting comments on my Facebook page. He will be in my second book, where I will write about my adventures on the east coast.

Ray texted, called, and emailed regularly for 2 ½ years. This past fall he invited me to come visit him in the sunshine state, where he often winters.

When January rolled around, Ray and I talked more seriously about making such a visit happen. He measured his driveway. I sent him all manner of measurements of my motorhome. When it was clear the driveway wasn’t going to work, we talked about a nearby $6.00 a night parking spot, and then state parks within 30 miles. No dice on the parking lot and no vacancies at the state parks. We kept at it—discussing options every few days until finally I secured a site for an entire month in his same complex.

After a week of driving, visiting friends on the gulf, and a night in the Everglades, I arrived in Long Key on March 1st. Ray met me at the gate to the complex and escorted me to my site via a golf cart as though he were the owner of a KOA. Within the hour, Ray took his daughter and me to dinner at an outdoor bar and grill with live music. He picked up the check.

On Saturday, Ray gave me the royal tour of the resort, complete with a visit to the gym, the pool, and the library. Because I could not get a Wi-Fi connection at my site or the library, Ray invited me to his place so I could send a few emails. While distracted by emails, I heard Ray talking to his television. “ESPN. ESPN 2. Women’s basketball.” When I looked up, he and his daughter were watching a women’s U Conn basketball game. I discovered he keeps up with college and pro ball, especially the women. And by “keeps up with” I mean he goes to games, and he knows the players, their stats, rankings, schedules . . . everything.

Sunday, he took us to Key Colony Beach Days, a festival with live music, food and 60 vendors. We watched more women’s basketball Sunday night before discussing our plans for the week/month. He wants to support me as I make time to write and ride my bike. Monday I would ride and join him and his daughter at the pool before the men’s basketball games start on TV. Tuesday: poker plus an RV repair appointment and shopping. Wednesday: a cornhole tournament. Thursday: The No Name Pub plus deer and alligator hunting. Friday: Sombrero Beach. Saturday: another festival. Sunday . . .

Then before another daughter comes to celebrate his birthday on March 27^th with a boat tour and train ride in Key West, we have to fit in golf, fishing, a nautical flea market, a seafood festival, a sea turtle hospital and a dolphin research center, the Butterfly Building in Key West, a movie, the Hemingway House, a boat ride to Dry Tortugas National Park, a play at the Marathon Community Theater, and as many days at the beach and pool as we can fit in. On top of this, I am supposed to write and ride my bike six days a week? This man is going to wear me out! Next year, he plans to go skydiving for his birthday . . . his 95^th.

I think I’m going to be busy that day.

September 7 2023

A Visit with a Dear Friend

Blog Alzheimer's, Assisted Living, Dear Friend, Dementia, Memory Care 13

I walk into the locked memory care unit through the forbidding coded safety doors. An employee tells me she is in her room. I’m puzzled. She’s rarely in her room. I knock and hesitantly open the door. When I call her name, no one responds. Her room is empty. As I step out, someone else tells me she is on the porch. That’s more like it. My friend Joan is rocking by herself, and I announce my presence with a hug. Her face lights up as she returns my embrace.

We talk. Small talk. It’s always small talk now, but it’s good. She asks me where I’ve been, and I tell her about my travels in Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan. Then we move on to what she really wants to hear—my motorhome travels to far-away national parks. I tell her about riding my road bike in the snow in the Grand Canyon, and that she was my inspiration to buy my motorhome. She says something unintelligible about her travels all over the country with her husband Thomas in their Air Stream. I used to love to hear those stories.

When I tell her about my $800.00 motor home repair bill, she says I need to have a Thomas around to fix all that kind of stuff. Then my friend tells me about the time she bought “this place.” I realize she’s referring to the assisted living facility where she’s living now and my heart sinks. Her memory has clearly declined since my last visit.

She begins, “it was a big commitment, but I knew it was the right thing. It is a lot of upkeep—not sure if I will sell it, but we know we want it to stay in the family.” As she waves her hand over the expanse of grass to her right, she tells me she mowed that part yesterday.

Dementia is a crazy thing. Her memories come and go, leaving gaps. Sometimes Joan can recall stories from long ago, but today I’m realizing even the distant past is getting fuzzy and her reality is distorted. It’s almost like my friend is hallucinating. I decide to just go along.

She continues, “I have to break up the back these days. It’s too much to mow all in one day anymore. I usually take care of these shrubs, but if I can’t get to them, the guys will take care of them. They are good about that sort of thing. They help me with the weeds too.”

We take a walk on the track around the pond. She walks at a comfortable pace for me and all my injuries. I reminisce about how, through the years, it posed a challenge for me to keep up with her pace and her sister’s, too. Her chuckle makes me smile.

“I slept through that storm last night. How ‘bout you?” I say.

She giggles. “I didn’t know it stormed. Alma was the one who hated storms. She got that from our momma.”

As we sit down at the first bench along the trail, I ask her how she met Thomas.

“Well, you know. He was just one of those guys. You know, he was . . . We met, and then I just . . . He was a hard worker.”

I realize I have strayed from small talk and attempt to return to the landscaping discussion. We continue our walk and I compliment her on her manicured lawn.

She responds with, “Do what you need to do and then sit back and relax a bit. You don’t need to keep working all the time.”

“Good advice,” I say as we hug and my to-do list fills my head.

Now it’s my time to mow my lawn and pull my weeds. I don’t have “guys,” but I do have a friend, a friend in Joan. A dear friend who is still giving me advice and sharing her memories with me. Do you have someone like Joan in your life? I’d love to hear about them. Please share in the comments section below.