Channelling Vincent down the neural pathways

Getting him out of his own little cocoon Is like pulling hen's teeth, even after he whinges that he is bored and never has anything to do! Did not want me to cut his hair: too cold and it would wait until next week. So, instead, I set him up to have a shave, and cut his fingernails (even though he said they were not too long). Then I bullied him into making his own bed and not just waiting for the nurse to do it, which embarrassed the nurse, but I explained my reasoning to him.

Then I suggested that we go down to the activity room and do some painting! Well, the decibels of the whinge reached Conrod Straight levels! But, I did not start life as a Tonkin without a healthy dose of pigheadedness.

So, off we toddled down to the activity room with all his gear, and with Robyn's sheaf of prints of works by Picasso, Mondrian, Cezanne, and Van Gogh. I did a right royal sell job, but it wasn't until I put pencil to canvas that he said I started in the wrong spot, rubbed it out ... and we had lift off.

I guess he worked solidly for 30 to 40 minutes until he said his brain was fried, and we sauntered into the dining room to get one of those delicious Nespressos. By the time we got back, the card games had started, so we got a deck, and I set him up a game of Patience. He started to get the hang of it after two goes through the pack, and then started to resequence like a trooper, with the eventual effect of getting the game out! So, his brain is not THAT fried. I left him a large book of Sudoku which pleased him. However, people with dementia hide things so others don't steal them, with the usual outcome being that they forget they have them. It was a good visit, but I slept all the way home in the train ... and during the 10 minute bus trip.