Today’s edition of a little more of this and that.

A couple of thoughts have been rolling around in my head, provoking me for the last few days. Both of them raised in books I’ve been reading this week, and they aren’t letting go.

The loudest thought was expressed by a character in Charles Martin’s Water Keeper. A young woman exposed to drugs had been through rehabilitation a number of times and knew what was in store. Not fun. This time, because of a severe injury she was addicted to opioid pain killers and was desperate to find some way to make withdrawal survivable. Many years after the fact she shared with a friend how she did it.

She had become addicted to a new book series and as a distraction spent her time reading, desperately by the sounds of it. By the time she was past withdrawal she had re-read the first three books. in the series… twenty seven times.

I guess when she was finished she would just start all over again. In the end they were what helped keep her sanity.

That’s an amazing concept and I can totally see it working. It wouldn’t be easy, or a miraculous quick fix, but it could work.

Reading is my pain killer of choice, too, if I’m honest about why I read. That’s why I’m always on the look out for stories with the ability to transport me to another place. Whatever I’m struggling with is often forgotten, or at very least, in the rear view mirror, by the time the story I’m vicariously living is done.

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The next expressed thought to grab my attention will be with me for a very long time to come, I think. Probably because it is touching me on a deeply personal level.

I don’t remember which book I was reading but I remember the experience of those words.

One of the characters had an aging parent with dementia. As the disease progressed there was an ever increasing issue with displays of anger and it was causing problems in the care facility. They were threatening to expel the patient if the threat to other patients and staff couldn’t be addressed.

Discussing the issue with her friend, she couldn’t understand how a gentle loving man had become this difficult person.

Here’s the thought that arrested me. It’s not a direct quote, it’s what I can remember of the interaction.

All our lives we were taught manners and self-restraint. We could be angry with someone but it would be impolite to express the way we felt and so we were gracious.

When we fall into dementia those learned filters are no longer in place and unresolved anger comes out freely.

This is distressing food for thought, I don’t want to be that angry person if I fall into dementia. For now my filters are firmly in place and there are no temper flare ups, with people.

With inanimate objects it’s another story. Like with tangled hangers in the closet or with plants catching at my rake as I’m trying to gather up fallen leaves. The rage always surprises me and I am worried about where it’s coming from.

I can’t remember enough of the buried details of my abusive early life to have a meaningful conversation with a counselor, at least that is my opinion. On the other hand the root of this anger would be a good reason for a discussion with someone, while I still have filters.

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So those are the thoughts rolling around in my head these days.

There is an idea from a third book giving me pause but I’ll save that for another day.

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Our cold weather has become more than warm in the last few days. It was 27c yesterday and is supposed to reach 30c today.

Everything is growing like crazy. Tree leaves have been popping out fast enough to make my head spin. We are loving it.

Remember to read. It has great side benefits.