About Beth Holloway;

Beth Holloway (Bea) is a young onset PWP, diagnosed in 1991 at age 33. She retired from teaching 4 years ago, and now spends her time writing, bowling, and volunteering with Parkinson's related activities. Currently, she is the editor for The Prattle, a quarterly newsletter for PWP in Newfoundland and Labrador. ( http://www.parkinson.ca/society/winter2003dec15th.pdf) As well, she was selected by The Telegram, the provincial daily newspaper, to write six articles in 2004. She spends what's left of her writing time, writing her book of Miss" stories - memories of her 20 years as a teacher..

Additionally, Bea is the Vice Chair of the Regional Advisory Board for "Parkinson Society Newfoundland and Labrador ," She is also a board member on the national board of directors "Parkinson Society Canada" and Chair of the Governance Committee for the board.  www.parkinson.ca .

The brain remains the final frontier in the scientific research world.  In order to help researchers better understand the brain, I propose they study my brain because it is as complex and complicated as any and if they can comprehend how mine works, then all others will be a piece of cake.  Let me clarify that.  I am not suggesting that my brain is more complex in an intellectual way or that it contains any scientific and complex thoughts and ideas.  On the contrary.  Its scientific value is only in the mystifyingly unique and unusual approach it offers to many simplistic activities.  It is hard to explain this without a valid example.  I have hundreds.   Let’s look at the most recent situation that caused me to once again question my brain and its “ways.”

Yesterday, I started to fold the clean clothes in the laundry basket.   As I began, I realized I had no place to put the folded clothes.  Normally I would put them in my dresser drawers, but my collection of t-shirts filled them all.  I used to store the clean clothes that could not fit in the drawers on the top of a wooden chest in my room, but the folded clothes from my last laundry day sat there still.  Obviously I needed to rethink my plan of action.   In order to have a spot to lay the clean clothes as I folded them, I had to find a spot for the clothes on top of the chest.  This meant cleaning out my dresser drawers.  A formidable task indeed, but, undaunted, I began.   Perhaps I was a tad bit daunted as this was a task I had procrastinated in doing for a long time – as was evident by the clothes piled high on the chest.  But I digress.  

As I pulled t-shirts from the dresser drawers, I sorted them into three piles, each with its own label:  the “keeper” pile, the  “rag” pile and the “not-sure” pile.  I knew immediately the latter was going to be a problem so I sub-divided that one too into three piles each with its own label: a “keeper” pile, a “rag” pile and a “not-sure” pile.  So now I had six piles of t-shirts.   The two “keeper” piles were not the same despite the titles.  One pile of keepers was a definite “keep” and the second pile of “keepers” originally belonged to a “rag” pile from a previous attempt at this same job.   I intended to use these for rags but each time I reached for one to use for rag purposes, I would find some reason to save it.   Back in the “keeper” pile it would go.    So now, they were placed in their very own “keeper” pile.  A dubious honour indeed.

As I was deciding what to do with the second  “Not-sure” pile, I realized the decision to fold the clothes that morning was done in haste.   Now I needed a storage space for the t-shirts I was keeping but which belonged in the first “Not-sure” and the second “Keeper” piles.  They could not be included in the drawers with the first lot of keepers because they were never worn and there was no room in the old storage section in my apartment.

Thus began the task of pulling everything out of the closet in the spare room and building shelves on which to accommodate these extra t-shirts making sure I still had room to store the clothes already hanging there.  

Two days later I finished the shelves, returned the clothes on the hangers to the rod, and even installed new closet doors. That was three weeks ago. The clothes are still in the laundry basket in my bedroom.  

Perhaps they can call the study of my brain “Lost in Space” or  “Tales from the Crypt.” I’ll let you know the outcome.