THREE SURFIN’ SAFARI SUMMERS: In the summer of 2019, three years after my wife Anna Huling-Siciliano was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, it became clear that I was losing her. Time was precious, health precarious, money short, and I decided to mine the riches of Southern California and launch a defiant series of regional Surfin’ Safaris as health-driven, couple-shared adventures out of the mausoleum our home had become. As a family we’d always been beachgoers and it seemed a safe bet for my wife who was slowly losing her mind. She could sit on a blanket - as she always had - while I surfed. Things didn't work out to be so neat and clean, but that's the story. Reporting being of a second nature to me, I concocted Facebook posts after each outing through which I intended to keep friends and family apprised of Anna’s condition, and to put them at ease about her quality of life (ie; how I was treating her). Of course, others could read the posts, which were grouped under the ti...
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SURFIN' SAFARI SUMMER - DAY TWELVE - July 31, 2019
We braved serious rush hour traffic and arrived in Hermosa Beach at around 6:30 p.m. Hermosa is in the South Bay, "the Bay" being Santa Monica Bay. It is very large, reaching past Staircase beach (Surfin’ Safari Day 8) north and a few miles past Hermosa south, some 60 miles total. Just 20 miles south of Los Angeles, Hermosa cultivates the same hermeneutically sealed beach culture all such towns do, down to Imperial Beach and the Mexican border. I lived in Hermosa for three years after my expatriate turn in Spain, desiring a provincial existence within reach of the city so I could sell literature. Might as well have been on Mars, for I was one of few in town who had anything to do with L.A. I worked as a script reader for United Talent Agency. Then I did it for Creative Artists Agency. It was before e-mail and I had to drive up Sepulveda into Beverly Hills every afternoon, pick up the scripts, read them at home, and return day next with breakdowns. Movie agents don’t read scri...
Organizing a Past
ORGANIZING A PAST. Bathing and helping my wife in the bathroom is nothing that ever comes easy, but it’s a breeze in comparison to the task of organizing her dresser. This is what they call a “Fiddle Box” in Alzheimer’s parlance. Even a full-time caregiver is limited to what can be done with a person who has lost the ability to focus. The Fiddle Box is a place a patient can be left alone to spend hours screwing things up without doing much harm. For Anna, this is an altar at which she stands endlessly moving bits of her life around willy-nilly; expensive jewels, gloves of Spanish leather, scarves from India. My wallet is missing of a sudden, so this is one of those times when order must be restored and to do so is to pass through our life together. There are a thousand garments in different storage places around the apartment. I am trying to liquidate but can’t bring myself to throw away anything she designed. Anna was a prolific fashion designer. She not only had her signature Anna Hu...

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