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 ONE - June 10, 2019
That's "The Gun," my go-to board (I only have two), and my soggy, new Rip Curl wetsuit apparently designed by Harry Houdini. This is the beach at Marina del Rey. It is right in the middle of the city and perpetually empty. You can park at the edge of the sand. Surfers used to call it "Shitpipe" because the sewage outfall was there back in the '60s. Now it is three miles further into the sea. When you are a surfer you come to grips with the fact the ocean is humanity's toilet bowl. The Marina is my home court. Not the best wave in Southern California, but I have been surfing it so long, I know most of the shapes. I sharpen up there before joining the lineup of aggressive loonies at places like Topanga. Surfed for two hours today and caught nice mid-sized waves to my heart's contentment.
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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