My (step-)mother passed away in early 2024 after more than a decade of battling progressively worsening dementia. By the time she left us, I could no longer remember who she was before the disease. This lingers with me—not just as a personal loss, but as a deep sense that she deserves to be remembered as the vibrant, compassionate, and thoughtful person she was before dementia took hold. And yet, I struggle to bring those memories into focus.
Over those ten years, I watched my father shoulder the immense weight of caregiving, often alone, as he tried to care for her, for himself, and to understand the disease that was reshaping their lives. In contrast, I did little to educate myself about dementia or to support him in ways that, in hindsight, feel like responsibilities I should have fulfilled.
Now that my mother is gone and my father is on his own, I find myself drawn to books like The End of Memory— a way to learn, to understand, even if it feels too late.
When I started reading, I hoped to make sense of what my mother experienced in her later years, to understand that her actions weren’t a matter of willpower but rather the inevitable effects of a disease no one can truly fight. I wanted to grasp how dementia and Alzheimer’s develop over time and what individuals, families, and communities can do to delay its onset—because, for many of us, it’s not a matter of if but when.
I got what I needed from The End of Memory, but not without some struggle. As with most topics rooted in biology and physiology, much of the scientific detail went over my head. I don’t have a background in science, nor do I have much interest in diving into its complexities. That’s not a flaw in the book or in Jay Ingram’s writing, but rather a reflection of my own difficulty in connecting with certain aspects of the material.
That said, I did take away some valuable insights. I found it particularly interesting to learn about the link between sugar intake and the likelihood of developing Alzheimer’s, as well as how staying physically and mentally active during leisure time can help delay cognitive decline. This passage from late in the book encapsulates the dynamic nature of Alzheimer’s and the factors that can help combat it:
“This is a reminder of the fact that late-onset Alzheimer’s is malleable: diet, exercise, education, a mentally challenging occupation, conscientiousness and likely many more as-yet-unidentified influences play a role in creating the brain reserve that is considered to protect against these genetic effects.”
— p. 179
I’d recommend The End of Memory to anyone interested in the history of aging and Alzheimer’s, especially those looking for a comprehensive look at the science behind the disease and the strategies that might help delay its onset. If you’re willing to engage with the more technical aspects, this book provides a well-rounded exploration of what we know—and what we’re still trying to understand— about Alzheimer’s and its impact.
I settled in for my first holiday season watch of 2024 with Black Christmas (1974). Having never seen it before, and being someone who typically steers clear of both slasher films and horror flicks, this was definitely outside my usual viewing comfort zone. Even watching it alone felt like a departure from the norm.
What prompted me to give it a shot? Well, it's got this cult following, spawned two remakes (2006 and 2019), and carries some interesting Canadian heritage—being loosely based on a series of Montreal holiday murders. Seemed like enough reasons to press play.
The verdict? Not awful, but definitely not my thing. Between its unmistakably Canadian production value (you know exactly what I mean if you've seen enough Canadian films) and the whole slasher element, I found my attention drifting more than once. The plot felt like what I imagine most slasher films deliver, with Christmas serving as nothing more than window dressing. As for the ending—well, if you're paying even minimal attention, you'll see where it's heading long before it gets there.
But hey, I went into this with basement-level expectations, so I can't say I was disappointed. The film delivered exactly what I anticipated—no more, no less. Sometimes that's all you can ask for.
Last night, as part of our family Halloween tradition whereby: my sister-in-law comes over for dinner, we make pizza, collectively hand out candy, and watch a movie— we decided to watch The Black Phone (2022).
In the past five years, we've struck out on movie picks more often than we've won. The selections have been so bad that I can't recall any of the titles, except Hocus Pocus (1993), which remains as disappointing now as it was when first released.
Needless to say, I wasn't feeling too optimistic about The Black Phone. But when it comes to horror films, I'm willing to give anything a go just to see if a 'diamond in the rough' can be found.
The film centered on a typical trope— someone is kidnapped and tries multiple different ways to escape. The delivery was okay, though I would have preferred Wes Craven's approach in The People Under the Stairs (1991). However, I wouldn't have much luck convincing my family to take in that classic.
As someone who likes to live in reality most of the time, the idea of random phone calls coming through a disconnected landline phone is a stretch, but I was willing to play along. I figured any movie centered on phone conversations couldn't be as bad as Cellular (2004) or The Call (2013)— both films so forgettable they don't deserve mention.
What I enjoyed most was Ethan Hawke's portrayal of the antagonist, The Grabber, and to a lesser extent, James Ransone's performance as The Grabber's brother. These characters brought entertainment value while building some foundation for understanding what drives people to kidnap and abuse. While their screen time wasn't nearly enough compared to that of the protagonist, Finney (Mason Thames), they brought humor and complexity to what felt like an otherwise blasé cast of characters.
Had I been able to get behind the supernatural elements, I likely would have enjoyed it much more. Additionally, fewer interruptions from candy-seeking trick-or-treaters might have helped me invest more deeply in the characters and their interactions.
With all that said, I wasn't completely disappointed.
We’re not big on the horror genre in my household, and there are a few reasons why. Horror films often have plot holes, weak performances, and stories that lack any real connection to reality. Still, around Halloween, we like to step outside our comfort zone and give a couple of films a chance to change our minds.
The other night, we watched The First Omen (2024) on Netflix. We chose it because the reviews were better than the other suggestions we had to work with.
While it wasn’t the worst movie we’ve seen, it didn’t quite hit the mark. Some flashbacks and dreams could have been developed more, and the connections to The Omen (1976) weren’t clear enough for those of us unfamiliar with the original. Key relationships critical to the plot also needed more attention to make the story work.
We won’t be watching this one again, but oddly enough, it piqued our interest in the 1976 original. Something about it caught our attention, though I can’t quite put my finger on what.
