Deep in the Santa Cruz mountains surrounded by redwoods and bright green forest ferns lived an old man who I called the Captain. He was a short little guy with silver hair Framing a Sand dollar sized bald spot. The captain had pale blue eyes that looked up at you like a very old confused basset hound. He had long filed finger nails and wine stained teeth. He spoke in two different voices. One in his low adult business voice, the other child like, that sounded like an owls hoot. The Captain used his low voice for things he knew for certain, like where he grew up or his ex-wife’s name. His high pitch voice was for anything he had in question. He drank Chardonnay with breakfast and smoked marijuana which he called boo all day.

The Captain was a former erotic artist and most of his art featured naked women in sepia tone, mannequins and mirrors, black boas and peacock feathers. His house was his studio and it was full of Charles Shaw boxes stacked shoulder high with paint brushes, animal bones, wine bottles, broken bottle caps, broken clocks, feathers, skulls, spray painted Barbie dolls and cut outs from Playboy and Hustler

The Captain liked to give his leftovers to the wild animals that lived behind his house. So when he was finished with his meal he would take the entire plate and throw it off the back porch letting his hand hang in the air like a basketball player after a foul shot.

Today starts like every other day. We sit at the kitchen table which is covered in pistachio shells and wooden pipes clogged with resin. The Captain sits across from me completely naked except for his glasses, a leather necklace holding a purple crystal, and a metal dog tag defining his name and address.

“Do you know why I call you the Captain, Captain?” He scrunches his nose and scratches his eyebrow.
“Well I think you’ve told me, but I’ve already forgotten” he sighs.
“It comes from an old joke, would you like to hear it?”
“Why the hell not?”
“It was a dark and stormy night” I start off calm and slow “and the captain says to the first mate ‘step up and tell us a story’ And that story goes like this”
I pause briefly, then in a louder more dramatic voice “It was a dark and stormy night! And the captain said to the first mate ‘step up and tell us a story’ and that story goes like this.” And then, even louder and more dramatic “IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT! and the captain said to the first mate…”

The Captain chuckles and then hoots like an owl. He looks down confused.
“Sometimes Alzheimer’s can feel like a dark and stormy night Captain.”
“That’s right!” he says. “Can it be cured?”
“No Captain there is no cure.”
“Well what am I supposed to do about it? Just hire someone like you to take care of me?”
“Yes” I confirm.
“Well what will you do?” his voice creeks.

“Well, I will do the shopping and the cooking, the cleaning the medication and the driving.”
“Anything else?”
“I take you out to lunch and on drives through the redwoods and up the coast and I tell you jokes and stories.”
“Jokes?” He sounds interested. “Any good ones?”
“Sure, I’ve got one”
“Well let’s hear it man!” he says with conviction.
“It was a dark and stormy night” I pause to see if he remembers.
“And?” He leans forward.
“And the Captain says to the first mate ‘step up and tell us a story’.”