Amazon Emily Placido Category:  Memoir Publisher: Xlibris ISBN-10:  1450027881 Type: Non-Fiction Pages: 648 Copyright: April 22, 2010 ISBN-13: 9781450027885 In this unique memoir within a memoir is the real life tale of a mother’s battle with a disease that shows no mercy and her daughter’s unending love for her. A narrative told in two voices, Emily shares the story of her newfound relationship with her dementia-stricken mother while her mother illuminates highlights of her life in Cuba. Julita’s Sands reads like a novel, told with brutal honesty and rib-tickling humor as the author takes us on a thrill ride through tunnels of fear, sadness, joy, and inspiration. What propels this chronicle of their journey together is each one’s indomitable spirit as mother battles a disease that is stripping away layers of her being and daughter struggles to understand and cope while trying to keep her sanity and family in tact. The author paints a powerful picture of her outspoken, uninhibited mother who uses the dinner table as a forum for her “sexcapades.” With vivid images, Emily illuminates the experience of an ordinary daughter in an all too common situation, who ultimately triumphs, managing through a maze of errors, to uncover a loving bond that no disease or affliction could ever take away.   Excerpt Chapter One It was a typical hot, balmy August morning in Florida. The air conditioner was blasting full force in our Chevy Tahoe. I caught sight of the trees along the highway, whizzing by, like a green blur. We were moving fast. Maybe, it just seemed that way to me because I wanted the time to go by more slowly. If only I could swing my arm out the window and grab the air like a parachute. That would slow us down, right? Then the trees would look like trees again, not like smeared blobs of green paint you see in a child’s artwork hanging on the refrigerator. I stared out the window not really looking at anything. The icy cold air rushed through the vents of the truck. My hands traveled up and down my bare forearms, gliding over tiny bumps that popped up when the air made contact with the surface of my skin. There was music playing on the radio, but all I heard was the clanking of the U-haul trailer hitched to the back of the Tahoe. My mind was in a whirl. The thought of what I was about to do was finally hitting me. Well, not so much the thought, but the fact that I was actually doing it. I scanned the dashboard and looked at the time on the clock. We’d been on the road for close to an hour. Another hour or so, we should be there, just in time for lunch. I turned my sights from the clock to Mike. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes on the road. His left elbow rested on the part of the door by the window and the other hand gripped the steering wheel. His hair was neatly combed back. I should say, meticulously combed and gelled, so even a tornado couldn’t pluck a strand out of place. Between you and me, Mike could be pretty anal about his hair. I noticed how the white waves framed his face and fell just above his ears. He went gray at a young age, but he didn’t care about that. He was thrilled that he had a full head of hair. I always thought he resembled a young Michael McDonald, quite distinguished-looking. Quickly, I averted my eyes so he wouldn’t know I was looking at him. He’d only wonder why. What would I say? I don’t know why I looked at him. I guess I figured I’d be able to tell what was on his mind. In a couple of months, we will be married twenty-three years. When you’re together that long, a time, you can almost read each other’s minds just by watching facial expressions, body language, and those sorts of things. He didn’t look nervous to me. He appeared calm and determined to get to our destination as quickly as possible. Maybe, he just wanted to get this over and done with. I wondered if I looked calm too or if I looked as uneasy as I felt. I thought about asking him to stop at the next rest area so I could walk around a little and get something out of the vending machine. No, I wasn’t really hungry. I’d be wasting time. What I really wanted to do was scream, Hey! Aren’t you a nervous wreck like I am? How can you just sit there and drive, like everything is hunky dory? I didn’t do that. I sat there trying to look composed. I laid my head back onto the headrest, and gazed out the window. My eyelids felt heavy. Occasionally they got too heavy for me, so I let my eyes close for a short while. The midmorning sun radiated through the windshield. The heat warmed my skin. It felt as if I was sitting in front of an open fire on a cold night. It felt delicious. You know that feeling, when you are freezing cold and the sun heats you up just right. I turned the air vent away from me, toward Mike. The sun’s rays wrapped around me, like arms, enfolding me in a warm embrace. To me, it’s one of the best feelings in the world, when you get that warm sensation all over. It was a comforting hug from God, as if to let me know that I was doing the right thing. I basked in it, at that moment, holding on to it for as long as I could. A few minutes later, it slipped out of my grasp. Up ahead I saw a big green sign hanging off a post. West Palm Beach. Another thirty minutes, maybe more, depending on the traffic. “Will we be able to do this? We are doing the right thing, I mean this is the best thing for everybody, right?” My voice came out in barely a whisper. Mike turned to look at me. His eyebrows came together forming lines between them. He was puzzled. I could tell that he wasn’t sure if I said something, so I asked the question again, only louder this time. “We are going to be able to do this, right?” We had talked about this for months. We rehashed it over and over. I just needed some reassurance that everything would be all right. “Em, you said she can’t live by herself anymore. Besides, we can’t keep driving two hours down the road every time she calls.” For the first time since we got on the road, I heard the radio. It was some group singing an oldie, but goody. I turned down the volume, tired of talking over the music. “I know. I just hope she will be happy living with us. It will be much better for her, I’m sure of that. She’ll have company, and even though she won’t be in her own home, she’ll have her own room, her own bathroom, and her own living area. It’ll be like her own place, but in our house,” I said, more to myself than to Mike. “Yeah, your mother will be in one side of the house, and we’ll be in the other.” Mike stated. “Uh-huh, Katie and Sissy said they’d help us too,” I reminded myself. “She’s their mother too. We’ve been dealing with both my mother and yours. I would think that they’d understand our situation and help out. You’re talking to them tonight, right?” he asked. “Mm, huh,” I muttered. Mike leaned over and turned the music back up. My lips felt dry. I bent down and picked up my purse from the floor of the truck. I laid it on my lap and opened it. I unzipped the side pocket and found a tube of tawny lipstick. I pulled down the visor in front of me and looked in the mirror. After I put on the lipstick, my lips felt nice and moist. I checked under my eyes for mascara smudges, but didn’t find any, just some crow’s feet jutting from the corners. I laugh a lot, what can I say? And what’s with my hair? I needed to color it again, but every time I did, it seemed to get lighter and lighter. It was a washed-out lifeless blonde instead of the lively golden blonde, I was striving for. I flipped the visor up, shutting out the neutral image that stared back at me. Coral Springs/Margate . . . just a few more minutes. There was no turning back now. I was bringing my mom back home to live with us. So many things were running around in my mind. My thoughts were like little kids running rampant on a playground, unsupervised. I was getting more apprehensive by the minute, now. I was fine with this for a long time. Heck, I suggested it! It was one of those things where the anxiety built and built because the unknown was just plain scary. I knew that once we were back home and settled in, I would be cool as a cucumber. I just hoped I could say the same for Mom and Mike. The chains dangling off the U-haul trailer clanked loudly as we drove over the railroad tracks. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the trailer wobble, side to side. I grasped the knob to the air vent and pointed it directly at me. I was sweating. Damn hot flashes! Oh, did I mention, I was going through “the change?” That’s what Mom called it—the change. I never understood what that meant. All I knew was that, right now, my life was spinning into another orbit and I sure as hell didn’t need a double whammy! Chapter Two Sagua La Grande, Cuba . . . late 1920s People are walking by, staring at me. “Look at the beautiful little girl!” A man and lady are looking at me. “She looks like a doll.” Mami made long banana curls with my curly blonde hair. She put a huge white bow on top of my head too. She made this dress for me. It has a big bow on it that matches the one, on my head. I am sitting in front of the house, trying not to move. I’m not allowed to move. I have to sit here in front of the house because Mami will get mad if I get off this chair. Those people are right. I am a doll. I am Mami’s doll. I am the only girl and the youngest, so, that makes me pretty special. Mami can’t dress Pepito or Enrique this way, or do fancy things with their hair. They play ball and all sorts of games. They don’t have to sit in a chair and look pretty, like I do. Sometimes I wish my brothers would play with me, but Mami says that I’m too young. She won’t let me play, maybe, when I get a little older, she would allow me to play with them. Papi doesn’t think I’m too young. He likes to make me laugh. We have fun together. He tells me stories and plays games with me. He’s always smiling. I wonder why Mami looks mad all the time, especially when she sees Papi and me playing. When Mami yells at me, Papi says, “Leave la niña alone!” Papi always calls me, la niña, even though my name is Julita.

How to love your elderly parents
"Sacramento Book Review"
Here is a powerful memoir full of love, aging, and rediscovery of a mother as an individual, not just ma. Placido tells the story of her mother's decline, due to dementia, from moving her mom into Placido's own home to eventually making the decision to move her into a nursing home while trying to hold on to her job, marriage, and life. A bonus is the small bits of Julita's story as a young girl growing up in Cuba at the beginning of each chapter. They are only a page or two long, but allow us to know Julita as a young girl, full of ambition, love, and joy.

"I saw Michael Jackson once. All my life I thought he was a woman."

Tender care and honesty are the hallmarks of Placido's acceptance of her mother and her decline. The humor that she and others find in the situation is a huge unexpected gift to the reader, and I think, to Placido and her family. Moving isn't even the right word to describe the blooming relationship she develops with Julita by taking care of her. Julita doesn't walk well, gets uncomfortable with change and new faces, gets increasingly tired, becomes incontinent, but still relishes her meals and repeats at every dinner: "I love wine. Wine is good for you. I've been drinking wine since I was three years old." The humor sprinkled throughout the book makes you realize that it is important to laugh, even when you want to cry.

Placido has written her story, but it is also the story of many of us. Most of us will have to face care of our elder parents in one way or the other, and many already have. Placido shows us how it can be done with love, friendship, and a strong marriage.

If you are a fan of long goodbyes and movies such as //The Notebook//, or if you have had to care for an elderly parent, this is exactly what you are looking for. Just remember to bring along some tissues for the ending. I cried like a baby.

Favorite memoir of the year
Cybergwen
Julita's Sands is in the running for my favorite memoir of the year, if not my favorite book. Emily Placido has written a beautiful tribute to her mom, Julita, by sharing the story of her dementia and her experiences in taking care of her as she aged. It is a love story of a child rediscovering her mother as a person and giving back for all of the things that she did for her.

It was honest, heart-wrenching, powerful and reminded me of the joy of taking care of my own grandparents when they were battling Alzheimer's and getting older. Not every child is cut out for the job, but Placido stepped up to the plate and reaped the benefits.

If you loved The Notebook, check this one out.