Don't be worried. I'm hearing--and thinking--this sort of thing. Frankly, it's embarrassing and I don't like going out in public with my husband anymore. We have new neighbors across the street and I wonder if I should clue them in. Friends and former colleagues are aware, but strangers are the ones I feel sorry for. Jokes that aren't funny, sexual innuendos that are not appreciated, wanting to give stuff away. What will you do with that painting after I'm gone? he says. Look at it, is my response. Where will you put it? On the wall, where it is now. It feels like we're in that in-between stage where he still seems relatively normal until you talk to him for more than five minutes and he certainly believes he's on top of things, but more and more often he can't find the words to complete a simple thought, let alone a complex one. I feel so sorry for him because if I were in his shoes I'd be miserable and depressed, but he doesn't seem to be either of those things. Sometimes he bemoans the fact that things aren't as they used to be, but he doesn't dwell on that. I'm the one who dwells. I guess there's nothing we can do about any of this except get it out of our systems when and where (here) we can. We're better off than the people in Texas. Perspective.