Alva Review-Courier -

WINONA, Minn. (AP) — Myrna Engh loved to travel, loved spending time with her friends in Las Vegas.

Her stuffed pork chops and jambalaya were too good for this world, say those who would know.

And even in her twilight years, her late 70s, Engh looked forward to pouring herself a 5 o'clock glass of whisky or wine — sometimes a glass of each.

"Mom was a bit of a partier," said Debbie Corrao, Engh's daughter.

Engh, 85, is still here and still breathing, though it doesn't always seem that way. Alzheimer's disease has left her weak and tired and increasingly forgetful, and it has left her family clinging to little things when they visit her at Lake Winona Manor.

The touch of her skin. The opening of her eyes. On a good day, the occasional joke from her fading mind.

"It's tough to watch the acceleration of this disease," Corrao told Winona Daily News . She who drives up from Sauk City, Wisconsin at least once a week with her husband, Tony Corrao. "It's just a relief to know that she's here and getting such good care. It's wonderful here."

The couple says they're particularly grateful for Lake Winona Manor's Namaste care program, started in May and inspired by the work of author and dementia care specialist Joyce Simard.

Lake Winona Manor has a room dedicated to the new program where residents can get their hair done, their nails painted, their shoulders rubbed and their feet soaked — all while sweet, sweeping music plays through the speakers.

"It's really our spa room," said Linda Atkinson, the nursing home's director of ancillary services. "People with dementia are often confused or upset by noises around them."

Patients often call out, cry and are anxious, Atkinson said.

"We've simply removed that from the environment by giving them this quiet, dedicated one-on-one time," she said. "It's just the right thing to do for our residents."

According to the nursing home, residents have been less likely to act out verbally or physically since the start of the program. Staff members have also reported fewer injuries resulting from interactions with confused or frustrated residents.

"It's been a huge difference," said nursing assistant Anna Miller. "Some people who have had negative behaviors, it just calms them down. It puts the fire out."

The Namaste program is intended to give residents whatever they need to feel comfortable. Some put together puzzles. Some tell staff about their lives, their childhoods. Some fold socks.

Engh, who came to Lake Winona Manor this spring, gets her hands on the occasional glass of wine, even if it's not happy hour.

Corrao said the program has been nothing short of a blessing for her mother, that she seems perfectly content here. Engh's bouts of anger, which had grown frequent in recent years, are few and far between now.

"I think that's because they do such a great job here," Corrao said. "Getting her hands rubbed, soaking her feet, listening to the peaceful music. Her skin has never been so soft."

It was clear several years ago that Engh's health and mind were beginning to slip.

Tony Corrao noticed dents in the corners of her van one day, and then found matching marks around her garage door.

He suggested Engh take it easy, that she be more careful. Her memory might be dimming, he told her.

"Maybe I need a bigger garage door," she replied.

Engh has been popular just about everywhere. A sports bar in Sauk City went so far as to name a sandwich "The Myrna" — turkey, Swiss and jalapeno mustard between two slices of dark rye bread.

People who know Engh say she is tough and stoic.

She buried her husband in 1994 and lived alone for two decades, rarely breaking down or showing anyone the grief she locked away.

"She's always held those things in," her daughter said. "Now, she cries for Dad."

In 2013, Engh moved to an assisted living facility in Sauk City. She began acting out, her family said, as her disease took its slow and wicked effect.

The facility wanted to move Engh into a shared room this spring, and instead of sacrificing her privacy, Engh's family decided to bring her to Lake Winona Manor. (Her granddaughter oversees emergency and urgent care services at the neighboring and affiliated Winona Health.)

There are times when it seems Corrao is trying to spark something in her mother, not just wake her up or get her to speak, but to recover a piece of the woman she knew.

She misses the mother who sewed her prom dresses, who worked as her bookkeeper when she grew up and started a travel agency, who journeyed with her across Europe and Asia.

"I don't see you every day anymore," Debbie Corrao said and stroked her mother's forehead. "I want you to look at me. Can you look at your daughter? Should I tickle your toes? Should I sing for you? I know you always loved that. Can you wake up for me, Mom? Can you wake up?"

Tony Corrao leaned in and whispered: "Let her sleep. Just let her sleep."

With a sad smile, Debbie Corrao fixes her mother's pink knit sweater and then pulls her hand away.

Engh is sound asleep in her big brown recliner, sighing a little, her chest rising and falling to the sound of strings.

___

Information from: Winona Daily News, http://www.winonadailynews.com