She had spent a lifetime sewing, a whiz with her black Singer or any kind of needlework, and she often came dressed in some article of clothing that was clearly unique and handmade, accentuated by equally distinctive jewelry that evinced her previous work as a fashion designer in Los Angeles. As a fellow knitter, I admired her skill and was always quick to comment on a hand-knit sweater or original top that she inevitably wore to each clinic visit. She would modestly, but proudly, beam. Dementia had unraveled her recent memories and her ability to respond in a more fluent manner: English was her second language and she was reverting more to her native Japanese.