My father, Bob, has the kind of dementia that makes him a time traveler from the 1950's. At ninety he has no short term memory. Consequently it is like hanging out with someone who sees the world as a futuristic, amazing place. Luckily, he sees the beauty everywhere... well almost.
Shuffling up to my house Bob stops and looks amazed, "Wow! Your flower gardens really having a rough time! What happened?"
Me, "It's January."