The Diva and the Wench

Dear Diary,

Some of us were blessed at birth..practically straight out of the womb.. with an exceptionally high level of grace, poise and also.. a staggering knowledge of social decorum. If there was ever a tiny child that DIDN’T mess her hair, stain her pristine whites with any kind of smeared snack food or let out ANY kind of bodily “noise” that was not considered ladylike it was my MIL Ruth. I am absolutely POSITIVE that when her mom went to burp her as an infant.. Ruth did one of these little..uuhhhh hummmm and just cleared her throat and put her little baby fist in her mouth. Ahhhh. Cute. Feh. Dementia has not changed her in the slightest.. leaving me to look like a pathetic inept bar wench to Ruth’s Cinderella whenever we’re seen together. Which is pretty much every day. So NOW you can understand why my self-esteem is completely in the toilet. Not there is ANYTHING wrong with bar wenching.. the Elizabethan corset is so adorable. I saw one that Dolce did last season—OMG. Fab. Just add the Calvin peasant skirt. H-e-l-l-o? Still.

I have had much opportunity to study my MIL and her refined ways over the years and have taken copious notes so that I may posses an intellectual working knowledge of what it takes to pull off the “haute socialite..I am SO the diva and a queen” ways.

Wear pearls at all times

This is a non-negotiable must do for any girl who wants to be stunning and be taken seriously..whether you live at Happy Daze Assisted Livings ROAM floor (Alzheimer’s) or not. There is some creative freedom in your choice of pearl color..Ruth prefers her strand to be long, plastic and in the beige and pink tones. This way..they GO with all your beige poly/rayon stretch pants,  cotton blouses and also— doggie and lips printed nighties. Oh. What? Were you thinking that you were to be able to REMOVE them when you sleep? Pflug. Sorry. You’re going to be sleeping in those babies. Let the pearls become one with you..they will never leave your person. Except maybe when you get your SHOWER assist. Then..and only THEN may they be removed for a short spell to avoid the paint from peeling of the pearl. It’s a common problem.

Make conversation with ALL of the little people

It will be very important to acquire the skill of polite conversation with any Tom, Dick and Edna whom you may encounter during the course of the day. Say goodbye to any inhibitions, fears and “we don’t talk to strangers” rules that have been put in place for your protection (by your overly cautious..some may say PARANOID, DIL). Just go on and walk over to any gentleman (sitting at a stop light holding a sign) and ask him how his day is and what he’s “been up to?” Or.. if he’s “HAD any business?” I’m sure you’ll raise his spirits and his hopes as he gazes at your fine accessories and flashing charismatic smile while you listen to his story as if you had known him for years..and used to entertain him and his wife “on the boat”.

Never leave your room without lipstick

I have never seen my MIL without her lips on. Wait. Yes. Maybe I have once..but those were SPECIAL circumstances because she was going into surgery to get her appendix out and she only had enough time to get her UPPER lip done before the pain overcame her and the ambulance driver rushed her so badly that she had to do the “press together” without full color saturation. Without having dementia I’m sure Ruth would relive this terrible day over and over. Remember this..if you forget all else—The color that is chosen should never be anything to bright (tangerine neon orange does NOT compliment your age and liver spots) or dark..which shouts out TRAMP and FlOOZY.. Loudly. This is a clear message people— to STAY farrrrrrr AWAY from MAC Cyber no matter how much you love the intense blackish-purple color and satin texture. The refined and classy women.. that you and I wish to be like.. choose soft and polished shades of frosty mid-tone pink like the Limited edition Hello Kitty Lipstick by MAC in Strayin..Ruths fave.

Sit with the right people and show restraint at mealtimes

Ruth n-e-v-a-h just sits at any table with random old CROAM-IES (cronies up on floor ROAM). What she WILL do.. is make the rounds to see how everyone is doing and take the time to introduce herself to all the “new and interesting” people she only has just recently become acquainted (three years ago). When rounds are complete.. is it acceptable to scour the joint for the most prestigious table to sit at and do so? Oh yeah. How do you no which table is the “right” table? Easy. You must find a table where all your friends are sitting UPRIGHT. None of this, “I didn’t get my morning nap.. so I’ll just catch a few winks before my cream of chicken soup comes.”..and drool all over my fake china place setting. Gro-tt-ie. Your meal companions should be great conversationalist— lending itself to stimulating and thought provoking dialogue..

Lady in green and brown plaid sweater: I heard Thelma’s son got into medical school.

Ruth: Reeeeeally? How old of a boy is he?

Dude in pants hoisted up to his neck with suspenders: Hey. THELMA. How old is your kid?

Thelma: Who me? My name’s NOT Thelma.. it’s SELMA.

Ruth: Thelma?

Thelma: Noooooo. S-E-L-M-A.

Ruth: Ohhhhhh. Selma.

Thelma Selma: What?

Ruth: uh. heh heh heh. I forgot what we were saying.

Once the food does arrive..you mustn’t think that’s your cue to dive in. A well bred woman waits for..for someone ELSE to start eating before she remembers begins to enjoy her own meal. I have a really challenging time with this as I do so ENJOY inhaling whatever is placed before me..and then helping myself to my neighbor’s plate unabashedly. Ruth does the opposite. She eats in small little bites..always chewing well the tiny bits of mystery meat the staff have so helpfully cut for her. Then using her napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth.. she keeps her face clean of any residual morsels that could adhere by accident. While on the other side of the table..in a universe far, far, away, her DIL..ME..is shoving the MONGO roll and butter (450 calories) in her mouth while hiding her face behind her napkin and dropping crumbs down the front of inside of her shirt. You can’t take me anywhere.

Dear elegant people of My Sandwich generation, some deep inborn qualities stay with us forever..even where dementia is concerned. If your senior has always been brilliant with the social graces then chances are you’ve got a Queen (or king) for life. Maybe a queen who forgets to put her slippers on the correct feet or pairs her Powder Blue cotton pants with a red cashmere sweater vest..but the royal tendencies shine through in all there glory. As for Me? There is nothing to be ashamed of sitting at the bar wench table and belching loudly because let’s face it..we can’t ALL be DIVAS.

Please excuse me..I’m done.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Therapy Couch

Dear Diary,

There is something definitely UP this week.. over at Happy Daze Assisted Living. Every time I go in to see my MIL Ruth on the dementia floor (or floor ROAM as I so affectionately call it) I find myself suddenly thrust into the position of therapist to whomever has an issue or a gripe to get off their chest or needs counseling. I’m not sure why all of a sudden I look like a person who has any great wisdom or knowledge to share. Could it be the sunglasses? Hmmmm. Maybe THAT’S what makes me look as if I have a clue to the mysteries of life. Today the first person to jump in line and pull me aside.. posed an agonizing question to me that really rocked my world because lets face it.. what do I know about dinner seating arrangement thievery.. SELMA?

You should have seen poor Selmas face. Positively desperate. I couldn’t just turn her away and tell her that I’m not qualified to dish out advice. She was depending on me to guide her in a healthy direction. To fix a problem that she saw no answer to. So what did I do? I took Selma into my office (the bench in the hallway across from the fish tank) and sat down. In something WET.

“EWWWWWWW Ga. NOT a-g-a-i-n. Who PEE’D on the cushion?”

I don’t get why I can’t come into my office.. for ONE stinkin’ time and have a DRY place to sit? It’s like they wait for me to walk through the faux bookcase, key padded door and someone yells, “Quick. Here she comes.. Ruth’s DIL. Who has to go really badly?”

SELMA: Can you just deal with it? We’ve got bigger problems than your wet KAZOO. Now you see..we have these.. places. I always sit by Greta, Myrtle, Shirley and Glen. Everybody knows this and…

ME: (fakey soothing tone) Yes..I understand JUST. HOW. YOU. FEEL. (moving head up and down). I was at Starbucks once and I have this drink— that is MY special drink and then I heard someone ELSE order it..OMG I couldn’t believe..

SELMA (interrupting): Excuse me. But, I don’t SEE how THAT has anything to do with MY situation.

I glanced up in the middle of all my affirmative nodding to notice a line starting to form starting about a foot away and curving around the corner into the dining room area. If I didn’t think of a way to speed this session up..I might NEVER get to Ruth’s facial hairs, which by the way.. I had been promising to pluck for the last TWO weeks. I wouldn’t want HER to develop some weird complex because she had a thatch of two-inch hairs sprouting out of her chin that could probably be BRAIDED.

Next up in line I see..is Blanche. Fab. I’m guessing I could do her in three..maybe four minutes tops. It’s either going to be missing car key problems or inability to remember the code on the keypad lock. Next in line pushing..Jon (in his wheelchair) out of HER way and into Herman’s ROOM is FAYE. This may take a little longer..I’ll be dealing with hostility and defiance issues. “Nobody around here plays POKER by the rules. They all cheat..and I want YOU to pay me my winnings. Plus..interest.” Yup. That’s always fun. Woo Hoo. I LOVE it when she punches me. Yeah. Just the normal who’s who down the line..but wait. I see a face that I don’t recognize.

“Selma. I hope I’ve helped you work through your little issue but I would like a follow up appointment..maybe a week from today? Go ahead and check in with my secretary Ruth..she’ll book you for my next available.”

SELMA: I hope I don’t have to PAY you for that?

ME:(clearing throat) No..don’t be silly. That box of SEES Chocolates in your room will be payment enough. You don’t eat nuts and chews anyway.

Selma gets up and I walked over to the lady who looked very upset to the point of tears. This didn’t look good.

“Are you OK?” I ask. Checking out the guy she’s holding hands with. I K-N-O-W this dude..he’s Ruth’s boyfriend. Nothing really serious yet.. because they’re mostly stuck in the early courtship stage. Remember those first few dates with that someone special? You ask their name, you hold hands, you gaze into each others eyes and memorize every detail of their face. Then you ask their name and question where you know them from because they look.. familiar. By brilliant deduction I realize that I am now staring into the eyes of the distraught WIFE of boytoy boyfriend. Accckkkkkkk.

I pull the two aside into the quiet of the living room area..blowing off Faye’s protests of “It’s no fair. They have to wait their turn in line like EVERYONE else.” and JoJo’s obvious positioning of herself near the three of us.. so she could eavesdrop on the whole conversation and use it later to shake up the monotonous dinner conversation.

The wife asks me my name and thinking nothing of it I tell her. What’s it to me? It’s not like I did anything wrong. Ummmm. Not a warm hello did I get.

“YOUR MIL is a terrible woman. She’s stealing my husband Gart away. How could you let her do this?”

Let’s take a look at this question..break it down into a few parts..before I go any further in my counseling services.

1. Myth: MIL is a terrible woman. FACT: MIL was here FIRST and YOUR Gart smiled at HER. If that isn’t instigating I don’t know WHAT is.

2. Myth: Husband stealer. FACT: Pfeh. Ruth couldn’t pick Gart out in a line up. In fact..she has to ask ME which one he is. I’ve NEVER seen her steal anything.. except maybe a few packs of tea from the “Free cookies and fruit” room downstairs. His heart belongs to YOU darling..his wife. Ruth’s just a really cool girl, who wears amazing clothes and happens to hang on every word your hubby says because she can’t hear well and also because HE takes the time to TALK to her. When you’re on a dementia floor..nobody takes the time to give anyone one on to one time.

3. Myth: I have say in what she does regarding her PERSONAL life. FACT: Not only has she not asked permission from ME to date YOUR husband..she has told me VERY little about him. All I know is that he likes chocolate pudding, he dresses well and he always waits for her in the hall when she’s out getting her hair done. For hours. Sitting. Patiently. Phew. Too much information Ruth.

I wiped tears, I hugged, I acknowledged..what more could I do? In the end I had to re-brake the news to the poor wife that her husband had DEMENTIA. Although she was having a hard time processing this..the writing was on the walls. Really.. do you know very many people who eat soup with a knife? I didn’t think so. Just as I started to calm her down we had a setback..

“Excuse me? What are we supposed to be doing right now? OHHHHHH. Look. It’s MY friend?”

Ruth has spotted my little therapy group and has come over to help us over the ROUGH patches and Garts wife is shrieking “SEE..see what I mean? She won’t leave him A-L-O-N-E.” Oh great. Where was I? “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do..” I look up and Garts wife is leaning in..listening very carefully to my next words of profound widom. “I’m going to..

yessssssss?

“..take a couple of these (pulling out my Motrin caplets) and I’ll call you in the morning.” This session is O-V-E-R.

Next?

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

ROAD RAGE

Dear Diary,

Granny Marnie is the sweetest granny a girl could EVER ask for. But every ONCE and awhile..when I least expect it—WHAM. I find myself face to face with Hurricane Hortense. Armed and totally dangerous. Upon her electric scooter she sits.. all pissy with eyebrows drawn in an angry “mono” slash.. (so will NOT touch them up..if you paid me) and spitting FIRE in the direction of any poor schlump (me) who happens to cross her path.. wearing thongs..thus making herself completely vulnerable to any crazed scooter drivers wiles. Maybe poor schlump is doing a kind SERVICE by picking fire breathing granny UP and taking her out for an errand? Hey. I just wanted to SPARE 95 yr. old Marnie the trouble (and bother) of hopping (um..maybe not the best choice of words) on public transit in 105 degree heat. How many times have I heard the tales of injustice and woe of being made to stay on the bus..while stop after stop goes by. Watching other scooter girls and scooter dudes get off before her. Coming darn close to PIP from having to hold it for hours. All the while STARVING..forcing her to peer into her designer handbag and dig around for napkin wrapped cookies from the “free cookies and fruit” room at KillJoy Senior living, she had placed there..ummm. Last week? Blech. It’s for emergencies just like THIS.. that one should always wrap up a few complimentary goodies.

I didn’t see it coming..but the first clue that something was up should have been the speed at which she took the first turn after getting off the elevator. Holy cow she’s heading right for me and she’s not slowing dow..

“Marnie! Stop. OMG. Don’t even think to come near me. Remember what happened to SmartAlec’s foot?”

I’m shuddering as I recall my eldest child’s yelps of anguish as Marnie came up a little too close behind him and “nipped” at his heels with her 4 wheel drive.

MARNIE: You shouldn’t even be wearing THOSE (pointing at Abercrombie flip flops) they’re kind of.. shabby (making sad and pathetic face). Say..would you like a pair of my old sandals? They’re MUCH nicer then the ones you have on and I’ve h-a-r-d-l-y ever worn them?

This is a trap. I have learned over the years..through trial and much error, how to identify a pothole and maneuver delicately around it. One false move and I will be plagued for weeks with..

“Why won’t you take the sandals?”

“Is your foot to FAT for the sandals?”

“All the girls I know have a good pair of SANDALS?”

“I won’t make you pay me back for the sandals.”

Let me tell you..I have taken inventory of every pair of shoes in Marnie’s closet and those sandals are circa 1975..One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest..Nurse Ratched specials. Lightly worn..down to the tan cork bottoms.

ME: Oh. Are you talking about the white plastic ones with the open toe? I ALREADY have a pair. I think my mother found bought them for me..at a rummage sale. They look great worn with tan nylons.

Remember to add personalized touches as I did for authenticity in fabrication.

MARNIE: (thinking) Do you think your SISTER would like them?

If in doubt of what to do..throw sibling under the bus.

ME: Ga. YES. (swinging hands into air with HUGE enthusiasm). Ha Ha Ha. I K-N-O-W my sister would LOVE them. She’d look so much better in them, then ME. (cough cough)

Am I good. Or. What.

I still couldn’t shake Marnie from her funk. I got her seated and comfy in my car. Put a little towel down to cover the heated seat and EVERYTHING. Then had the brilliant thought, that I could coax a good mood into reality by playing some nice soothing..elevator music. Found out that Marnie can still YELL over The Beach Boys.

“I don’t know why I couldn’t have gone to the HOSPITAL to see Papa G. myself? I’m sure I can get around just FINE without your help. I could have taken the bus MYSELF. Why do you have to dictate to me? I’m NOT a CHILD. DO you hear me? I’m (stomp foot) NOT (stomp foot) A (hit hand on leg) CHILD (leg hit again).”

I glance in the back seat where my sons.. nine year old Aliendude and eleven year old SmartAlec have their mouths hanging open and their eyes bugging out of the sockets. I know in their heads they were thinking, “Don’t push her granny. Moms been known to pull the car over and threaten us with walking home for a whole lot less.” If you really must know..I did think that for a half a second. But I’m not sure that would have sat well..given that Marnie had no mode of transport back to KillJoy (left the wheel chair at home with the scooter) and if she tried hitching a ride back..who would see her sitting by the side of the highway with her thumb out?

“Marnie..I love you and your family wants to make life easier for you now. You shouldn’t have to go visit your husband in the hospital by YOURSELF.. on a bus if we can be here to do it. Your family should be allowed to give support. This is a time for family to be together.”

Silent treatment.

All I can hear is Aliendude chomping away on the same piece of Bubble tape he’s had for three hours. That must have lost it’s flavor by now..you’d think. gnaw…gnaw..gnaw..click..pop.

“Ok. Now I know where I am.”

What’s this? She speakith?

ME: What did you say Marnie?

MARNIE: You should make a left here and then you can park. Make a left..

UUUURKKKK.

MARNIE: No. I mean make a right.

UUUUURRRRKKKKK.

MARNIE: Maybe it is a left.

I’m dropping you off here. I’ll go park.

The ride home was soooo much nicer now that Marnie had seen Papa G. She had some very sweet and tender moments with him that erased all the hostility of the morning..almost.

“Dear..I’m NOT hungry. You go ahead and get the kids something to eat. I don’t want a THING. When you get to be my age..you just don’t have much of an appetite anymore. If I’m not hungry..then I’m not hungry. I really can’t eat a sin..”

Fine. Enough said on the subject of Marnie and hunger.

As the kids we’re getting back in the car and I was helping them with their veggie-burgers and fries..I happen to glance at Marnie. She was unwrapping a white paper napkin from her purse and to my great surprise pulling out cookies. Then she’s all.. “nom nom nom” on these grotty oatmeal delights that have been in her purse for who knows HOW LONG.

“Marnie. WHAT are you doing?”

MARNIE: I got hungry.

Feh.

My Sandwich Generation..sometimes you just have to suck it up and stick to your guns. There are going to be times with your seniors..where your actions will not be welcomed. Shocking. I. Know. Then the skill is— to keep calm and refrain from using anything higher then “level 2” swear words. If you get into the “level 1” bombs..remove yourself from your senior ASAP and take a few deep breaths before continuing. Remember—your upper slice is adapting to a new way of functioning and it’s not easy to feel you’re losing your freedom and control. Just remind them they are still calling the shots. You’re just there to MAKE life easier..because they deserve the very BEST.

!@#&#*! BEEP. BEEP.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Love Triangle

Dear Diary,

Today I did the impossible..I hit THREE..yes—you heard right. T-H-R-E-E  different health care facilities..in under six hours. If that’s not the kick ARSE-E-EST..then I don’t know WHAT is. First stop was to visit Papa G. who’s exquisitely BAD timing has put him smack dab in the middle of MY Sandwich.. which is already full up and stuffed to the gills with my MIL Ruth (dementia) and Granny Marnie (electric scooter girl) topping it off. What this means is..Papa G… although most needing of his TLC time.. gets totally gypped because of the competition. As luck would have it, G won me first..lucky dude. Off I went to the lovely Nursing Home setting of Cruel-ill de’Villa..where every room has a spectacular view of the water below. I’m sure all the residents find it very reassuring, that if they feel well enough..they can just pop down to the dock and have a ski before breakfast..anytime they want. THAT.. in itself is something to live for. Hmpf.

Time spent with “G.” demands a completely different approach then with the other two girls. First of all..I get to do all the talking. This is not as hard as it sounds. I am so AMAZING at talking about absolutely nothing (to myself) for twenty..even thirty minutes. Cripes. It startles me how good I am. Some would find it daunting to carry on a monologue in the presence of a sleeping audience. I welcome it as a challenge of my craft. I pull up along side Papa G.’s bedside and whisper a hello. I know that even though he’s sleeping most.. if not all of the time these days..he’ll welcome the conversation of one who leads such a thrilling and extraordinary life..

“..and then AFTER I took a picture of the kids burnt EGGO waffles and posted them on twitpic.. I did the laundry. (pause) Hey. I know. Do you want me to play some music for you. Yeah..sure you do– might enjoy that (as opposed to me sitting here prattling on for the next 45 min.). Let’s see..(shuffling through iTunes library) how about this..?”

How can Papa G. not love Nickelback? Naahhhhh. Something in the B’s maybe? Oh. This might work. Breathe..Michelle Branch. CLASSIC. I’m a big believer in subliminals. This could accomplish TWO things at once..relaxation and inspiration. I click it on and hold it up to his ear watching for some sign of enjoyment..Wait. Was that a movement I just saw. “Papa G. do you like this?” OMG he made an affirmative noise.. I’m sure of it. I’m watching very carefully..leaning in close. Wahhhh. He’s snoring. Time to try massage. Very soothing.

Where are my kids when all this excitement is going down? My boys are very used to making the rounds (when later compensation is involved). Aliendude and Smartalec come fully equipped with their DVD player and are pro’s at the advanced age of nine and eleven in the eldercare arena. Fingers CROSSED that they retain this knowledge for some—oh..I don’t know. Some future NEED. Through trial and error we’ve learned that some facilities are more kid friendly then others. Cruel-ill is a little bit on the “not so much” side. Happy Daze Assisted..on the other hand offers all the pop you can drink, unlimited stale cookies and a pool table..that will help build great and wonderful skill in my boys when they hit.. Vegas.

Ruth was going to be a snap after Papa G. because my conversation with her is guaranteed to be stimulating. I ran up the back staircase and hit the keypad lock to push the secret door aside up on ROAM (Team dementia headquarters). Why, would you lookie here? We have an absolutely cutthroat game of “frap-a-pingo” (Ruth’s nod to the Mocha Frappuccino’s from our fav Starbucks mixed with BINGO) going on here. Faye as usual is shouting at the top of her lungs her infamous line..

“She cheated. I saw her cheat (pointing at Ru). She knows FULL well she doesn’t have an s-3. Take it off N-O-W.”

OH. PLEEEEZE Faye. If I had a nickel for EVERY time you pulled a fast one..I’d be on a cruise ship to Vancouver. With Ru..and the kids. Ru might be helping the kids onto the deck tables so they might yell “MOM, we can see MUCH better from here. Woo Hoo.” Leaning way over the railing to view the icy waters below.. thus eliciting shrieks of terror from their mother.. Huh? Oh. Yeah. I’ll tell you about THAT one another time.

Ruth said the heat of the day was beginning to take a toll on her person and I readily agreed. I removed her from Faye’s insults not because WE’RE afraid of Faye (which we are) but because some concern was aired by granny regarding the symptoms of “profuse perspiration (neck dampness) and confusion” which we all know, could point to a myriad of heat related issues. In someone NOT in an air-conditioned room—chugging cranberry punch and sporting dementia. I decided the best action under these dangerous conditions was to spritz her down with a bottle of FIJI water I had hidden in her linen closet for this VERY reason. Here. Sit back and relax in the nice lazy boy recliner granny. Maybe you’d like another sip of Passion Tea-lemonade? “Just r-e-l-a-x. Close your eyes and pretend you’re in Hawaii.” I coo. Hoping to settle her down after Faye’s hurtful (and SO true) accusations of dishonorable conduct.

“How can I relax. I’m in the middle of a MONSOON?”

Pffffffft. Too much wind and surf? Ignoramus I. AC down to..click..click.. high. Here’s a towel.

I gathered up the kids from the poolroom.. where they had skillfully engineered a ramp out of the pool sticks and were rolling the balls down in groups of ten..towards the floor..as a sort of booby trap (I can’t say that my children don’t use their time wisely). It was time to drop them at home with dad and hit the happiest place on earth next. KillJoy -if it hasn’t been done..we’ll do it to you. Humble abode of sweet dear Marnie..electric scooter girl par excellence.

Marnie was having a tough time tonight. I knew it definitively when ALL she could compliment me on was my “thick eyebrows”. Yup. We’re scraping the bottom of the barrel these days. Granny is missing Papa G. so much since he moved over to
Brand X. She is concerned he sleeps so much and eats so little. I have to remind her that a dude gets PRETTY tired when he’s worked for almost all of the 96 years of his life. Speaking of tired..and hungry. I seem to recall I have..KIDS. Time for me to head on home and dive into the lower slice of my big heaping mouthful..of delight. The meal is waiting for me at my table.

Yum.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Tales from the Family Tree

Dear Diary,

One of the MOST fun and exciting discussions I could ever have with my MIL Ruth (dementia) includes some discussion of the family. Now..I have to tell you. The reason I find this so dang INTERESTING is that Ruth in her state of memory loss..tends to take some creative and artistic liberty in filling in some of the small memory gaps of these specific members.. with some p-r-e-t-t-y colorful details. Usually— these richly entertaining sessions are brought about by her grandsons AlienDude and SmartAlec, exhibiting some bizarre-o behavior that kick-starts the long-term memory station into full gear..launching us headlong into a “I remember how your great uncle Teddy used to do THAT very same thing when he was a kid.” Really granny? I hadn’t realized that they HAD Coinstar machines in Kroger’s grocery stores in the 1930’s. I can just picture it. Long curly haired, 9 yr. old Teddy..dressed in his little white sailor collared top and matching shorts and tights.. gingerly inserting his leftover Chuck E. Cheese tokens into the COINSTAR in a pathetic attempt at thievery.

It wouldn’t be right to contradict or correct granny in her rehashing the good ole days—so usually I sit back, relax and let the magic unfold.

“I remember your Granny Marnie (electric scooter girl) when SHE was a girl. Maybe she was 5 or 6 at the time..let’s see if I’m 90(buzz.. your 82) and she’s 80 (buzz..she’s 95) then..(this ought to be good) I must have been a..teenager. We would go on sleepovers JUST like YOU boys do. We had the BEST time together. We’d play all sorts of games like you do now. What are the names of some of your favorites?”

AlienDude: We like Nintendo DS..Mario vs Donkey Kong

Heh Heh Heh. Like to see you work with THIS one Ruth.

Ruth: Oh..we used to play that for hours.(Kids nodding their heads with big grins..Ga.)

Ruth: Is it hard for you when they put the blindfold on and spin you around to pin on the tail?

Hmmmm. Yeah. I can see how we got here. Nice return.

I think it’s important for the children to know from where they came. To feel connected to something bigger then themselves. A time of great family values..and morals. A time of..

“You should hear what your FATHER used to do when he was your age.”

OMG. Please let’s not go here. Pleaseeee.

Distract.

Distract.

ME: Ruth..maybe you should tell the boys about great great grandpa Max. I’ll bet they would love to hear about how he started the family business..?

RUTH: Ahhhh. Grandpa Max. Well, let’s see what I can tell you. (thinking) Oh..the funniest thing..

This should be good.

Your FATHER used to tie up the babysitter and launch a full-scale attack..

“We do that! We do that!”

Great. Now you’ve just endorsed their disgraceful behavior by invoking the name of their Father to give it credibility and acceptance. Cripes.

The best stories are always when Ruth talks about the time with her own father and the sweet relationship they had. It’s almost hard to BELIEVE she had her own NORDSTROM card at “their age” and use of the family VOLVO a few years later. Wow. Her folks were really ahead of their time. I only hope I can do as great a job with our kids.

My Sandwich Generation..you will find the tales of the olden days are a wonderful way for you to interact with your seniors. Take full advantage of the time you spend getting the scoop.. Then YOU will be able to continue passing it on to your kids..with embellishment of course— for the many generations to come. Remember to add.. “and they all lived happily ever after. H-A-V-E to have THAT.”

The end.

NOT.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

I Want to Hold Your Hand

Dear Diary,

Some points you should know about dating on floor ROAM over at Happy Daze Assisted Living heh..heh..heh. It’s a l-i-t-t-l-e bit different than what YOU might EXPECT. Forget about meeting at bars or being set up by your best friends roommate. Ugh. The. Drama. Getting up in the middle of dinner under the false pretense of using the ladies room..only to text your daughter-in-law that, “He’s such a loser. ROFL. His dentures keep falling out of his mouth when he slurps and noms his apple sauce. Makes me want to hurl.” Huh? I should have NEVER taught my MIL Ruth how to text. I don’t even know HOW she REMEMBERS. What? Don’t look at me.. I showed her three times. Feh. He just needed more denture glue..that’s all. Judgie.

Dating young, cute girls with dementia like Ruth.. just got a whole lot easier with the new and improved system of dating. To hook up with the IT girl on the Alzheimer’s floor is not always easy at first. There are a MILLION (two) guys fighting for a place by her side at Flexi-Fingers, Exercise or Happy Hands Class and how can a girl choose..when she can’t see well enough to tell you apart from the competition? But if you play your cards right as new boyfriend Gart did..you’ll end up with the most adorable, put together gal..sporting the hottest clothing trends like nobody’s business..with I might add— amazing hair. Booyah.

HOW TO MEET A GIRL

1. Run into girl in Hallway (with your walker and not TOO hard) trying to find your room.

2. Find out where girl lives.

3. Walk up and down hall with girl for an hour trying to find HER room and your room.

4. Ask girl what her name is.

5. Tell girl what YOUR name is.

6. Invite girl to sit with you at lunch.

7. Ask girl AGAIN what her name is.

8. Meander up and down the hall for another 30 minutes trying to find the dining room.

9. Sit down at table.

10. Introduce yourself to girl. Find out what girls name is.

11. Hold Hands.

-A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

USE IT or LOSE IT

Dear Diary,

I believe in the importance of allowing my Granny Marnie (electric scooter girl) to do as MUCH as possible by herself..without doing something dumb, which could ultimately put her in harms way and force me to scream, “WHAT are YOU thinking in that HEAD of yours MARNIE?” To which she will respond, “I’m sorry honey..I wasn’t thinking. How was I supposed to know that I COULDN’T push the couch back where it was originally.. by ramming it with my scooter. Repeatedly. Until I knocked the lamp over—almost causing the bulb to shatter in a million pieces potentially causing disfigurement or blindness or both??”

Maybe I cook a meal or two (it’s easier for me to deal with a kitchen fire that I start) and drive her around when she’ll let me (still fighting for her re-instatement of driving privileges) but in the bigger picture Marnie wants to “do it herself” and I have no other choice but to honor that..pretty much. What I have never really participated in..is any aspect of her personal grooming. Ummmm. The exception being..the artful sketching of two symmetrical, perfectly arched brows when the times warrant and the brushing and proper placement of her cherished “Susie”.. her hairpiece of five years. Still.. there are some activities that are really just NOT going to happen because of her ever so slight disadvantage of being electric scooter bound and …95 years of age. The. Shower.

In the past..whenever I suspected deception in the hygiene department..I very delicately went sniffing for answers to my nagging question about the HOWS and WHENS of said shower habits.

ME (scootching up real close to Marnie): I love you Marnie.

MARNIE: I love you dear. Have you had lunch?

ME: I’m good. I had a big lunch (mixed nuts from Trader Joe’s) earlier. (sniffing) You smell goooooood..what kind of SOAP do you use THESE days?

MARNIE (thinking deeply with eyebrows still in “smile” mode): Well..I’m not sure what kind it is? I’ll tell you what..When I think of the name— I’ll buy you a bar for a special gift.

Using my extraordinary super sleuthing techniques..I can get Marnie to show me.. not only the soap (inspecting for any signs of use) but also the chance to asses moisture in the shower area. When I see NO hint that the shower has been used (Irish Spring STILL in original wrapper) I start poking around a bit more.. to get to the bottom of things—so to speak.

ME: Marnie. When was the last time you got in the shower?

MARNIE: Oh I DO.. once in awhile dear. I just do sponge baths, which are almost the same thing.

Which brings me to my very FIRST time getting my Granny Marnie from her electric scooter into the S-H-O-W-E-R and back out again..ALIVE.

It’s not that I haven’t been pushing Marnie since she moved into KillJoy Senior Living: if it’s not already done—we’ll do it to you.. to GET help in the shower department from the day she moved in. I started casually.. with my various techniques of persuasion ranging from:

1. BLUNT: If you STINK..no one will want to play Bridge with you.

2. GUILT: I bought YOU all those EXPENSIVE soaps from Crabtree & Evelyn..when I could have spent the money on your poor..UNDERPRIVILAGED great grand children..who have NEVER even been to Maui and have worn the same NIKE’s for months.

3. BRIBERY: If you get some shower help..I MAY overlook the fact that you have
5 dozen shortbread cookies and a dozen bananas shoved in your purse..at this very moment.. taken from the “free cookies and tea” room.

MARNIE: They WANT you to take the cookies. That’s what they’re there for.

“Marnie..you know as well as I—that KillJoy doesn’t even consider the possibility that someone would go in with a suitcase and dump platters of refreshments into it. Since you won’t cooperate and hire someone to shower you..today I will do you myself.”

I think I have never seen Marnie throw off her clothing SO fast..all the while whoopin’ and hollerin’ from the bathroom, “You know you don’t have to do this dear. It’s not too late to change your mind..O.K. Ta Da.. I’m ready.”

Uhhhhhhh. Think Adrienne. T-h-i-n-k. Best way to maneuver Granny out of her scooter..with her two legs whose only function these days are to sit there and look pretty..Here’s what I’m going to do. I’ll move the scooter to the very edge of the shower and the shower chair to the inside edge to meet it and LIIIIIIIIIIIFT. One more time. LIIIIIIIFFFFTTTTTT. Ughhhhhhhhh.

Cripes all mighty.

One more try Marnie. On the count of three..One..Two..Three.. UPPPPPPPPP.

Wow. Your boobs are a lot bigger then I remember them. Have they always been that big?

DOWN. Phewwwww.

“How ya doin’ Marnie?” I ask, as I wipe the sweat from my forehead. Drat. I need to work out my core. Poor core stability leads to all kinds of evils..some of which are letting themselves be known as Marnie  suds’ away happily. My back hurts and my abs spasm. Shame on me for not doing dead lifts and crunches with any sort of regularity over at Club Pretensia. Yeah. But if Papa G has been doing THIS all these years as Marnie claims and he’s 96..I see no reason WHY I should be suffer..

“Time to get me out dear. Put the towel on my scooter and then I’ll sit on it to dry off.”

“OUT? Already? But Marnie..you just got in..(checking watch) thirty minutes ago.”

Stall.

“Marnie. I’m going to wash your hair. (Grabbing shower nozzle) Just sit back and relax you’re in for a real treat..

OH NO. OH NO.

OH. NO.

Marnie got it.. right in the face. That dang devil hose had a mind of it’s own..water blasting up Marnies nostrils, through the shower curtain and all over the bathroom floor. Thankfully Susie the hairpiece was spared.. the scooter and yours truly? Not so much. I just carried on with the scalp massage.. as if this was all a part of the plan. Water up the nose in some countries can be extremely therapeutic..clears up all kinds of sinus issues.

Grabbing on to a slippery, wet naked Marnie is a job for a skilled “shower helper” and not some kind of shower girl “wanna be”. I am overly confident to a fault and saw no reason why I couldn’t treat this situation as I do a game of “Capture the Watermelon” in the swimming pool. Are you familiar with that game? You slather Crisco all over a humongous melon and then try to capture it and bring it over to the side of the pool for safety. So NOT like that game. Marnie has gained a few pounds from all those free cookies.. I can tell you RIGHT now. I grabbed her around the waist..pulling her tight in for control and held on for dear life. Then I flung her into her scooter.

“How’s THAT. Was it a good shower Marnie?”

Marnie was grinning so widely you would have thought she hadn’t seen a shower in..

OMG. It had been TWO weeks. Papa G hadn’t been well (no..it wasn’t his BACK) and had been spending time in the hospital. Marnie being one who does everything herself just let a few MINOR things go. Not anymore.

Marnie has shower help now. She tells me she doesn’t like the staff to do TOO much. The nice girl can come and get Granny in the shower and help her get out. But then..I come to find out..Marnie tells her to leave. Why? “Because I can dry myself off and get dressed..in the bathroom..by myself..when I’m wet.” I know JUST what to do when Marnie does this.

ME: Marnie. Did you know you’re paying the girl to help you dry off and get dressed? Don’t you want to get your MONEY’S Worth? Think of all of that MONEY you’re wasting if you don’t let the girl do what you’re PAYING her to do.

DIRECT HIT!

See how I did that?

I don’t care what your SENIORS tell you My Sandwich Generation members..always be persistent in confirming their answers with documented FACTS. If you are in the position of advocate..some skill will be necessary in allowing parents to arrive at the decision themselves..that SKILLED help or any help is necessary in risky situations. Or..if they refuse..you could always threaten do it.. YOURSELF.

Bwahahaha.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Nothing brings an enormous glowing smile to Granny Marnies face then.. having her eyebrows drawn on properly (I knocked the “arch” out of the park this time..heh) AND having her huge brood surround her for a family meal (somewhere OTHER than her place). There our illustrious matriarch sits..fully engaged in the act of observing her grandchildren and great-grand children slamming down their fish sticks and fries in unison.. and defending a little too loudly each others parenting skills (or lack thereof). Like when her second born Grandson’s DAUGHTER.. little Polly Pockets, made a grab for the toy TASER her fifth born granddaughters SON Luke Skywalker was happily amusing himself with..under the table.

I SAW THE WHOLE THING. When Marnie’s head was turned toward the dessert table..sweet dainty Polly slid down under the table and wrangled the gun away from Lukie..while placing him in a choke hold from which there was NO escape. Then she used the weapon as a maraschino cherry masher with the remnants’ of her Shirley Temple cocktail and a handy dandy NOSE picker..which for all intensive purposes was a little unsettling to watch. Luke melted down on the SPOT..because naturally “THAT’S snott howz it’s spossed to be used MAMA.” Then we had the big heated debate on the subject of how YOUNG is too young to be trained in toy taser usage. Some say five..some six. Fe.

Talk about exciting one to a point of near delirium. As Marnie looked out from the head of the table..a seat only reserved for the very powerful (or those who must drive electric scooters) enthralled by the many generations assembled before her.. she believed she was seeing..not only the MOST well behaved progeny known to mankind but also the most intelligent. I was not for a second going to shatter her illusion..Until SOMEONES child dumped cherry Popsicle down my neck.

Happy Hands

Dear Diary,
It is a well know FACT that women like my MIL Ruth (dementia) don’t just use their manicurist to get their chipped, bitten, hangnail ridden paws beautified (although that’s a nice perk). The real satisfaction comes from the huge relief that the woman feels from spilling her guts (or whatever she’s able to recall of her guts) to a well trained PROFESSIONAL. This soul barfing involves, the sharing of deep secret feelings (Ruth actually LIKED the unstructured hooch sheer blouse that I was forced to hide) and life “experiences” (all the good ones are Married or Dead) with the beauty licensed individual in IMPLIED confidentiality (wink wink).. who THEN— does a FULL professional analysis and helps guide you in possible appropriate actions..for as long as it takes to arrive at them..

Or until the topcoat gets dry.

Then it’s on to the next patient (client)..who will press for a blow-by-blow account of every little juicy detail of the plight of the distressed old dear that came before. All that AND the added joy of knowing that for about the same cost as seeing a real counselor (depending of course on whether you get served tea and cookies in your nail therapy session) she’s receiving fab nails and great advice from an almost real certified shrink. Doesn’t GET much better than THAT.

Don’t you think that insurance should cover mani-pedi’s? First we had to break ground with some alternative treatment options like ACUPUNCTURE and Feng Shui..next it will be nails and waxing. Mark. My. Words. Sooooo much benefit..and healing.. for the masses.

In Ruth walks.. two minutes shy of  her 12:15 p.m. manicure appointment down on the main floor of Happy Daze Assisted Living. Scruffy nailed, chipped and worn down from a hard week of eating, drinking and partying on floor ROAM (Alzheimer’s). Ruth shuffles in at lightening speed..eager to get to the nail station and begin her treatment. She’s greeted by an adorable, personable, intelligent, size 2 Feh..SIZE 6 girl..who couldn’t have been a day over 25 ummm..over 35.
And did I mention t-h-i-n?

ME: O.K. So.. come sit over here Madame (pointing to the table covered in paper towels). I have set up a perfect little nook in which to do your nails today.

“Why thank you.” Ruth Mae (or may NOT) says— as I guide her over to the VIEW table (hottie construction men across the street.. shirtless.. shweeeeet) that I have set up to resemble Salon She She Poo Poo..almost EXACTLY. I assembled a nice little selection along the window ledge of maybe four or five bottles of the same color.. OPI Almost Virgin pink and one bottle of white for custom design work. Why no variety in shades?

A.  Remove any possibility of bad color choices

B. Avoid confusion and stress of having to decide which will look better with her sweater and blouse color palette

C. Allow her to still FEEL that she has the POWER to make important..life altering decisions..when in fact she doesn’t. Uhhhhhhhhhh..
Well— this may NOT be so accurate a statement because Ru totally talked me in to using the most putrid shade of ROT and threatened to not leave a TIP unless I “did what the CUSTOMER asked” the last time I polished her. Blech..I guess you know who wears the PANTS in this relationship. Please note: will NEVER again cave in and do Sally Hansen, Hard as Nails.. Gangreen #05 for a cheesy .25 cents and a half eaten Rice Crispy Treat.

Granted.. the free fruit and cookies room doesn’t offer the same ambiance that the more ritzy shops offer, but what we lack in amenities we make up for in enthusiasm.

ME: Before I start your nail treatment..may I offer you a beverage? Some tea or chilled prune juice perhaps?

Ruth M.: Do you have anything STRONGER?

ME: Nicccccce. Tell me again where you think you are?

Ruth: Well, the OTHER place gives out wine. What kind of cheap joint is this? (Tee hee hee. Tee hee hee)

ME: Fun-ny. Just play along..would ya? May I get you some bananas or..I know. How about some green foil thin free mints? Maybe a few of these freshly baked two-day-old sugar cookies would hit the spot?

It’s my feeling as a skilled nail artist that the best experience..my victim..MIL..can have will only happen if she is utterly relaxed. To accomplish this it is of the UTMOST importance to begin with a comfy chair.

“Ru. Come sit here. This looks like it will work.” I have found a gently curved, rather firm plastic chair that will do the trick just f-i-n-e..if I fluff up her ski parka and lay it down first.

“Cozy?”

RUTH: Sure. What is this I’m sitting on?

ME: The seat cover.

RUTH: Why are there dirty TISSUES falling out of it?

ME: Maybe that’s what they stuffed it with.

Once I get my MIL settled, I begin the inspection of damage done from the LAST polish therapy session and begin the removal of what is left of..
You. Guessed. It.

OPI Almost Virgin.. all the while encouraging the sharing of feelings. This is a very cleansing process..

RUTH: Is THAT what they teach you in beauty school. I don’t remember removing polish THAT way when I was a girl.

ME: (pouring Cutex Nail Polish remover into Styrofoam cup): That’s beee-cause you weren’t up on the cutting edge techniques like we are today. Remember all those COTTON ball fuzzies that would float on to your wet newly painted nails? Well..by using my newly discovered removal trick..say “good bye” to stuck on cotton threads.

I take Ruth’s hand and gently shove it in the non-environmentally appropriate container. As I lift it out of the toxic liquid..SHAZZZAMMMM! Wet, drippy..still polished nails. This is where the paper towel table covering comes in handy. Just grab a few of those and wipe off the whole mess. SEE? Ha. It worked.

When painting the nails..to deliver PERFECTION requires absolutely stillness. What this means is..no matter what story Ruth is sharing I must not react or else I will botch the job and have to start over.

RUTH: Harriet shoved me in the elevator when we were coming back from the bus ride so I popped her one. Guess who Irma’s sleeping with?

CRIPES! Stick your hand B-A-C-K in the styro foam cup Ruth. Again.

When you are a true nail artist plus SHRINK all rolled into one..you have to expect that the procedure may take upwards of an hour or two. In the end..the nails always look great and all the little “flubs” covered inconspicuously with some very cute little symbol.

RUTH (Admiring my work): They look swell Adrienne.. Except—what’s with these white blobs. What kind of DISEASE do I have?

Dear, dear friends of My Sandwich Generation..Sometimes it’s not the end result of an action that is so important but the process of the action that delivers the greatest fulfillment for our seniors. Nails looked fantastic. Therapy..brought joy and light heartedness..(snicker snicker). The action becomes the VEHICLE for quality “touch” time together. Who needs a fancy manicure anyway? Cough. (Something in my throat.) Just serve up the tea and cookies and let the conversation run (all over the place). Just one TIP..if you want one. Do what the customer needs..not what YOU need. Next time she can choose MAC Navy Blue.

Tip?
A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

ROAM-E-O

Dear Diary,

I am basically watching an incredibly ludicrous version of Romeo and Juliet unfold before my very eyes. I’m telling you..this is something my buddy William might script in place of the original.. AFTER drinking a few too many jiggers of ale with his wenches and deciding to “put it all out there” to showcase his TRUE wit and comedic genius. Most of you groan audibly at the mere mention of anything Shakespeare. But what if I told you that playing the lead role of the beautiful young lover Juliet was my eighty-two year old MIL Ruth (dementia) and her young strapping dude Romeo.. played by..none other than the extremely married Gart (also dementia). If you ever read the Cliffs Notes in college you’ll recall that this little saga took place in Verona (Starbucks dark roast— people) Italy in about roughly the same year my MIL claims she was born..1303. Two crazy kids shook up their feuding families by hooking up..( He-l-l-o-o? Hormones.) and then died for each other many pages later all in the name of some seriously mind blowing..Phewwww.
Bet you’re sorry you never read it.. huh?

This new twisted version of the Shakespeare classic.. unlike the original, plays out in the beautiful and romantic halls of ROAM, USA (Alzheimer’s floor) at Happy Daze Assisted Living. Ruth fell head over heels for Gart many months ago, when he smiled at her during Easy Bake Cooking hour while she attempted to scoop two cups worth of Duncan Hines cake mix into the bowel using the 1/8 teaspoon to do it. Chocolate cake granules floated all hither and tither.. getting in granny’s well shelaqued hair, eyes and covering her floral patterned apron. GART being the gentleman that he is.. gently and tenderly wiped some of the powder trapped in her chin hairs away with a gentle touch and Ruth responded with a big toothy grin. She gazed into his eyes and he into hers. Then she moved her face closer towards his.. looking deep into his eyes she exclaimed, “Hey! Aren’t you the guy that drives the bus?” To which he replied, “Could very well be. Did you see me drive a bus? I didn’t know that I remembered how to do those things.” In those few spoken words Ruth and our married boy Gart became a couple.

What a courtship these two had. Every day was like falling in love all over again. They held hands, they kissed, they.. (I would say more, but then I don’t want someone to enter THOSE key words in a Google search and pull THIS up)..held HANDS. Until one day when Ruth looked all over for Gart and couldn’t find him. She approached her NURSE..just like the original Jules had done so many years before.

“Here comes my nurse and she brings news.”

Actually. It was more like..

“Excuse me. Do you work here? I’m looking for my boyfriend…Darn. I always forget his name. What is HIS name? Have you seen him?”

The nurse now has been thrust into the awkward situation of breaking the news to Ruth.. that Gart cannot see her anymore because Garts wife has forbid the courtship (spoil sport) and asked that the two be separated at all times. AS. IF.

NURSE: Ruth..(Long pause, while sweet Kenyan aid thinks fast.) Gart moved to Japan.

O.K. probably not the most BELIEVABLE scenario..and yet..

RUTH: Really? Did he go on the bus?

NURSE: I think so. Should we go into the other room and do some nice napkin folding? You always like to do that.

RUTH: (peering into the dining room) Hey. Is that himmmm? Well. I’LL. BE. (Shuffling merrily toward Gart while bumping into stray couches and walkers that line her path) He’s B-A-C-K. GART..Yoo Hoo! How was your trip darling?

Ruth and Gart could have probably pulled the whole romance thing off..but you know that saying, “Loose lips sink ships”? Well, as the story goes Garts eighty-eight year old wife Thelma who lives down stairs in unassisted living (and rumored to be dating a younger man) came up for a little “conjugal” visit (sat next to him during Happy hands class) last week. It could have all been one nice love triangle if Gart HADN’T introduced his “friend” Ruth.. to Thelma as “Ruth, the really good kisser”. Not such a smart move Gart. And why just stop there?
Why not share EVERYTHING so your wife will have you under surveillance 24/7 and not allow you to so much as squint in the direction of that OTHER WOMAN.  K.

Ruth is miffed.

Gart is in lock down.

As for me? I’m shoveling crappy half melted “free” green foiled thin mints.. that I swear have been sitting in Ruth’s coat pocket for eons..in my mouth in oblivious frustration. How can these two be kept apart? Ga. She sees him EVERY day and my Ruth doesn’t do well with the look but don’t touch policy.. Alas, if Mrs. Montague says “no”.. then it’s mega Motrin for us Capulets.

“Adrienne, I don’t understand why they won’t let me see..(thinking deeply)”

(thinking)

ME: Gart

RUTH: Who?

ME: Why they won’t let you see “Gart”.

RUTH: Oh. You mean that fella I like? The one with the “Bubonic Plague.”

What? It works.. for about ten minutes. I figure I’ll use that for awhile and then move on to something else. Let’s see..what’s good?

Friends and countrymen and women of MY SANDWICH GENERATION.. let nothing shock you. These natural relationships develop and they can add YEARS and quality to your senior’s life if respected and understood. Just hope that the OTHER side has become as well informed about all matters of the elder heart as you. We want only happy endings in our version of the story.

Parting is such sweet sorrow..

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.