GIRLS GONE WILD

Dear Diary,

Don’t you love slumber parties? My MIL Ruth (dementia) did. That was BEFORE Ruth’s girlfriend Marion came over unannounced from next door for the wildest night ever in slumber party history. As Ruth tells it..she was all tucked in for the night. All warm and cozy in bed at 8:00 p.m sharp..wearing her nice flannel nightie (the red one with the white lip prints) and trying to remember what she had for dinner.. just like she does EVERY night. She tells me she was beat because she had had a vigorous Happy Feet dancing class and she got stuck dancing with Heath “Cracks” Johnson (MTV fanatic and gangsta style connoisseur) who watches much too much of “that show” and thinks HE can dance.

Ruth was about to drift off peacefully to her blissful, happy place and all of a sudden.. Marion barges in. Not because she suddenly got the urge to discuss boys, chin hairs or the latest eyebrow trends with Ruth..oh no. That would be too dull. She’s shown up at Granny’s bedside to PROTECT her from a team of fully armed imaginary commando dudes which have her room at Happy Daze Assisted Living surrounded. Not only that..but at any minute will try to capture and take her.. WHERE? Where are they taking her Marion? Oh.. to BRAINWASH her. Uh huh..as if there is ANYTHING up there in the ole memory banks to WASH.
No. Wait. This. Just. Gets. Better.

Marion’s pulling on Ruth’s leg from the foot of the bed shouting, “They have us surrounded and they’re coming in. Hurry. Hurry. The men are coming. I won’t let them TAKE you.” Ruth’s eyes are bugging out of her head and she yells, “Who’s coming in? OMG..not yet! I’m still in my pajamas and I don’t have my lipstick on. Where do they want to go? I can be ready in five.” Then Marion begins to shout instructions at Ruth. Get down. Stay low. Get under the bed. “Wow. Look what I found?” Ruth squats down and VOILA! Produces the match to the pearl clip-on earring she’s had me searching for..for like a MONTH. Marion meanwhile was getting more and more into character.. right down to the grabbing of the phone and demanding Ruth call for back up. I know I’ve seen this scene somewhere before. It’s out of some full featured film that most likely got lodged in Marions playback loop. Drat the staff for playing those old Bogart movies. My guess is— that they were watching Casablanca. Maybe, it was Desperately Seeking Susan. Eckkkk. Then again..it might have been Bambi they were forced to watch all afternoon. Maybe Marion thinks the hunters are tracking Ruth..or maybe.. Why do I let myself GO here.

Ruth said she tried to rationalize with Marion but Marion was so darn CONVINCING in her role as protector. She had Ruth believing that she really WAS an undercover spy who had been discovered.. after Blanche in room 342 ratted her out. All the staff are really undercover FBI who want to gain entry into Ruth’s room to cart her away forever. No more manicures, facials or the like. A life of torture. Stashed away in some room with only a few visitors. Feeding her hefty portions of high fat foods and making her watch hours and hours of TV. Drilling her relentlessly..asking the SAME questions OVER and OVER again.. What do you want to eat? What’s your name? How old are you? They’ll stop at nothing to get that information. Hmmm. Marion was drawing on some experience..I just can’t PLACE it.

“Place the call.” Marion demanded, in her urgent husky voice. Ruth picked up the phone and dialed the only phone number I had written on a piece of paper taped on to her nightstand..My

brother-in-laws..

Because mama didn’t raise no (any) dummy.

Ruth says she told her son (my BIL), that Marion was holding her hostage.. because Marion was trying to protect her from the guys outside her door with the HazMat suites on who wanted to kidnap her and perform a BRAINRINSE. Could he please send help or at least talk to Marion. She was getting “tired” and needs to find some tea and cookies ASAP, because she didn’t remember if she ate dinner. Now I ask you.. what are you supposed to do with this little bit of information bro?

Well..all back ups were called and the staff came running. All the while good ole Marion was shouting through the door, “Say good bye to your little Ruth. You’ll NEVER get your hands on her. N-E-V-E-R.” So NOT the thing you want to hear when you have entrusted an assisted living facility with the semi-care of your MOTHER (think advocacy people). The staff tried everything to get Marion to turn over Ruth and NOTHING worked. Seriously..what could be so drat hard about rescuing an 82-year-old woman from the clutches of a big (4’5) and tough (huge resemblance to DOPEY from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs) old lady? Feh. When all else fails..

“911..what is the emergency?”

Happy Daze Staff: We have an 85 yr old woman with dementia holding another Alzheimer’s patient hostage..demanding a car and good (looking) driver, $100 in unmarked—one dollar bills and..(pause) I can’t quite make this out.. Oh..it says a box of cookies with a Venti Chai tea latte, sub soy, light on the water. How fast can you get here?

Here comes the fuzz..Sirens blaring, light flashing. Lucky that the cop that headed up to the dementia floor was well trained to handle this kind of thing..
“Marion (knock knock) I know you’re in there. Open up Marion..it’s the police. Marion did you know that kidnapping is an offense punishable by three years in state prison? Marion? Can you hear me?”

“She’s in the bathroom..she’ll be out in just a second.” Came the chirpy voice of my Ruth from inside. “I can pass on that information if you want. Ummm let’s see. Now, who did you say you are?”

“..and are you married officer?”

“..sure I’ll go check to see how she’s doing.”

“..I think she’s asleep in my bathtub.”

Ruth tells me that the officer came in and had to hold Marion while he escorted her away from the bedroom. You could hear Marion shouting all the way down the hall, “You’ll pay for this. I’ll bet you’re one of THEM. Call the police. Blanche. Selma. I’m being kidnapped.” It was really such a thrilling and exciting night.. not one of the twenty-four residents on ROAM wanted to miss it..so nobody moved. Except Ruth..who was ravenous after all that excitement.

My Sandwich Generation it is very important to have an up-to-date phone list taped right next to your seniors phone for any “situations” that might arise. If something should come up..then they know just how to reach you (or your other siblings if feeling so inclined) without hunting through a phone book or trying to push the buttons on her cell..what E-V-E-R. If your elder family are unable to call..there are many devices that can be worn to connect them immediately to staff or medical personnel who are trained to support in a pinch. You can never cover yourself..well enough.

Use protection.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

HOW was our FOURTH?

This is why my kids didn’t want me to take any pictures of them in memory of OUR 4th of July picnic with visiting family. What are those? Well..we went to a very fancy shmancy Golf and Country Club to make granny Marnie (electric scooter girl) happy and this gourmet treat was delivered to the table..GRAIN and MUSHROOM BURGERS..ummmmm mmmmm goooooood. Since we didn’t want Marnie to become agitated over money WASTED..I was forced to find a way to make our “cow pies” vanish without drawing attention or making any of the other diners suspicious.

When Marnie stepped (wheeled) outside to admire the other equally masterful GUSTATORY creations..I worked fast to make sure each plate of dung patties looked like they had been devoured. Employing the old “wrap it in a napkin” trick..I was successful in saving us grief by running back and forth to the ladies room with the excuse that I had enjoyed too much lemonade. The kids being eternally grateful to their clever mother for saving their LIVES— promised me they would put on a theatrical performance of a lifetime by pretending to eat the remainder.. so Granny could enjoy the fact that she had gotten her money’s worth and sleep that night.

At my boys (Alien Dude and Smart Alec) request..no photos (other than the above) were taken to commemorate this day.

Family Jewels

Dear Diary,

I have come to the conclusion that..YES..diamonds are a girls best friend. Not just diamonds mind you— but any kind of bling..be it a faux Jade stretchy bracelet, shiny cocktail sized ring with a big gaping hole in the center or strands of the most finely crafted, one of a kind, hand painted dry macaroni product. Even if the girl has Alzheimer’s and her vision is so poor that she demands to wear mix and match clip on earrings with just the clips remaining..that deeply ingrained ritual of putting on the jewels will continue till the very LAST GREEN BEAD on her tin Mardi Gras lavalier busts.

My MIL Ruth (dementia) may not remember much these days..but she always remembers that jewelry completes the look of most any outfit. That’s why I was not one tiny bit surprised this morning when I walked in on Ruth decked out in her Laura Ashley pajama top tucked into her Liz Claiborne shorts bedecked in finery from head to toe. Ahhh. Good Ruth. I see you’ve finished off the sporty “come as you are” look with a nice double strand of beige plastic pearls, a crocodile textured cuff..with half of the croc. paper peeled away and one pearl clip on earring..minus the pearl.

“My.. aren’t WE looking nicely put together today. Who’s your personal shop-per?”

We all know WHO her personal shopper is.. HEllO-O-O-O? Ex NORDY girl.. PEOPLE. But, I am not going to take credit once the clothes are deposited in Ruth’s closet (and ruin my rep). That’s when it’s up to my CLIENT to decide how she wants to express herself..create her own special look with the pieces I’ve brought for her.

“I like what you’ve done with that one earring thing. Kind of edgy chic without looking like you’re TRYING too hard.”

“What did you do with my BROOCH and necklace? I‘ve looked everywhere. Did you borrow them and FORGET to tell me?”

Mmmmmm..K. Blame it on me why don’t cha?

“It was my faaaaavorite pin and I have been racking my brain (as if it hasn’t suffered enough) trying to find it. That’s just the s-t-r-a-n-g-e-s-t thing.”

Missing jewels are a common complaint around Happy Daze Assisted Living. You really shouldn’t leave your nice Magical Shrinky Dink plastic flower pin laying around for someone to slip in their pocket..

GRETA.

Not that I’m naming names..but when Greta showed up for lunch and came to sit with us. Ruth and I started to eye her “Brooch” with high suspicion and began kicking each other under the table (OOPS..sorry Fred) and doing small eye circles. That’s when I began some subtle interrogation tactics and she got all..“Do you like it? My husband bought in for me in the South of France. It was so romantic. He got down on his hands and knees and asked me to marry him. I think there was a necklace to go with it..but I misplaced it. YOU know how that is?” Ruth and I fell silent. Does Greta really think we would fall for that tale? Puh-leeze.
He proposed with a SHRINKY-DINK pin?

“Oh that is sooo romantic. How long were you there? I remember the cutest little..”

RUTH. STAY. FOCUSED.

My turn to ask a few questions..you know..see if I could make the old sly fox slip.

“Greta when did you visit France?”

GRETA: Ummm. Did I say that? I’d have to say a month or so ago.

RUTH: Me too!

Ruth had wanted to wear the “expensive” macaroni necklace to lunch so badly.
We spent about a half an hour looking in pockets, searching through drawers and sorting through the garbage (other wise known as the recycle center..everything thrown in..magically reappears). NOTHING. I always have faith that these things happen for a reason..so, I decided to have Ruth look on the bright side..

“You wouldn’t have wanted to wear it anyhow. It’s NOT IN. Haven’t you noticed that NOBODY’S wearing them? Look at this (handing her a copy of VOGUE) do you see anyone wearing that necklace in HERE?”

RUTH: I’m surprised.

ME: yeah I KNOW..pffffff.

Of course I rely heavily on Ruth’s bad eyes when feeding her semi-truths such as this. Probably every girl on ROAM (dementia floor) would be wearing her colored macaroni necklace today..except granny. Well, whatever. Out of sight out of mind. There will be others..unfortunately.

Confession time. About that expensive pasta bauble..I don’t know how it happened but.. I found it on the back seat of my car.

Bzzzz.
LIE.
I DO know how it happened. I thought it was ridiculous for Ruth to ruin a perfectly good look with some pathetic excuse for an accessory, so I wrapped it up, tucked it in my purse and smuggled it out. I don’t think I had any witnesses..but Greta kept giving me a conspiratorial smirk after lunch, which makes me wonder.

I thought the whole matter long forgotten (10 min. rule) and then tonight my big mouth children called granny:

“It was such a great day. Alien dude had a play date and I got the TV all to MYSELF. Then I went swimming and had ice cream. Huh? We had a great dinner tonight. Yup. We had pasta..”

CRIPES. NOOOOOOOO. Don’t go there. My kid is looking at me like my hair is on fire. I’m mouthing “say goodbye” and he’s just laughing..I am SO going to ground your little..

“..it was
PURPLE. Yeah. Purple PASTA. I don’t know how it got that way. You’ll have to ask my mom.” MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! PHHHHHHOOOOONNNNEEEEEEE!

Busted.

My Sandwich Generation..May I suggest you hide all of your seniors’ expensive jewels and load up on disposable bling. They’ll feel like a million bucks without setting you back more then $20. Then if it turns up MIA..no biggie. Now about that ring with the hole in it. Let’s see your finger.

Put a ring on it!

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

TRIPPIN’ OUT

Dear Diary,

What’s my most fav thing in the whole wide world? When my MIL Ruth (dementia) gets a brilliant flash of genius. When these flashes occur..I’m almost always rendered speechless and for those of you who know me..this..is a very hard thing to do. Here I am sipping a pear and prune Mojito out on the Happy Daze Assisted Living’s patio, checking out the eats for the old peeps BBQ and who should my eyes behold involved in what appears to be a cut-throat game of Plastic Pin Bowling..but my MIL. It was hard to miss her because she was the only one in the group STANDING upright. Plus, being the fashionista that she is.. was working the “cool and sassy” Summer look  like nobody’s business. Not to be snobbish or anything..but  everyone else had at least four seasons ago winter knits on..with the exception of Jo..who tends to gravitate more towards the patchwork denim look. Can’t get anymore SCREAMING 1980 then that shirt JOJO. But my girl..FINE looking. Green stripe tank (perhaps a little too much boobage exposure, but so what), white linen Capri’s and a cute little strappy sandal..with hardly a hint of visible support knee-high.. rolled down to her ankle for that innocent school girl bobby sock effect. It works. That’s all I can say.

Because I didn’t want to interfere with her game— I just refilled my beverage cup (for which I will suffer l-a-t-e-r) and headed over to the spectator section to sit with Shirley, Blanche and Ruth’s ex (No.4) John. Ruth looks up for a brief moment with a slightly ticked look upon her face. Would the individual responsible for asking one of the bystanders..a little too loudly— if he was “going to eat all his chips?” pleeeeeze pipe down.

“SHHHHHHH. I can’t concentrate. And you don’t NEED those anyway.”

Rats. I hand back John his chips (minus one or two) and his cookie (he won’t see the bite)..then settle in to watch the remainder of the set. Ruth has the form of a professional bowler. She takes the bowling ball in both hands, brings it back between her two straddled legs and heaves it sky high.

GAWD HAVE MERCY. Heads. Heads.

Watching Helga run for cover is so NOT funny. I jump up to save poor Gart’s noggin all the while motioning to him to throw his arms over his head. Gart’s looking at me trying to GUESS what I am. “No this isn’t charades dude. I’m not an APE. Hands over your h-e-a-d.” If I had to guess..I’d say ole Gartie boy escaped with nary ¼ inch to..                                                        SPARE. WOO H-O-O.. WOO H-O-O. I can hear the impact of the pins as they’re sent flying in a million directions. Not. One. Standing. That’s how you take out the competition..one way or another. Let’s go eat granny.. before you knock um even MORE senseless.

There is nothing like Summer over on the beaches in ROAM (dementia floor). All activity screeches to a halt (pfehh..as IF it ever moved in the first place) and all residents move outside for fun and games in the sun. Long hobbles around the courtyard (10 x 10), people out walking their (stuffed) dogs named Fido, guys “hanging” out (of their wheel chairs) and over their walkers.. watching as the girls go by..

T-W-E-E-E-E-T      T-W-E-E-T

OMG. Did I just hear someone WHISTLE? Old man..How dare you ogle in this direction. Look away Harry..that’s my MOTHER you’re whistling at. Ummm. Oh. MY. Mistake. Better adjust your HEARING AID then.. because someone might get the wrong idea. Ruth steers me in the direction of the cool girls table and floats an idea..

“I was thinking that since it’s SUMMER we should think about a little vacation of some kind..maybe Hawaii would be good…”

Of course! We would have SUCH A BLAST. Why didn’t I think of that? Let’s lay out the logistics. First we’d have to pack. Do you have a swimsuit. Oh wait. Yes you do. The one I got in the MATERNITY section of Wal-Mart. OK. We’re good. Ummm. Going through those metal detectors. I could p-r-o-b-a-b-l-y get you to agree to enter them if I tell you it’s a dressing room at NORDSTROM. Then there’s the seven hour flight to paradisiacal HEL..

Yeah. I can think of NOTHING I we (hubby would naturally be a part of the plan) would like MORE than to board a plane with you and the kids for a nice restful get-away. I can just picture us on the plane..

RUTH (Fifteen minutes into air travel): Are we almost done with the bus ride because I’d like to get out for some fresh air.

RUTH (Twenty-five minutes into air travel): Why are we just SITTING here like a bunch of dummies. Why don’t you go lead a Happy Hands class?

RUTH: (One hour into air travel): I need to go to the bathroom again in that “little closet”. Can we manage to do it this time without you falling on me while I’m BUSY?

I have a better idea granny. I could take you over to Club Pretensia and TELL you we’re in Hawaii. We could lay around..the kids could swim. I could “pop” for a drink with an umbrella and then when you’re ready to sleep in “your own bed”, back in the plane (car) we go to our ten minute flight to Happy Daze. Of course I didn’t count on you recognizing anyone at the CLUB..because that’s not something you usually do. And then you have to start shouting out to her and waving..

“MARILYN? Why yes it is. I’m sure of it. YOOOU HOOO.. Over HERE Marilyn! What a coincidence having to come all this way to HAWAII and bumping into you. I just can’t believe it. After—

All. These. Years.

How long are you staying on MAUI?”

CRIPES.

My Sandwich Generation BFF’s..everybody needs to take a break once in awhile from mowing the laundry and chasing after our lower and upper slices. Find a way to escape vacation for even a day..without your seniors. Very necessary in avoiding potential GI distress. There are always options..respite care, temporary at home care, unsuspecting friends.. Just find a way to come up for air and take a big cleansing breath. You have no choice..sinking is NOT an option. Start swimming.

Aloha!

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Relaxatives and Softeners

Dear Diary,

There are times when I have to act as a sensor. A kind of sorter-outer of all news depressing or aggravating to my MIL Ruth (dementia) so the ACTUAL drama of a particular event doesn’t cause granny to get her GRANNY PANTS in a bunch. Life is dramatic enough over at Happy Daze Assisted Living— floor ROAM..why should I add to it by having to be the bearer of all things lackluster? I came to the realization long ago..that there is really no point in telling Ruth the hard cold facts..when I can make it easier on BOTH of us by dousing them in honey.

Straight truth? No good has ever come from it. Blech. I tried it once. Ruth went over it and over it in that head of hers..reliving it ad nauseam..The anguish and HEARTACHE. Asking me every 45-60 seconds.. “Tell me again, why AlienDude28 can’t play my Wii tennis?” (In front of punished child) “Seems to ME mommy, that THAT’S a very steep punishment for this poor child (child is making “kitty eyes” on cue). Maybe he couldn’t sleep and THAT’s why he snuck out of bed and played Club Penguin till 3:00am. Isn’t that right sweetie?” Then that’s all I’ll hear about for the rest of the day and if I’m really lucky..straight into the next. I don’t tell Ruth fibs..per say. I just make the truth much more palatable for all involved while staying loosely on topic.

Most of Ruth’s chums up on the Alzheimer’s floor have “memory issues” (others fake it.. lured by the promise of the ALL NIGHT parties) and I find myself often in the position of explaining these “brain disabilities” to Ruth because some of the behaviors are..shall we say..different.  It’s a known fact that Irma is a “low talker”. Well.. it actually get worse than that. Irma speaks in MARTIAN tongues a-n-d she’s a low talker. Imagine being my Ruth and having to sit with Irma over breakfast and while you’re still confused from waking up.. trying to figure out how you got to France in the first place..some lady leans over and whispers urgently (in FRENCH?) “Shwer ne rthsjy ehj quiejf!!!!!!”

RUTH: I’m so sorry..but I don’t understand anything you just said. I don’t live here.. I’m just visiting.

IRMA (More dramatically with arms flailing): abnsju herkt, dhjiitfm lkoe feerey tekyre woque!!!!!

RUTH: Ummmm.. “Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir? Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya dada?”

Impressive Ruth. Just a few plays of Lady Marmalade during Happy Hands class and JUST look what you learned from Christina Aguilera.

The trick is to not give too MUCH information (which will create more problems than it’s worth) during your explanation of “troubling situation” but enough to satisfy the inquiring mind.. for about five minutes. There exists a sweet spot in all this semi fabrication.. you just need to practice to find the right balance. I sometimes don’t take my own advice and end up getting slyly pulllllled into a conversation only to see a little too late where we’re heading..slam on the brakes and honk the horn as diversionary tactic.

Yesterday, Ruth and I were in the middle of a lovely little chat about elementary school (her grandchild..SmartAlec4 just finished third grade). Out of some stray neuron firing in her brain synapses she remembers HER third grade teacher Mrs. Dinkoman. Ahhh yes! Such a gal— ole Mrs. Dinkoman. She had amazing hair. Kind and patient. Wonderful woman. Lives next door. Wants to go visit..

UUUURRRRRKKKKK.

HONK. HONK. HONK.

I didn’t get THIS good overnight.

A

Facts of Life

Dear Diary,

Sometimes my MIL Ruth (dementia) and I get into great philosophical discussion on some really heavy topic and shed all kinds of brilliant insight on it..an amazing meeting of the minds. I don’t even know how these little chats happen. Maybe I say something like, “So, Ruth..I haven’t seen Waldo from down the hall.. Room 213, in a looooooong time..(Pause to see if she jumps in)
Is he still..a-r-o-u-n-d?” (See how I avoided the word DEAD?)
Then Ruth will ponder that question for a minute or two..or three and say, “Well, last time I saw him he was alive. Let’s see..hmmm…it’s so darn hard to keep track of these things. Why? What do you know?”

It’s a well-known unwritten law that around Happy Daze Assisted Living, you don’t ever talk about death or dying..probably because you don’t want to put ideas in anyone’s head. Really. Because let’s say Selma catches wind of the fact that Roger kicked it..maybe she might think about the fact that perhaps SHE may not live forever and that would freak her out so badly that she would suffer a heart attack and WHAM another Happy Daze casualty. That can’t look good on the ole STATE record, eh. Ruth and I have a very open line of communication. We can talk about (almost) anything..and do until one of us has to find the bathroom, discovers her chin hairs need to be plucked again or feels it’s time to go see what kind of stew they’re serving for lunch in the dining hall. POOF! Discussion O-V-E-R.

Today the topic was lifecycles of the human being..including birth, death and everything else in between. Ruth tells me after my “Where’s Waldo?”question.. that she saw something on MTV (I told the staff to turn it OFF after My Sweet Sixteen) that got her “thinking” about life and the “D” word. Let me just take a moment to tell you how I feel about Ruth “thinking”. Any pondering on a given thought.. is not always a good thing with dementia. When Ruth starts to think.. it becomes darn hard to shut it off. I could be hearing about the topic in question for hours..if not days (depending how “stuck” it is in her short term memory bank). But, it’s a good time killer and keeps her out of mischief— so I indulge her.

Just so we can all be clear on where I stand on the subject of death..NOT a huge fan. Why couldn’t the system work a little differently? So—if I were in charge..first off.. death wouldn’t be all.. final. I’m not big on the..That’s it. You’re O-V-E-R. It would be more like a coffee break, “Hey guys! Just stepping out back for a few years. I’ll see you in TEN. Be chill.” Ruth, has another perspective.

“When you get to be my age..ummm..92 (she ages herself by ten years to lessen the shock) you start to consider the fact that you might not be here forever..”

ME: What are you saying to me? We’ve already paid for you here through 2015. You can’t go anywhere.”

Slight fib. But just the thought that she might consider she has an option makes me nervous.

RUTH: Well, I feel I’ve had a very full life. I have gotten to do many wonderful adventures. I’ve had sooo many delightful men in my life..

NOT. GOING. THERE. RUTH.

RUTH (long pause while she thinks about all the men): PAUSE

Pause

Pause

RUTH: (cont.) When it’s time— it’s time.

We had some great clarity come out of this twenty minutes of analysis and I thought it would be very helpful to all our readers to summarize these high points..if only to shed some different kind of meaning to the purpose of life and the ending stages that we all must endure.

Ruth likes to hear the story of Grandpa Max. This amazing man lived a full life until the young age of 108 yrs. when he decided he needed a day off from work and took a permanent LOA. Grandpa loved his Schnapps (booze) and cigars and when he reached 100 he’d lament, “If I knew I was going to live this long..I would have taken better care of myself.”

Ruth likes to rub it in how great she HAS taken care of herself. Her hair always looks great, she has a girl (me) who does her nails and her figure has always been slim. Ruth says she has a great life. I do have a hunch that it’s in that thought “I have a great life” that there is great peace and contentment inside— making surrender to life’s process possible. Ruth lives in the minute and lives life with GUSTO. So.. she’s more then O.K. with the rules of the game of life. Good on HER.

“But Granny” I say, “just think..if we were to use my death system, we would all be given some kind of written contract going into the game that stated clearly..how much time we have. That way..if there are any procrastinators among us who are still hanging out, watching life meander by, wondering why on earth they are HERE..it would be stated in BOLD, legible print the amount of time they have to get their “shwanky” together.

“Party A may remain on planet earth for a period of _______ years under guidelines listed in section D paragraph 322 F which states..Not one second is to be wasted and not one day pass without some feeling of accomplishment, joy, gratitude and fullness.”

Ruth loves my system. Unfortunately. It’s out of my hands.

Being in MY SANDWICH GENERATION means that we have a foot in both worlds. We have Act I. of life— with our children. The great thrill of so many wonders of existence, revealing themselves..unfolding daily. Then we have our seniors in Act III. Slowing down and becoming more reflective of their time spent.. how they can spend it with the people they love. Because we are taking such great care of ourselves..straddling these two worlds should not cause any snappage. If anything, we have exposure to both sides. We can draw on the experience of both the left leg and the right legs to jump into OUR life with both. Live life to the fullest with no holding back..and embrace IT..
and the ones you love.

Stretchhhhhhh..

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Hat Head

Dear Diary,

The fun thing about eldercare is that you really get to expand your horizons in ways you never dreamed of. In the MANY years I have spent as advocate/caregiver for my MIL Ruth (in all of her dementia splendor) and Granny Marnie (electric scooter riding adrenalin junkie) I have found myself in the position of wearing numerous types of hats almost daily. Doctor, lawyer, therapist, matchmaker, spy..you name it..I’ve done it. Even the hats you didn’t name because we’re in mixed company. I’ve worn THEM too. Because I’m one part thrill seeker and one part clueless..I’ll try on anything—at least once. Well.. with ONE exception. Ruth’s white FLOPPY, fake fruited, Chiquita Banana girl beach hat. Sorry. NO. I refused to “model” it for her even though she begged and offered me all the stolen free, green foiled mints, she had shoved into her coat pocket over the months. Forget. That. Being that my objective is to ensure a quality of life that is “over the top thrilling” for Ruth and Marnie, I just place my head in to awaiting head covering and miraculously..KA-POW. Presto change-o. I become whatever skill sets they need and enjoy the thrill of on the job training to boot.

Some of the hats I have to put on regularly:

1. Skull Cap: Ethics

Relationship Counseling: Anything having to do with dating, men, marriage, etc. And dating married men with etc.

Marriage Counseling (Marnie): How best to negotiate so it’s a win win during arguments dealing with- thermostat variations (she wants it cold 75 degrees, he wants it warm..90 degrees), food preferences (she likes her food and drink..real, he likes his food and drink in neon colors) and in the bedroom (HE never wants to leave the bed..EWWWWW. You’re my GRANNY.)

“All he does is sleep.” Phewwww.

2. Scrubs Cap: Medical

Gastroenterology: Treating constipation issues, hemorrhoid complaints, prune over doses, off gassing problems, regularity disorders.

Urology: Diagnosis (because crazy mood swings and table dancing won’t be cause for alarm with the Happy Daze Assisted Living staff I can count on THAT). Collections (Oh..you think your going to “find someone ELSE” to get it for you. NOT in this life.) Delivery (transport of precious cargo to “real” doctors office for testing to confirm what you ALREADY know.. but now need to pay $150 to confirm.)

Dermatology: Ability to spot “pre-cancerous trouble” and then cover-up by telling her..she’s going to the spa to get BOTOX injections while driving her to “real” dermatologists office to get moles frozen off.

3. Knit Beenie Cup Cap: Athletic Supporter

Leading Chai Tea Class: Slow, Soothing movements for those that like to eat (scones) and drink (mochas) while they exercise.

Teaching Cardio Class: Get the heart pumping while sitting on your bootie lifting your arms up and down to the soothing sounds of Lady GaGa singing Love Game.

Happy Hands: Wrist turns and finger thrusts are all a part of keeping the digits flexible. Because you never know when you might need to use the old “bird finger”.

4. Dunce Cap:
Data not available at this time.

My Sandwich Generation friends, it doesn’t matter that you might not have attended Medical School, Beauty School, Psychiatric School, Geriatric School, Driving Sch…Nooot so f-a-s-t. That one you DO need. When some “little” issue arises it doesn’t matter that you haven’t read it yet in your eldercare manual (as if). Count to three and jump right in..just make sure your helmet’s on tightly. My guess is that your hair may suffer but your senior sure won’t.

Here’s to helmet head!

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserve

Saving Face

Dear Diary,

I walked into Marnie and Papa G’s place the other day..KillJoy Senior Living: if it’s not already done—we’ll do it to you..only to find a big huge surprise awaiting as I entered through Granny’s front door. I have to admit.. I did have a moment of elation as I bent down to hug and kiss Marnie and observed two near perfect symmetrical eyebrows..placed just where they should be (not in the crease of her eyelid or three inches above, gravitating into her forehead). This morning as I gazed at granny, reclining back in her electric scooter, an immensely appealing expression radiating forth from her face..I had the thought how fortunate we all should be..to age so gracefully and be so hap..

“AAAAACCCCKK! OMG! Your FAAAACE! What happened to your f-a-c-e?” Papa G. had just rounded the corner with a shiner spanning the entire length of the left side of his face. A beautiful canvas in which various shades of purples and pinks had blended together to form the portrait of a man who looks like he just finished a few rounds in the ring with..

“I fell off the toilet yesterday and hit my head on the counter. Had to call emergency and everything. No, your grandmother didn’t do this to me.”

O.K. Adrienne be cool. You don’t want to freak the poor guy out. Judging by the looks of things he’s already suffered from enough trauma.

“You fell off the TOILET? What were you doing on there?”

Duh. Wait. Let me re-phrase that.

She hit you didn’t she? You turned the heat up to ninety again and BAM! Please tell me she hit you..because that other story is NOT something I would care to repeat. I know. It was Edger down in room 312 wasn’t it? That E-D-G-A-R. Always a hot head. I’m going down there RIGHT this minute. I’ll bet he’s looking wayyyyyy worse then you. Right Papa G.? Right?

“So, my hip hurt and the next thing I know..down I went.”

CRIPES.

Turning to Marnie for answers is not always the best path to choose when one needs explanations fast and accurately. Yet. Because I never learn..

“Marnie..where were YOU when all this was happening?”

Marnie it turns out had a few..uh hum issues of her own..thus explaining the ICE pack I have now astutely observed her SITTING on.. in the thirty or so seconds since I walked in the door. Yup. Too many prunes can do that to you. What did I tell you about MODERATION? So in other words Marnie, you were..ummm—“indisposed” down the hall, when Papa G needed some help. Then when you heard him shout out for help you..What? Oh I see. It took a few more “minutes” before you “jumped” back in your electric scooter to see what all the fuss was about back in the bedroom. How’s your hearing these days Marnie? Blechhhhh.

I don’t even want to think about how long Papa G was down and out. The important thing is that he got the proper help and he’s still standing.

“Is there anything I can do to cover this thing up?” Papa G. is staring imploringly at me. “Wellllll. I could slap some foundation and concealer on it and see if that helps.” Yeah. That was a good answer. But. Oh. No. Couldn’t just stop there. Had to give a full explanation of how the concealer has yellow undertones that will help to cancel out the red of the bruise and that the foundation has blue to counter act the effect of the red. Papa G. was not buying any of it. The mere mention of me applying anything on HIS face made him recoil in horror..the much too fresh memory of me drawing on Marnies eyebrows for 1 1/2 hours LAST week still apparently lingering. I took another approach.

“G—I have to tell you. You can carry “it” (banged and battered) off..really well. I know so many guys around here with the same badass LOOK. Think of it as right of passage into the hip dudes club. All you need is a pack of MARLBOROS rolled up in your under shirt sleeve and a can of Schlitz (Drat. Marnie had one in the refrigerator but I tossed it. Had NO idea it was a false bottomed “safe”) and you will look all fly and tough boy. Girls like that. Right Marnie?” Marnie? M-A-R-N-I-E?

Here comes Granny zooming around the corner like she’s drag racing, shouting “H-o-n-e-y. We have a slight problem” and waving empty medicine vials in my direction. “Papa G dumped out all his different TYPES of medicine bottles full of tiny white pills and we need you to sort them out. How are your eyes..today? OK?” My eyes are fine it’s my SANITY I’m most worried about.

UURRKKKKKKK.

She has just missed my foot by ¼ of an inch with that 400 LB. scooter of hers. I swear..one of these days she’s gonna flip that baby over or take out Papa G.. if she doesn’t ease up on the gas. THAT would be an interesting 911 call..as if THIS incident wasn’t thought provoking enough.

Doesn’t matter where your seniors live MY SANDWICH GENERATION readers..there is always the chance that the most innocuous fixture or appliance (those heated hair rollers..SCARY) can cause injury. The only action we can take in our advocacy roll is to make sure the throw rugs are removed, the computer cords are stashed and all bathrooms sinks are padded. After that..march on down to SEPHORA and purchase bulk amounts of concealer stick. You’ll need it for YOUR dark circles.

Don’t trip.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

IN THE MOOD

Dear Diary,

Life’s predictability got you down? Is every day just a repeat of the one before? Well, now there’s hope for all of you who crave a change from the monotony of the daily grind. I found it and now I’ll share it with you. Through this exclusive,  limited, ONE time offer— You can borrow my MIL Ruth (dementia) for..What? Five hours..maybe six? Money back guaranteed, if not delighted. Chase away your doldrums and add punch to your day. That’s right. Act now and I’ll even throw  in a COSTCO size Prunes..plus, your own “be prepared” bag filled with all kinds of goodies (a $55 value..the DEPENDS alone were $20). All THIS for.. Absolutely NOTHING. Yup! You heard right.. What a bargain huh? Going once. Going twice. Going three times. YO. Just shout out any time. Going four. Five. Cripes! Maybe you want to know what you GET for your money. I can’t tell you exaaactly what you’ll get.. but I can assure you you’ll be in for a surprise..Every. Single. Time. And oh how fun THAT is.

I don’t have a problem with moody people. When I walk into Happy Daze Assisted Living and head up to floor ROAM I actually get a few butterflies’ just contemplating all the excitement that might befall me as I walk through the faux bookcase doors. I guess you’d say I’m a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Down the catwalk (I can HEAR you whispering trash about ME to Lena..Shirley. My butt hasn’t changed size FYI) I go. Rounding the corner I enter the dining hall..like some of those guests stepping onto the Oprah stage for the first time.. a tad skittish with a smidge of terror and a “holy cow” grin plastered upon their faces.

Now it can go two ways. Ruth will either be sitting on the couch with the rest of her peeps..just chillin’ talking smack about Ellen’s pension for hussy behavior and happily guffawing away with the rest of them. Then—upon seeing me.. Ruth will wave and jump up and kiss me and introduce me around.

(Sweet chirping voice) “A”..I’d like to introduce you to my friend.. Ummm Frank? No. You’re not Frank. You’re Ned..No. Not Ned? Aren’t you that guy who I see all the time in the hall and wave to? Well..then your name is Ned. That’s what I’ll call you from now on. Ned.

or with sucky bad luck I’ll get..

Sitting in a chair off to one side with a look of pure contempt for having been kept waiting for over five minutes for her   “Chai Tea” class to begin. Then when laying eyes on me.. my greeting will change e-v-e-r so slightly.

(Piss and Vinegar voice) “Adrienne. Look what they are having us do? Can you believe this? We’re all just sitting around like a bunch of dummies? So, let’s do something. Can you dance?”

Every once in awhile..I have to admit..Ruth wakes up a little on the pensive and brooding side. Then it’s all..w-h-a-t-e-v-e-r. We just adjust the activity of the day from a jog around the courtyard to.. staring at the fish bowl. Not hugely entertaining, but it’s NOT me were trying to entertain. O.K. that’s not ENTIRELY true. It’s a better day when Ruth and I can watch Harriet cuss out Faye for cussing out Ted for trying to put his hand on her thigh. Yeah..fascinating. The best plan I have on these PMS (Problematic Mother-in-law Situation) days is to lay low and try not to get an accessory of some sort thrown at me (macaroni tube necklace or plastic pink lei).

I’m a ONE mood at a time type of gal. If we’re going to PMS then I know how to redirect and do foolish things like reading some tabloid trash (my twitter page) to take Ruth’s mind off of whatever it is that’s irritating. But, I tend to get slightly confused when “moody Madge” switches it up on me every 20min. so that I don’t know who I have standing in her UGGS in front of me at any given time. I can do “peeved to happy to jubilant” It’s the “darling to irked to flipping me off” that I stink at. I could be in the middle of a charming chat with Ruth and some of the girls around the staff hangout..and out of nowhere..KABOOM!

“I’ve had enough of THESE people. Don’t they know I have things to do?” (Um. I’m sure they did Ruth but it slipped their minds..entirely.) STOMP. STOMP. “Well don’t just stand there..take me home. In fact..NO. I’ll walk home.”

Off goes Ruth with yours truly following closely behind. Swerving down the hall like a girl that’s had a few too many Prunetini’s, Ruth seeks out her residence. Slight problem. WRONG Hallway. Hmmm. Wait. She’s pulling a U’y and heading back towards me.

“Now what do you want? Are you following me? Who moved my room?”

The best treatment for these little episodes is some rest and liquids..

And wait for Ruth to find her way back to her room.

My Sandwich Generation— a valuable piece of information for you. Sometimes when your senior parent acts a bit weird and you have ruled out relationship turmoil such as but not limited to:

1. Breaking up with one or more of boyfriends listed in little black book on nightstand.
1a. Catching Hattie putting moves on love interest when preoccupied with “corn removal” on feet.
1b. Finding love interest in somebody else’s bed. Not realizing that it WAS his bed— Betty just THOUGHT it was hers..by mistake.(wink wink)

Then you must rule out physical causes. Just remember..wait till they cool DOWN before collecting “specimen” from a pissy parent.

Going once. Going twice.
SOLD.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

VAGUE-Health and Fitness: Inside Out

A woman’s quest to achieve and then maintain, throughout her life an eternally youthful look and super ripped (functioning) hottie bod— is a universal one. There is not a girl among us.. living at Happy Daze Assisted Living-floor ROAM, who doesn’t think from time to time about keeping her waist line under the circumference of a 500 year old Sequoia and her more MATURE skin less wrinkled then her Sunbleached Crinkle flower tee (J.Crew $42.50 Item 19095 in case you care) that has been shoved in her night stand. Of course if shriveled tee is paired with distressed vintage women ummmmm..slim jeans.. in antique destroyed wash, the look can be ultra fresh and hip. My MIL Ruth, who has dementia and is not afraid to USE it..is extremely vocal on the subject of wrinkles and exercise but also expresses articulately— that to capture beauty..one must find it first from deep within. The editors of VAGUE Magazine recently had the opportunity to sit down with Ruth (our June cover model) for her perspective on keeping healthy, fit and happy when walking the hallways of ROAM.

When we found Ruth she had just finished her daily Happy Hands class and was daintily dabbing at the perspiration that had come.. due to the intensity of the finger twirl reps her group had just completed.

“You know I make it look easy..but there is nothing easy about holding up this finger (bird finger) and twirling it around in circles.”

Ruth was right. We tried the bird maneuver and had little success completing more than five twirls ourselves. It was tough work. Who knew that by doing finger twirls and thrusts we could elevate our heart rate and burn off maybe..10 calories in the process.

Ruth told us her next fav exercise and secret to good health is her twice daily practice of TM (Transcendental Meditation). We were asked to wait a moment while she changed into her special meditation clothes. We were not sure what to expect when it comes to TM attire but were pleasantly surprised when Ruth came back out wearing her sequined Liz Claiborne white tank and matching cardi, crème slacks and her best pair of old lady pumps in tan (it’s a look). Fresh lipstick (MAC, FYI) had been aptly applied and her hair looked divine. This is definitely something that could work for us.

Of course we were all secretly hoping Ruth would emerge from her changing room dressed in long flowing robes or at least lulu lemon yoga pants and halter. In she’d float..all wisdom and grace, wrap her legs around her neck and begin some other more noticeable and dramatic display. Bummer. What we witnessed was much more subtle. Ruth showed us her “meditation” chair (a mega lazy boy recliner) where she sits—plunked herself down, kicked up her legs onto the leg rest and begins her Transcendental dive into silence.

We sat transfixed as she performed this technique with skill and efficiency. Well, we’re not really sure how much skill it takes to close your eyes and relax. But within moments we could almost swear that her breathing was non-existent. One of us got up and walked up to Ruth to..you know..JUST check to be sure..she was..

ALIVE.

“Yes? What do you need?”

OOPS A DAISY.

Guess she’s good.

We apologized and went back to our assigned seats to continue watching the metamorphosis. Her face relaxed, all tension in her body abated..the silence around her was so profound. We watched quietly. Hmmmm. Nothing too much to see. Well.. one thing we noticed. She began to make a s-o-u-n-d. It was a very familiar sound. Much like the one my husband makes right before I jab him in the rib cage and tell him to SLEEP ON THE COUCH. By golly. Ruth was S-N-O-R-I-N-G. We tiptoed out, careful to not awaken our sleeping Yogi.

Ruth emerged later..having changed back into her “street attire”— looking ever so bright and refreshed. We asked her if there were any OTHER secrets she would be willing to share on her delightful beauty..inside and out.

“Not that I r-e-c-a-l-l. Did I mention the finger twirls?

Before hitting the Root Beer floats being passed as accompaniment to the Tuna FINGER sandwiches; Ruth came over to restate her point. Anyone can capture the fountain of youth. Doesn’t matter if you’re young or just plain young at heart. It’s easy, reasonably priced (unlike the FACE LIFT everyone knows Greta had) and brings out the true inner as well as outer beauty in all. We only need to have the tool to dive deep within to capture the prize that lies inside.

Finger twirls..ONE..TWO..THREE..FOUR..