Faking It

Dear Diary,

Way in the back of select medical school texts, after the paragraph (no less than 5,000 pages) on dementia.. exists a very teeny-tiny section dedicated to those much like my MIL Ruth (Alzheimer’s) who posses the talent for faking it. These dementia clad, are so incredibly skilled..so SUPREMELY gifted in the arena of the fake out that it can be virtually impossible to distinguish between them and their fully functioning cohorts. When Ruth decides to flip the “switch”— usually prior to meeting doctors, friends from the past or extended family. It can be extremely unnerving to the caregiver (me) who has done the pre-dementia prep. and now looks like a complete moron and pathological liar because loved one has failed to put out proper dementia behavior.

Supremely gifted and talented Dementia Peeps: How to diagnose the fakers, is a must read chapter.. that goes into great depth about being able to pick up the obvious subtle differences between, say— An attractive women showing up for her Happy Hands class with her nightie tucked fashionably into her stretch pants (who has impaired cognitive functioning) as opposed to the woman who shows up in the IDENTICAL outfit who is “all systems go”. With a series of possible scenarios this awesome page guides the doctors–to-be in ways to see what lies under the façade so that misdiagnosis does not occur.

When Ruth was getting ready to move into Happy Daze Assisted living-Floor ROAM after having lived with us..I knew that the facility would have a good clear read on where Ruth was in her dementia as they sat her down to ask a few questions.

Examiner: Ruth, can you tell us what season it is?

RUTH: Brrrrr. Does it feel cold in here? Did you bring your coat in?

Examiner: Why yes..would you like to borrow it? (handing her his down parka)

RUTH: No I’m fine. It’s Winter.

DING. DING. DING.
Ruth one. Examiner— goose egg. Next question please..

Examiner(Handing Ruth a 60 item lunch menu): Here Ruth. Take a gander at this and tell me what you would like to have for lunch. Take your time.

RUTH: What’s good?

Examiner: I can’t tell you Ruth. You have to order by yourself.

RUTH: (leans closer to examiner under the auspice of warm friendly action, but in realty is sniffing his breath)  Tuna.

Examiner: Well done.

At this point in the exam I’m feeling a slight bit concerned. Come on sly fox. Screw up. I know you too well. It’s just a matter of time..

Examiner: How old are you Ruth?

RUTH: 92 years old.

Ah ha! She’s only 80..

Examiner: What year were you born?

RUTH: 1965.

Woo Hoo.. Woo Hoo.. Woo Hoo..

Examiner: Where do you live now?

RUTH: With her.(pointing to me)

That was TO FREAKIN’ EASY. Foul! Foul!

Examiner: Who is that Ruth?

RUTH: Oh come.. on. That’s ADRIENNE. We’ve known her for years. She’s married to my son..

Yeah Ruth. Which ONE did I marry. Speak up.. we can’t hear you..

RUTH: my son..

V-I-C-T-O-R-Y. Booh-Ya.

RUTH: ahhhh.. I’m feeling a bit parched. Do you think I may have a sip of water?

I always go to great lengths to “prepare” all Ruth’s guests prior to their arrival for their “Ruth Date” on what they may encounter during their thirty to forty-five minute chat with my MIL. It’s so comforting to have the visitor in the course of my pre-chat tell me “Of course Ruth will remember me. How can she not?” Yes. I’m sure she will. Positive in fact..
I’ll tell you how she CAN NOT!! She has DEMENTIA people. GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

It’s not my problem if they blow off everything I tell them in favor of clinging to their ignorant beliefs. I try to prepare them for changes they may observe in Ruth thus avoiding potential shrieks of hysteria—

“OMG Ruth! What has SHE done to you?” or “Ruth..are you feeling better? Do you still have that.. what-do-ya call it?” Or my personal fav “We had asked Adrienne if we could take you to a party but she told us no.” Shocking. The. Nerve. To invoke my name in conjunction with the word PARTY is unforgivable especially if used in a way that even remotely suggests that I have interfered with party attendance. Ruth does not forgive easily if a leak occurs and Ruth catches wind of an affair to which she had been invited that I had declined on her behalf. I only do it because the last function the loud speakers were blasting the Cha Cha Slide and Ruth got soooo confused about the direction she was supposed to go..

Slide to the left.. Now, slide to the right..She was bumping into kids, bumping into walls.. it was a real travesty.
All that instruction wacked her out for a full week.

Much behind the scenes prep work goes on with granny BEFORE her “big reveal” to her friends and distant cousins (who saw her last in 1803).. There are names to be learned, factoids to memorize, and wardrobe malfunctions to be conquered..
“No. you’re not wearing that sheer blouse over a tank. It does NOTHING for you and it looks cheap..all that boobage falling all over the place. I don’t remember buying it for you Ruth..what were we thinking to put it with? Oh..yeah..”

Down we go.. to the “Free Tea and Cookies” area. Act one. Scene one.

L-I-GH-T-S    C-A-M-E-R-A   A-C-T-ION

Ruth enters with huge grin on her face. Waltzes stage right..to cousin Doris and exclaims, “Doris, you look fantastic. You haven’t changed a bit since the last time I saw you 5,000 years ago at Hortence’s party. Are you still selling Real Estate in..

At this point Doris has glanced up and is smirking at me with a “In your face. I T-O-L-D you so” look. My girl Ruth is looking like SUCH a star. There they are..back and forth. Doris pitching and Ruth smacking it out of the park. Yeah. It’s all good. All. Good. Then Ruth has to go to the bathroom. Up I jump to escort her through the routine and Doris needs to hammer in the last nail, “Ruth remember Dick?” “Oh sure I do”, answers Ruth as she launches into a 15 minute detailed synopsis of her relationship with DICK and Tom and yes..even Harry too. Doris starts to leave on this parting note..pulling me aside she whispers (spitting on my face), “Ruth was just as with-it as ever. That’s what Bertie had told me she’d be like. She said Ruth does just fine and we should ask her if she wants to go to Kitty’s 82nd Birthday luncheon. We’re only having a small group of thirty-five girls. What do you think?”

Strippers?

Ultimately after visits with fore mentioned “forgetful one” I will be faced with the very pointed comment from the departed visitor upon post phone wrap up that goes something like this:

“She doesn’t look like she has Alzheimer’s. And she certainly doesn’t ACT like she has Alzheimer’s. Are you sure she has it?” No. You know what? You’re right. She doesn’t LOOK like she has Alzheimer’s because how do people with Alzheimer’s look? Yes. I just get a cheap thrill out of peeping through her bathroom stall shouting instructions because I have nothing better to do. Plus, I haven’t the heart to tell you this..but, the minute we left you..Ruth wanted to know who you were, because she had never SEEN you before in her life and for the record..has “no idea” who Dick is. Then she went to her bedroom and passed out until dinner. That was hard work for Ruth. She’s just a truly remarkable and talented actress who can give you a show of a lifetime. My Sandwich Generation, just remember, they may try to fake it with everyone else but you will always know better. It will be our LITTLE secret.

Wink. Wink.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

A day in COURT

Dear Diary,

I have a question. Should women DATE the married men they live with? Is this ever a good idea? So, let’s say for the sake of argument.. that there’s this GUY that you think is just d-i-v-i-n-e and he lives in room 217 on the dementia floor— right next to you. Good. Now, let’s add another element.. Say he’s not married.. then a week into the relationship, POOF— suddenly “remembers” he is. What do you do with that information? Sure..he tells you his sob story about his floozy eighty-eight year old wife living down stairs. How she conspiratorially moved him upstairs to the ROAM floor NOT because he had episodes of following strangers out of Happy Daze Assisted Livings front door yelling,“Hey.. that’s mah boy ova there..HOLLAAAAA!” But.. because she was cheating on him— with another dude. Do you believe his tale of woe? Or kick his pathetic excuse for buttocks to the curb? All of you riding on moral high horses climb on down and let me explain..then you can be judgey if you so choose.

My MIL Ruth also has dementia and she knows full well that this gives her carte blanche to do pretty much whatever the heck she wants. Let’s say she wakes up one morning and thinks that it might be nice to strike up a relationship with a good looking gentleman(s). Why not? Nothing else to do. With some minimal assistance she gets all gussied up in her finest stretchy pants (last season) and body hugging “sharewear” top from next door neighbor Shirley (two doors and two sizes.. down) and marches into the dining room deciding which lovely gentlemen will be the recipient of her charms. Ruth is one of those girls that with a slight crook of the finger all the suitors jump in line. Maybe jump is not the right word in this case..more like “wheel in line” or “shuffle quickly in line”. Whoever gets to Ruth first wins. But only if they’re:

- reasonably good looking. Suitors must be able to “see” or pretend to, Ruth’s beautiful smile and her lovely eye’s with those “dramatically drawn on” expressive brows. What you shouldn’t be able to see are the chin hairs that developed in under 24 hours..Causing me to ponder the idea that m-a-y-b-e her facial moisturizer is acting like a fertilizer to nourish new sproutings.

-packing their own teeth or at the least..a pretend set that stays in with good glue. She will notice when their dentures do the slip and slide while they chew and talk.

click.   click.   clack.   click.

Not a good look for anybody. But fascinating to watch.

-drive a nice car. They cannot remember that they “..now drive a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air Convertible.” SOOO will not stand a chance. Go directly to back of line.

Today she had an announcement to make and decided to hurl it in my direction in the middle of chin hair weeding. As I.. the forever steady handed MOTHER PLUCKER, began to work my way through the thatch that had just recently popped up (much akin to the Hairy Crabgrass sprouting on my lawn) Ruth shared her good news.

“I’m seeing two nice married boyfriends. We all get along so well.. OUCH! What happened there? You find a big one?”

I always like to play it cool. You know..just until I can gather all the dirt scoop. It can take upwards of two..maybe three hours to get to the crux of the sordid tale. What you don’t want to do is PANIC. Just nice and easy does it.

ME: (caps lock voice): COME AGAIN?

RUTH: I’ll bet you even know these fellas..lets see one is named..ummm…

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

ME: Is it Gart and Cracks?

RUTH: Ooh. Ouch. Ooch. Yeah.. How’d you know? Did I tell you before?

ME: No. I just guessed.

Here’s what I know about Cracks and Gart.

Cracks can’t seem to keep his story straight about his marital status. Wow. Shocking. I. Know. First he’s “not married and I’ve been single all of my life.” Then his wife shows up (to bust his sorry posterior) from downstairs..Bertie, and suddenly he’s all, “I want you to meet my wife of fifty-two years we have five children and 13 grand children and thirty-five great grandchildren together. Now sit right here on the couch with us for an hour Ruth and let me rattle off all of their names and birth dates to you.

Then what happens when “Bertie” walks out the keypad locked faux bookcase and heads back down stairs?

Wife? What wife? I don’t have a wife. That lady that was just here? Don’t be silly..THAT was my mother.

Peh.

Ruth fell for him in all of five seconds. Not just because of his “amazing” backhand during Wii tennis but also because he’s a sharp dresser and a great conversationalist. What do they talk about? It’s mostly about him.. Cracks tells her all about his top position as Productions Assistant for RCA..specializing in record player productions.

“Remarkable year we had..this year. With that new fella Bing Crosby putting out all those great records. The kids need something to play them on huh?

Heh. Heh. Heh.

“Tee-hee-hee.” Laughs Ruth, in her polite lady like titter (no..I didn’t say twitter). She looks up at him with her big eyes and flashes him her pearly yellows and I’m telling you..poor Cracks can’t help but drop soup down the front of himself..

Cracks has another name..it’s Heath. Ruth and I just named him cracks because he likes to wear his pants on his hips like “those fellas I see on TV.” I don’t know why the staff lets these people watch that GARBAGE. When I leave the TV room (after Cribs is over)..  my guess is that.. they are secretly turning it back to MTV. Where else would Ruth be getting the idea to wear her intimate apparel on the outside of her shirt and “forget” to put on DEPENDS under her slacks. Thanks Paris. Lindsay.

Gart is the one with the cheating eighty-eight year old wife. I guess he could POSSIBLY be telling the truth. It’s not completely out of the question. Maybe his “old lady” IS cheating on him.. I’ll have to inform my team of special investigators..Agent Fran #9 and Agent Lil #13 to take mental notes. They watch and know everything that goes on around Happy Daze Assisted and will be MORE than willing to keep eagle eyes on old Garts wife. Until then..anything goes.

My Sandwich Generation..who are we to judge? We can’t possibly hang a guy simply for forgetting he’s married. We will allow him to live..provided he produces a medical certificate proving without a shadow of a doubt that he’s NOT faking. Not an easy deal to watch your loved one date..but the reality is whatever makes them happy..makes YOUR life easier. See..there is an upside to dementia.

Guilty!

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

BASKET CASE

Dear Diary,

I don’t know what possessed me. Usually I’m very careful to make sure that before my Mother-in-law comes within twenty feet of our house— the place has been properly fumigated, sterilized and every last bit of debris disposed of or at least hidden well from the “prying” eyes of Ruth (club dementia). Being the procrastinator that I am.. I tend to put off  “Operation SH- Hovel” until the last possible second. Upon MIL’s impending arrival I hastily cram anything left over into an inconspicuous plastic storage bin PERMA-marked in GIGANTIC letters “Stay-Free Maxi Pads”. It had to say something that would dissuade one as overly curious as Granny from further inquiry into drawer contents. Pretty much what I’m banking on is that she will recognize the words “Pads” and think they’re DEPENDS..no thrill there.

I question the judiciousness of my actions NOW..but at the time I thought it was a fab idea to take Ruth up on HER offer to come over and help me with “any chores around the house”. I just take a moment here to fill you in on the fact that Ruth l-o-v-e-s to help. Take for instance the time that Frank did I face plant from his walker over on ROAM (Alzheimer’s floor). As the story goes 6’2 tall Frank (190 Lbs) was cruising down the hallway at warp speed when he leaned a little too much to the right and..POW. The next thing you know our good ole boy was kissing the ground at Ruth’s feet UGGS. What does she do? Why— what any good Samaritan worth their salt would do. Feeling that it was nothing she couldn’t handle ALONE.. she began trying to hoist him up by his belt..

Puuullllinnnnggg..ughhhhhhh. Tuuuggggggging..arghhhhhh.

Wouldn’t budge.

Poor Frank was going to suffer MORE before this rescue was complete.

Finally..the Happy Days Assisted staff “stumbled” upon them when they heard poor Franks calls out for help. Seems that Ruth, unsuccessful at her attempts in belt pulling switched to “other” methodologies. The guy couldn’t walk for a week..and NOT because of “back” soreness.

Ruth is always asking me if she can help ME out in anyway. When she lived with us I always felt it was important for her to participate in tasks so as to feel that she was a needed and contributing member of our family. With dementia, it’s important to find activities that meet the following criteria:

Easy
Dull (no cutlery polishing please)
Stain-resistant
Inexpensive
Redo-able
Seated (to avoid walking while engaged in “job” hence tripping over unseen LEGOS on floor)

Keep in mind that this list is a loose compilation and may not work for everyone i.e. anal-retentive. Please let’s NOT get me started on THAT issue..again.

My children felt that THEY had much more appropriate chores for granny to do than the ones I had issued. AlienDude and SmartAlec “employed” granny to play “NERF PELLET” pick up. A little like the game 52 Card Pick-up..or that’s what they told her. They’d fire off a few rounds of NERF ammo at each other and then have their adoring devoted GRANDMOTHER run around and gather them all up. Tried the same stunt with the LEGOS all over the toy room floor..until their highly suspicious Mother stumbled upon their NERF ammo stacked neatly in the refrigerator and knew just who to scold.

Given the guidelines..the ideal job for Ruth is LAUNDRY FOLDING..maybe some vacuuming– but that’s a well-supervised task that requires proper accessories (ear-plugs) a cord holding assistant and no furniture whatsoever in the vicinity.. so that was a problem.

This time..banking on the fact that her eyesight is virtually nonexistent (except when an adorable Dude is spotted..hence AHBAD) it wouldn’t be necessary to put Operation Sh- Hovel into effect. I could bring Ruth over to our place without any prep work  to “help” with the laundry thus accomplishing three things..

Ruth feeling needed

Ruth getting out of Happy Daze

Ruth making a dent in five-foot high laundry pile

Even as I write this I am slapping myself upside the head.

I have Ruth seated in “her” comfy chair and I go to retrieve the basket from the..hallway. Ummm. I had NO choice. I had to. It filled up the entire laundry room and was spilling into the kitchen. Plus, I thought if I moved it into the hall “someone” would get the HINT. “Someone” used it as a recliner to watch SPONGE BOB on the living room TV. “SOMEONE” else laid his damp towels across the top so “they would dry.”

No. Such. Luck.

I drag in the basket part of the way..empty out a good 1/3 and continue on. Picking it up and carrying it to granny. Unfortunately when I dropped it down..it landed on her foot. Nothing like a sixty pound, full up, laundry basket landing on your foot to illicit a yelp of pain. OOPS.

“HOW many Y-E-A-R-S have you been saving up for ME? Adrienne..how could you let it go this long? Give me the phone. We need to call Marnie and tell HER to get her scooter over here and help..NOW.”

Unbelievable. When did she decide to become COGNIZENT? In the car ride over here?

She wants me to call my GRANDMOTHER (electric scooter girl). I’m not calling Marnie..that’s like sticking my own neck into the noose. Granny Marnie will have it advertised all over KillJoy Inc. and beyond.. in under an hour guaranteed. I’ll never be able to walk into her place without all the old girls sniggering at me and pointing..

(Pointing) “There goes the girl who made her poor MIL and granny do six hours of laundry. Can you imagine Fran? I ask you..What kind of PERSON neglects her laundry like that? I’ll TELL you what kind—it’s elder abuse.”

Honestly. I only had Ruth work on it for thirty minutes tops. I kept sneaking out armfuls and throwing it in the back bedroom because I couldn’t stop the trash talking to save MY LIFE:

RUTH: I have n-e-v-e-r. In MY day we did OUR laundry. What do you DO all day? Sit around and read OPRAH (should have hid that magazine)..

ME: Well did you see the bathroom? The bathroom’s clean.

RUTH: How can I see the bathroom when I can’t get up?

I told Ruth we’re done and she looks at me and says all snarky like..”WE’RE? I should get paid for this..next time.”

Ruth..I want you to forget this EVER happened..OK? OK? feh…feh.feh.feh.

MSG BFF’s.. Sometimes you just can’t do it all. Then it boils down to a coin toss..pure and simple. It’s important to involve your senior family members in your home life activities and to make them feel needed. Maybe you might consider doing a FEW of the dishes in the sink prior to their arrival, but other than that, the few harsh words you may have hurled your way are NOTHING compared to their gains of feeling needed and useful in your life..and theirs.

I fold.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

GIVE ME A BREAK!

Dear Diary,

My heart is flipping over with such force that I think I can feel my nostrils vibrate. Good. That’s a nice look at a time like this. He’s speaking to me— leaning in really close..whispering just loudly enough for only my ears to hear. My breathing is getting heavy and more laborious. I think this is partially due to the after effect of the veggie bean chili with cheese and The Three Tomatoes I devoured at lunch. I think I might s-w-o-o-n. Since I’ve never had an opportunity to SWOON.. I’m not really sure of the mechanics of said swoon. You know..where do the legs go? Do I place the back of my hand on my forehead? Or is that too old school? No. I need to stick around to hear the crescendo. He’s leaning in closer and closer as he speaks and for a split second..I don’t know why..my thoughts veer off in the direction of a potential halitosis situation at hand. I can actually feel the intense crimson color turn a shade deeper on my face as he’s whispering those three little words that every girl longs to hear— to me..

WE.
LOST.
RUTH.

“..AAAAAACCCCKKKKK! How could you lose her—this isn’t NORDSTROM? Did you not know she has DEMENTIA? That’s her “job” to wander off and YOUR job is to stop her. That’s why she’s HERE remember?”

Poor Larry. Such a great guy. One of the cutest staff members at Happy Daze Assisted Living. My MIL Ruth loves Larry..in fact whenever Larry is leading an exercise class or has been assigned “bus trip” duty for the ROAM (dementia) floor, Ruth goes all AHBAD (Alzheimer’s Halted By Adorable Dude) on me and then almost convinces me with a finely thought out argument why she should “move out and get her own place”.

Larry looks absolutely distraught as he points to all the staff running helter-skelter around the downstairs area where a musical performance is in full swing. Code Red! Code Red! They’re coming from all floors now..staff running around in circles, staff hitting the streets, staff sneaking in back for a quick smoke. Didn’t think I noticed..did you? MR. you know who you are.. waiter dude. Couldn’t give me a refill on fries after I asked nicely. Peh.

I’m firing off questions to Larry left and right:

Where was she last seen?

What was she wearing?

Bra on the outside of shirt? Or inside?

Lipstick shade?

I can see it all now. Here come the sirens and the cops. Red lights flashing..

APB: We have a report of missing granny with freshly styled hairdo..Greyish with some blue highlights–missing from the ROAM floor. May look slightly.. perplexed, with poorly drawn on eyebrows. (break) Wearing nightie stuffed into stretch ugly colored pants and disposable (one time wear) pedicure thongs on feet. If found.. take directly to bathroom first before questioning. (break)

CRIPES. ALL. MIGHTY.

Oh wait. There’s more. Larry tells me Ruth has an accomplice. Oh dear LORD..please don’t let it be Harriet or Blanche..again. The last time this happened, Ruth and Blanche had been hanging out around the faux key padded bookcase on ROAM looking highly suspicious. When I saw them together.. I just sensed that something was going down. Plus— I know full well what a b-a-d influence THAT Blanche is on Ruth. Somehow Ruth had fallen in with the wrong crowd. Doris, Blanche, Shirley..they just had a nose for trouble. Anyway..Ruth and Blanche tailgated some workmen out the “bookcase” by “pretending” to not look like they had dementia according to one guy’s story. Yeah..I can see it now. Ruth with her big toothy smiley all..

“Hi. What are you up too? Nice day we’re having. Mind if my friend..umm.. (Whispering to Blanche) Pssst? What did you say your name was?

BLANCHE: Blanche

RUTH: Blanche.. and I come along?

“Sure.” says the guy and out they all go— into the hall, where Blanche and Ruth now have the daunting task of figuring out HOW to work the elevator. Hasn’t Ruth asked me a MILLION times how to use it “just in case” she EVER needs to “go somewhere?”  That should have been my first warning.

The girls made it onto the elevator and pressed floor one. Dumb freakin’ luck..that’s all I chalk it up to. Down the two escapees go to the first floor lobby looking forward to freedom as they headed straight towards the door. The mistakes they made were:

a.    Forgetting where the front door was.
b.    Forgetting what they were doing downstairs
c.    Asking the receptionist for directions to the Eiffel Tower.

The attempt was foiled by sheer chance. I was down the hall speaking with the activities coordinator about the purchase of appropriate work out clothes for Ruth’s Happy Hands class. Before I run out and spend a fortune on GROOVE pants and Silver threaded no stink top at Lululemon Athletica as Granny requested, I need to make sure Ruth has been actually PARTICIPATING in the class and not just sitting there socializing.

I ran smack gobbers right into the two outlaws in the lobby as they realized they had slipped up on their last “request” for directions and started hoofing it right towards the door.

“Ruth. What are you DOING down here?” I shout. Absolutely shocked that they made it THIS far.

RUTH: Well..I don’t know? (Turning to Blanche)What are we doing here she wants to know?

BLANCHE: I’m not quite sure..but we have a cab to catch so if you’ll kindly step out of OUR way.

Yup. SSSSSSSUUUUUUUURRRRRREEEEEE I will.

Holy Cow.. it’s Faye with Ruth on the lam! Now we’ll defiantly need to check every Casino and BINGO hall within a fifty-mile radius. The only thing going for us is the well-known fact that they’ll make a quick detour. Thanks to Faye’s love of the sauce, it’s a sure thing that they’re in some bar knocking back a few as we speak. Some Jell-O shots.. a little table dancing.. oh baby.. you’re stoked for a grand adventure.

SCREE-EEEE-CHHH-HHH.

Say what? Why who’s that standing over THERE watching all the excitement from the corner of the Ladies bathroom entrance? Why..I’ll be. It’s my Ruth and her little friend Faye. What’s that you say? You want to know WHY nobody has invited you to play “the game”. O.K. I’m going to be sooo cool and composed about this..

ME: What could you have POSSIBLY been thinking in that HEAD of yours? I have been worried sick..

RUTH: Adri..

ME: Let me finish.. I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know if you’d been kidnapped? What? You think I just could go get another Mother-in-Law to take care of? Is THAT what you think? If I couldn’t find you..

RUTH: Adrie..

ME: NO. NO TALKING. I’m not done. Where were you that it was SO important that you RUN off with..FAYE of all people?

ME: Well? Don’t just STAND there. Answer. The. Question.

RUTH: Can I talk now?

ME: Talk.

RUTH: I was in the bathroom.

ME: Why were you in the bathroom?

Um. So, maybe it wasn’t the most intelligent question to ask. But I just needed to hear it for myself.

RUTH: Well, isn’t that where you go when you have to go tinkle? Is there someplace ELSE new that I don’t know about?

Oh I see. A real comedienne. A jokester now is she? Ha Ha Ha

RUTH: Faye said she knew where it was so I followed her. Big deal..What did I miss?

Oh MY SANDWICH GENERATION Hero’s (or Gyro’s for the authentic sandwich connoisseur)..never a dull moment in the eldercare game. The real lesson here is.. you can’t take your eye off your seniors even for a minute. Always be on your toes. With those eyes of YOURS wide open. If you ever feel the urge to blink..just pretend you’re a guard at Buckingham Palace..DON’T.

BAM!
Made you blink.

A

Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

I SCREAM..YOU SCREAM

Dear Diary,

Me and my brilliant ideas.  As well meaning as they are.. they can at times lead to more trouble than they’re WORTH. Take today for example. I thought I was so the most awesome daughter-in-law in the world, for pulling together a day of beauty for my dear dementia ensconced Ruth.. in the midst of our unbearable heat wave. The lengths I will go—JUST to get Ruth into a cooler..more COMFORTABLE climate. I should have taken it as an early warning— when a thong wearing, ME stepped gingerly into someone’s spilled Strawberry Nirvana JAMBA JUICE in the parking lot of Club Pretencia (Ruth’s and my fav swimming hole). What? Oh I’m sorry. Why did I not see the red sea? BECAUSE I was on the phone with Happy Daze Assisted Living floor ROAM trying to gather vital information about the whereabouts of MY MIL! AAAACCCCKKKKK!

If THAT’S not a sign from the higher powers that be than I don’t know what is.

In my mind I envisioned her languidly sprawled out on her bed with her little pathetic excuse for a fan straining to put out something more effective than ME blowing air out of a straw (only cooler). PFUH. PFUH. PFUH. PFUH.

She’s lying there all sweaty in the ninety-degree heat.. compression hose rolled down to her ankles. Heaven only knows what top she’s wearing.. but I can guarantee she accessorized beautifully and capping off the look with her Anne Taylor Loft tank top draped gracefully around her waist serving as a belt. I cannot bear the thought of Ruth forgetting to drink the case of bottled un-PC water I bought for this very occasion. How will she ever drag herself from the bed in her dehydrated hallucinogenic state and make it ten steps to the “back-stock” closet to get the water! She will forget that I put the WATER in the closet. Or worse..she will go into the WRONG closet and mess it all up and put the TARGET stuff with the Juicy and destroy my color coordinated sportswear section. With wild crazed eyes in search of water she’ll strike the winter storage bags pulling out sweaters and woolens..Then in a final last-ditch effort to “freshen up” she’ll reach for the SCOPE.

NNNNOOOO. MY RUTH will never… Get. To. Water.

Ruth.. as it turns out, was on a completely unplanned bus ride with the other twenty-three residents to absolutely NOWHERE for the second time this week. Oh Boy! I know how my Ruth L-O-V-E-S her bus rides. I had no idea. OOPS I could lose my social secretary position for this slip up.

“Jerry..Jerry..can you hear me?” I’m using my strong, clear communication skills while gesticulating frantically into the cell phone. “Jerry.. Ruth has a Mani Pedi and a blowout in TEN minutes over at She-She Poo-Poo can you do a drive by and have someone bring her in?

Good Adrienne..and by “someone” did you mean Harriet? It might be a little hard for Harriet to bring Ruth in.. seeing that Harriet might feel the need to take a detour so that her little stuffed doggie “Fido” may get his much needed WALK. Perhaps you’d like BLANCHE to bring Ruth in? Ruth LIKES to travel to far off lands so THAT shouldn’t be a problem.

“Jerry..If you can’t get her here— OMG. I will D-I-E. Because once I commit to an appointment if I cancel I will lose ALL MY MONEY. Do you get that Jerry? I will be out hundreds (ever so slight exaggeration) and she will never be able to show up for a wax or brow arch (slight fib..see MOTHER PLUCKER) or anything here AGAIN. (Long pause with sigh for emphasis). Ever.”

I glanced at my watch and realized that there was no way Jerry was going to get Ruth to She-She Poo in time for her nails. That just left her trusty girl servant moi to attend to the dastardly deed herself. I was going to get a PEDICURE. WOOHOO! In I dashed to catch the last fifteen minutes of my appointment but not before stopping to give explicit instructions to the front desk to escort Ruth back when she arrives to my “suite”.

Ahhhh. This is the life. I’m laying back in the comfy recliner chair, in the dimly lit room, inhaling the sweetly perfumed air, water fountain tinkling in the backround.. listening to– the incessent chatter of manicure girl when in bursts GRANNY..

“Hallelujah is all I can say. Where have you been and why did I have to get back on that bus? I THINK I remember saying that I was never going to do THAT again. What happened to you?”

Pedicure time O-V-E-R. Well that was..five minutes.

Ruth was beside herself that I gifted her with those flimsy disposable thongs. Said they would “work” with everything in her wardrobe. I’ll hide them later.

The last stop of the day was hair. I had booked two slots for us at the same time thinking it might be fun for a CHANGE to do something TOGETHER..hahahahaha. One slight obstacle did present itself quite a few times during the wetting, shampooing and repeat step..

Wetting.
Repeat.
Wetting.
Oh yeah.. and lot’s of wetting.

Do you think she found the water bottles? I don’t know what it was..but the minute the hair chick had my head back soaking wet..BOOM!

“I have to go to the ladies room.”

“I’ll take you!” I say in a tone that resembles some yippy skippy insufferable game show contestant.

Puh-lee-ze. As if anyone else in the place will jump up and beat me to the punch. Hey YOU! Lady under the dryer..how about it?

I never know where in the “process” we are at the start of the warning bell. Does Ruth really have to go badly or.. does she feel the start of a little something that has the POTENTIAL during the six-foot jaunt to the ladies room to turn into the raging river Nile? I’m not the gambling type (anymore) so up I go..FAST.. water dripping everywhere to hustle Ruth to the “Johnnie”.

Ladies of MY SANDWICH GENERATION, what have I always told you about keeping a spare pair of Depends on your person at all times? Let’s look back on this post people, to see what cleverly hidden clues you picked up on to alert you to my impending dilemma. How’d you do?

1.    WATER
2.    BUS
3.    BUS
4.    BUS
5.    Running water
6.    Tinkling water fountain

RUTH: These are WET what do YOU have for me to put on?

DOO-DE-DOO-DE-DUM-DE-DUM-DE-DOO-BOP.

Paper towels?

We went back to our separate sinks. little Ruthie Wettie and myself. I think we hit the little girls room about five times total. Thinking a re-check on the UTI results (Urinary Tract Infection for my MALE readers) is very necessary.

When it rains, it pours
and then— it tinkles.

Enjoy the Heat!

-A

ROAD TRIP

Dear Diary,

Oh my gosh.. Tremendous excitement over at Happy Daze Assisted Living. Today the air has a certain QUALITY to it which is hard to put my finger on exactly…No. It’s not THAT kind of air quality conundrum. THIS TIME. It’s more..like a buzz; an excited chatter amongst the group that something DIFFERENT is about to happen. I learn from Selma that they have been “sitting around for HOURS.. waiting in great a-n-t-i-c-i-p-a-t-i-o-n” for the up and coming Le Tour de I-90/405 2009.

“Who’s got constipation?” Quips my MIL Ruth with a little snarky grin on her face. Feh. It’s MY fault. Ever since I shared the story of Granny Marnie and her little “issue” to you know who..she has been keenly aware of anyone who should suffer from the same malady. I don’t know why I ever brought it up. How did I know that it would find it’s way into Ruth’s long-term memory bank? Such a crapshoot..this DEMENTIA.

This prestigious tour— done on BUS rather than the better known bike.. will begin in the front parking spots of Happy Daze and continues in a mystery direction that will only thrill and fire the imagination of the twenty-three riders including Ruth. Once en route, the residents of the ROAM (dementia) floor will enjoy Le Tour de I-90 on a course that provides:

A. Varied terrain- providing a mixed level of comfort and tactile experience (because when those bumps come and you hit your head on the passenger to your right.. you’re going to feel it.
B.    Aesthetics-Stimulates interest (and bladder) as the riders enjoy the natural beauty of the man made ponds and Mountains (excavation sites) along the I-90 corridor.
C.    Suspense- Highly piqued curiosity as to the envisaged route that lay ahead— ads a bit more confusion excitement to an otherwise mundane predictable..HA HA HA yeah right. Day.

The riders were getting a tad anxious sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch in the living room just starring at each other doing annoying things. Really. How long CAN you watch Shirley search for her car keys in her “bag”? Listen to Greta tell you that her “mother” is picking her up for lunch. Or tune out Faye talking trash about her mean card game and how she’s going to whip your sorry..

ME: Come on Faye. Give me a break. I put up a darn good fight. Let’s set something up for tomorrow— I need to redeem myself.

Umm. Just a side note here. Yes, Faye is good at cards but..she does the old COUGH COUGH COUGH something is in my throat routine and when I race over to get her a drink of scotch water she’s always “rearranging” my pile.

Ruth was fed up with ALL of us and while Faye and I were still going at it Ruth stormed out.. mumbling under her breath (minty fresh clean breath.. thanks to my SCOPE run) “They’re crazy. They’re all just NUTS. They just have us sitting here like a bunch of dummies. How long do we have to wait for this thing anyway?”

We all cue up at the faux keypad bookcase dressed in our best riding attire and begin our descent downstairs towards the bus. If you ask me we already look slightly road weary and beat up. We have, after all— been sitting for a good hour in preparation for the journey. I think we’re ready for lunch and a nap.

We choose our seats and seat mates very carefully on this Tour for a few very good reasons:

Some of the twist and turns along the course can be very harry and you will undoubtedly end up in the lap of your neighbor so it’s best to sit with someone you like.

You may want to enjoy the scenery in SILENCE so you need to find someone who will fall asleep within the first five minutes otherwise you will be stuck with someone who asks every thirty seconds “When are we heading back? I need to use the bathroom?”

RUTH: When are we heading back? I need to use the bathroom?

ME: You just went..TEN minutes ago. Now you’re going to need to HOLD it.

RUTH: What if I can’t?

ME: Well then I guess we’re SCREWED aren’t we?

Good thing the cutest bus driver in the whole wide world is driving this rig. I decided to play the AHBAD card (Alzheimer’s Halted by Adorable Dude) with Ruth to see if I could take her mind off of one thing and onto ANOTHER. Well. Well. Would you look at that? Ruth’s mind is already on OTHER things. While she was checking out the bus driver.. I was finding it difficult to take my eyes off the most amazing scenery outside..

“Ladies and Gentlemen.. Please see on your right– A cop that has pulled over some young long haired punks driving a (pause) what appears to be a 2009 Lexus GS 450h.”

Nice.

“And on your left..the merging of I-90 with the famous I-5. Keep looking because soon we will be passing overhead 405 NORTH.”

OOOHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHH!

I don’t know how they do it at the Tour de France. They bike all that way..Up hill and down hill. Across mountains and deserts. Then they drink some lousy cup of water handed off to them mid ride and a shot of power Gu and they’re off. We on the “love bus” need to take a full lunch (and potty) break about three miles into our ride.

Ruth had a great time. If you ask her about it she’ll tell you they drove through spectacular countryside and saw all kinds of farms. Maybe she’ll throw in a few details for effect “The children running around outside with their Scottish kilts on were adorable and the village was as quaint as can be.” I have no idea were she’s pulling this scene from. Maybe some past trip.

Nothing like a change of scenery to perk you up. Eh? My Sandwich Generation BFF’s. If you ever get the opportunity to go with your senior family member on le Tour de I-90/405 South/I-5 I would JUMP at the chance. It’s a really great way to see the world.

No DOPING!

A

Blind Date

Dear Diary,

My grandma Marnie is a woman of many talents. A legend really. Known far and wide from the halls of KillJoy Retirement Home to the dementia floor of Happy Daze Assisted Living (where my MIL Ruth lives). Marnie has a reputation of being a bridge player extraordinaire with nary a loss under her faux croc belt and a workout fanatic with a physique of near perfection (measurements 52-46-52). What they don’t know is she’s also an “undercover” secret operative for everything hook-up and romance..matchmaker for the young at heart.

Today I woke up feeling all inspired, perky and strong enough.. self-esteem wise to give Granny Marnie a jingle and check to see if she wanted to join the boys and I for some pancakes at our fav restaurant Jam Um and Cram Um. Marnie loves this place. It’s fast, easy and fun and if someone doesn’t TRIP over you in your wheelchair in their haste to get to the free apple cinnamon pancake sample.. also a very safe place to eat. It was no surprise that my invitation was met with an enthusiastic “YES” and accompanied by audible jumping up and down (or the electric scooter equivalent) for joy.. at the offer.

I pull up to KillJoy to pick up Marnie in her ROOM as clearly specified. Wait just a minute. Would you looky here. I spot granny sitting down in the lobby gently rocking back and forth in her “out to lunch only” wheelchair about 1/8-1/16 of an inch away from the sliding glass doors. Precisely as I have instructed her NOT to do. Surprise. I’m watching this electronic door go back and forth with enough force to pancake my Marnie. “THERE you are honey. I’ve been waiting for you for twenty five minutes. What took you so long? What did you do to your HAIR?”

This is where the strong sense of self-esteem comes in. I know that I am a sitting duck at this point and it could go one of two ways.

A.    She loves my haircut. Tells me I look ten years younger and I should have done it years ago.
B.    Hates it. Tells me I look ten years older and why did I do this now?

Oh. Yeah. There’s a “C”. Get’s distracted thus FORGETTING the hair and focuses in on the..

“That’s an interesting shirt you’re wearing dear? It makes you look like you’re preg..”

I’m not THAT strong.

“The hair Marnie..What do you think of my new hair? Do you like it? (flipping it around for effect)”

Marnie has been having some vision problems as of late. So to get a proper angle for evaluation, I crouch down really low and stick my head a fraction from her face. I want to make sure she really sees it clearly before responding.

ME: Well?

MARNIE: Well what?

ME: The hair? Do you like it?

MARNIE: Yes, I very much think that it looks fan..good. Just really good. (She hates it. I knew it.) You look twenty years younger—

SCORE!

Wait. There’s. More.

MARNIE: and I think you look like a beautiful young pregnant mother.

Yes sir! That’s the answer I was definitely going for.

At the Jam and Cram, Marnie shares with us the big news of the week. As the story goes according to Marnie (Match-maker alias: Stool Pigeon) she had been playing cards with both Eunice (her bridge flunky friend) and Hal (token MAN Bridge player) a few months ago over at Happy Daze. The group had been talking about exercise and walking and how Marnie Stool Pigeon had such a sick bod and how they all wished they could look like her. SP unbeknownst to the rest of the group, had her eye on fixing up the unsuspecting Eunice and Hal for some time but had been secretly plotting how she would do it. This was the window she’d been waiting for.

“Eunice? You like to walk around the block after dinner don’t you dear? I think Hal told me he does also. I don’t think it’s safe for you to walk alone at night. Sooooo maybe Hal will go with you..you know, JUST in case. For protection.”

That’s my Marnie. Safety first. Because HEAVEN FORBID something should halt Eunice’s walk— big strong ninety-two year old HAL will save her.

Marnie say’s they’ve been going at it all hot and heavy and they’re totally “mad” for each other. I don’t know why I’m just hearing about this now. I’m over at Happy Daze every day with Ruth and I never caught wind of this one. I asked Marnie where she thinks this could lead. She told me that Hal has introduced his kids to Eunice and they love her. So, maybe they’ll move in together eventually because it’s “silly” to get married since they’re NOT HAVING children. Really? They’re not? Hmmmm. These liberal minded grannies of today. I guess “old fashioned” values are history. Score one for the Pigeon.
Marnie said she’s cooking up another love connection. Granny’s best friend Laura likes this guy Larry whom she met (again over Bridge) last week. They really hit it off.  As the pigeon tells it.. Larry ended up calling Marnie and asking her if she would convince Laura to “move into his place.” It’s interesting how fast these old dudes move when they meet the right gal at the senior stage of life. Bam. They meet. Take a walk. Move into the same “home”. Next thing you know it’s all friends with benefits. See life over at KillJoy isn’t half bad. I suppose a “couple” needs to move fast at that age. There’s no waiting by the phone. You have to throw out the four-date rule because you never know if you’ll make it that far. Man those seniors know how to live.

My Sandwich Generation love is always in the air. When it happens to your senior SINGLE parent it can be such a blessing and make your job a heck of a lot easier. Think quality of life. Suddenly mom has a flush in her cheeks that hasn’t been there in years and after you rule out any possible health issues that could be causing it..just rejoice. Just one last point. Remember now it will be up to YOU to have the ummm..you know..the t-a-l-k. Good luck with that.

Be safe.

A

HUNG UP

Dear Diary,

My day started off in kind of a bizzaro way this morning. I had a feeling something was definitely up when I called granny Marnie (electric scooter bound girl) to do one of our multi-daily chats and she was acting really overly nice. I don’t know why I didn’t question it the moment it started. Nooooo. I just chalked it up to some natural ripening that can come with aging (overnight?) whereby the person in question becomes a bit more humbled by life and the heart becomes slightly enlarged. Though not TOO enlarged, as that would be cause to call 911 which we must avoid at all costs. There was just some nice softening in her tone and I was really enjoying it. So much so.. that I began to open up to Marnie about deep and meaningful events occurring in my own life. I DO know better than that..but her compassionate tone and grandmotherly demeanor brought out a feeling that I could tell her anything. OH. YES. I. DID. Yup..that too.

I have these same moments with my mother-in-law Ruth. Never mind that she has dementia..I can tell her anything and she really takes it all in and always has the perfect response for everything.

ME: I don’t know why Marnie always has to ask if I get paid for my blog?

RUTH: That’s how we just are when we get older.

ME: Hmmm.. But why would she expect that I would need to be paid for EVERYTHING I do?

RUTH: Well..you know..that’s how we get when we get older.

ME: Yeah. You could be right. Money becomes even more important when you age for “that” feeling of security.

RUTH: That’s right. See what happens when we get older?

I really feel deeply understood by my MIL. She can totally relate to what I’m saying.

ME: Are you hungry? Should we go get some lunch?

RUTH: That’s right. That’s just what happens when you get..

I call Marnie’s place at KillJoy Assisted Living every day before I go over. I don’t want to just barge in and risk walking in at some awkward moment. Who knows what could be going on between her and Papa George. I once came over in the middle of a heated argument about why Marnie must always turn down the volume on the television from “unbelievably eardrum shattering” to “hearing loss guaranteed or your money back”. I suddenly notice as I’m standing there— that I have begun to sweat perspire. It’s crazy hot in here! I’m thinking these two are suffering from heat prostation and not even know it.
“What temperature do you have the thermostat at anyway?” I blurt out.

It’s my diversionary tactic. While they focus on me and my mindless ramblings.. they will totally FORGET what they were arguing about in the first place. Works EVERY time. I have a little peek at the gauge on the wall and no surprise here..85 degrees. Nice. Balmy is good. It helps open the pores, thus releasing all those pent up..toxins. Not the best focal point.. I come to find out. Marnie I guess,  has a tendency to enjoy a more moderate climate of 70-75 degrees, while George likes the Sahara Desert feel.

I think this was one of the most connected conversations I’ve had with Marnie in a long time. For twenty or so minutes we went deeply into family; the joys of motherhood and importance of family—of being connected.

MARNIE: Dear— would you and the kids like to come for dinner tonight?

This was weird. Marnie had already asked me this same question yesterday and I had to decline because my kids elementary school was doing a Western Hoedown gig and I thought we should do something with people under the age of eighty for a change.

MARNIE: Well..we’ll do it another time. How’s Josie feeling?

UUUURRRRRKKKKKKK! SSSSSCCCRRREEEEECCCHHH! HUH?

ME: How’s J-O-S-I-E?

Let me just tell you for a split second here– who JOSIE is. Josie is my SISTERS child. That’s right. You heard me correctly. It stands to reason that if Marnie is asking ME how Josie is.. Marnie thinks she’s speaking to..

M-Y S-I-S-T-E-R

ME: Marnie. Do you know who this is?

There you have it. Poof! Illusion up in noxious gas. The minute Marnie found out it was me..the memories of my recent “refrigerator clean out” came flooding back; recognizable by the sudden change of tone in her voice.

MARNIE: Oh A-d-r-i-e-n-n-e (long sigh). How are you dear? Make any money on your blog yet? Too bad THEY don’t pay you for that.

THEY. Who’s they?

My Sandwich Generation bread stuffers..why do we do this? It’s most certainly NOT for the monetary compensation..Peh. We know from our own experience, that our payment is on the heart level and not the bootie level where the pocket book doth lie. But..that being said..if Marnie wants to start compensating me for my time, she may need to hit the pavement with a resume in hand because the price of eldercare givers like us is..priceless.

Charge!

A

Self Service

Dear Diary,

I put my life in danger EVERY single day. You would think it would be an easy task— taking care of my mother-in-law Ruth (dementia) and my granny Marnie (electric scooter bound girl). But oh how wrong you are. I have now officially lost track of how many times I have been scolded for doing “too much” of the right thing.. the wrong way. How hard can this be? Marnie gives me a list of foodstuffs she needs for her apartment kitchen. Fine. I’m reviewing the list and I make a mental note (for what THAT’S worth these days) about the few inconsequential elements I find to be missing from her list. On the backside of a slightly used napkin I read scribbled in pen:

1-case Diet Pepsi
2 Bags Fresh Express premium Iceberg salads
2 dozen cherry filled Danish (marked down- day old)
1 plastic lemon filled with “juice”
3 Bags Oreo Cookies
Velveeta processed “cheese”
Prunes (duh)
Fiber One Cereal
Bag of Jolly Time popcorn
2 Red Wines
2 White Wine (Marnie’s sleep aid of choice)

There were two more items— but I couldn’t quite make out what they said. Apparently they were ordered to assist the prunes and Fiber One in their strenuous job ahead. Off I trot to the store.. pathetic nutritionally unbalanced list in hand thinking to myself how I will spruce up the list a bit with perhaps a vegetable or two, maybe a fruit (no bananas because we get those for free) and some kind of protein..

As of today..I have been officially taken off any kind of grocery duty for the sin, which I committed. Actually sin-s-s-s. I bought a few little..ummm “extras”:

One rotisserie chicken, 3 lbs of lemons, a sour cream coffeecake, 3 bags of baby carrots, a tub of large curd cottage cheese, a smoked salmon (in case Marnie entertains) and a few more things that I would prefer to not mention for fear of looking foolish. I thought they might be enjoyed, that’s all. Feh.

Why do I even bother to try and make Marnies life easy? She doesn’t WANT it easy. If it’s easy what the heck is she going to talk about with the other old girls when they sit around the bridge table? I.. by my pathetic timing have all but destroyed her reputation of being “completely self-sufficient” and never needing to “bother” anyone to help. Cripes! I walk into KillJoy Assisted Living and run into Marnie and her posse playing bridge. They were in the middle of a discussion lead by who else— MARNIE. Topic? How difficult it is to be left all alone without anyone to help. TAAA DAAA! Here I show up with a truckload of groceries announcing to all— the four-course lunch menu of the day. BUZZZZZZZ. MY BAD. Because of my careless behavior and timing issues, my poor Marnie will be ostracized for being “different”. No one wants to be pegged as different. Marnie has informed me she has chosen to “suffer” rather then let me “help” with the shopping and a few other tasks..

Task1- Refrigerator Cleaner- Status: terminated
I THOUGHT I was being helpful when I offered to clean out the refrigerator. Did I know you hide hid your nicest expensive fake ring in the faux rusty Schlitz beer can? Hello? Lock Jaw? Plus.. You DON’T DRINK BEER!

Task2- Public Bathroom Door Holder-Status: terminated
I didn’t know you wanted to get OUT of the flipping bathroom stall Marnie. I thought you were trying to help me keep the door CLOSED so it wouldn’t swing open while you were in process..

Task3-Wheelchair Pusher-Status: pending upon further review
In my defense the slope of the hill did not look to be that big of a deal and you have great tires. Further more.. I see no reason why we can’t go over all types of terrain. One more thing Marnie.. It is so not my fault that I took you down those steps facing forward. I THOUGHT you wanted to admire the many varieties of flowers they planted. (I guess you did THAT:)

Good luck trying to get all that “junk” food in your scooter Marnie. It’s just a matter of time before you get really sick of VELVEETA. You had it so good. How could you FIRE me?

So herein lies the problem.

Knowing the inside scoop as we NOW do My Sandwich Generation peeps..we’re faced with the difficult decision. Should we do it for them or let them do it themselves? This is not an easy call. We WANT our senior family to have their independence as long as they can..believe me..I can’t say this enough. AS. LONG. AS. THEY. CAN. But, we want to make their life easier at the same time. I find the “wait until asked, but offer frequently” approach that I use with Ruth works super great.
I offer.
She agrees.
I do.
Repeat.

Always at your service-
A

Sugar-Free

Dear Diary,

How does the saying go? The best things in life are free? Well THAT explains why Granny Marnie is over the top thrilled at the moment. I don’t remember the last time I saw this much exuberance emanating from her. Let me think.. Oh wait. Yes, I do remember the last time. She was at Whole Foods and they had inadvertently mismarked the canned tuna— five for $1 instead of one for $5 which, duh.. obviously was an oversight. H-e-l-l-o? WHOLE FOODS? Phfeh. Marnie cruises up towards the checkout stand in her electric scooter filled with—maybe twenty-five, thirty cans full of organic premium un-mercurized goodness (and nothing else). THIRTYmph down the condiments aisle she zoomed inwardly chuckling all the way at her amazing good fortune. Wait. What’s THIS? SAMPLES! What’s a quick little side trip going to hurt? Marnie pulls a U turn practically knocking down a “real” elderly person.. whooping and hollering all the way at warp speed to the Guava Salsa with Tomato corn chips.

What exactly is the deal with samples? Marnie and I seem to disagree on the idea behind the bite size complimentary morsels that are handed out (on Fridays at WHOLE FOODS, Saturdays at COSTCO and M-F at Trader Joes). I feel that it’s not in the spirit of the concept to drive your scooter up to the table and while the girl is giving you all the 411 on those dainty Zesty Dill Spinach Souffle Pops (10 for$20)..you’re shoveling them into your mouth at lightening speed with not as much as a head nod that you’re pretending to listen to a word she’s saying.

As if that’s not bad enough (don’t think that I didn’t catch this) you say, “Now those cheese cubes over THERE (pointing across the store) would they be good to serve with these?” As she looks to where you’re pointing, you make a grab for like..ten more and shove them in the mouth before she turns back to you. I thought it was pretty funny when you had them all shoved in your bulging cheeks and she followed up innocently with (as if you were a REAL customer) “Will you be serving them as an appetizer or main course?” Had a little problem answering that one didn’t cha? We had to sit and watch you chew for about five minutes before you would dare to open your mouth and then there was all the evidence stuck nastily between your teeth.

Let’s see..we hit the brownie table (where you got caught shoving a handful into your purse), the Karmel Korn table where you asked to take a cup home for your “children” and the LUNA Bar samples. I thought it a tad presumptuous of you Marnie to ask for a sample of each (twenty-five flavors folks..2-5) so that you could see which one “grabbed you” because at “your age” one loses all ones appetite and becomes quite thin so it’s important to find one that really tastes good.

Tell one, tell all..KillJoy Assisted Living-motto: if it hasn’t been done-we’ll do it to you has just set up a.. drum roll please. Free cookies, fruit and tea station. OMG. Does facility living GET any better than that? Marnie is jumping up and down in her scooter seat and I’m getting a little concerned because this is more cardio than she’s had all year. “Well it’s about time. I happen to know that Ruth’s (my MIL) place (Happy Daze Assisted Living) has been doing free cookies and bananas forever. Why we haven’t had them over here really makes me wonder about the brains of the person running this “concern.”

Ruth loves her free cookies and bananas area downstairs at Happy Daze. We stop there everyday to fill up her pockets with bananas before returning to floor ROAM(dementia). It’s very interesting what long-term behaviors stay with us and which one’s vanish if we should have some “memory issues” like my MIL. Shoving free bananas (green foiled flat mint patties, toothpicks, Kleenex and tea bags) into a coat pocket is as automatic to Ruth as..as..um. Well— breathing.

Sometimes for fun I like to play a little game with Marnie called: Guess how much this costs? I start with a simple thing—a Venti size Chai Tea Latte. O.K Marnie. How much did this set me back?

MARNIE: I’d have to say..and this is taking into account inflation..about $1.

Good guess scooter girl! But no cigar. BZZZZZZZZZ! WRONGO. Would you believe $4!

MARNIE: Nooooooooo. That can’t be. I would never pay THAT for a cup of tea. Do YOU? In fact.. would you like a cup of tea dear? You know here—we get it for free. How about a cookie to go with it? Do you need any packs of Sweet ‘n Low? Sugar?

I love the fact, My Sandwich Generation darlings that Granny Marnie thinks her nibbles are on the house. If she knew how much those cookies and free tea really are costing her..c r i p e s.
I always encourage Marnie to enjoy as MUCH cookies as she wants. In fact– who needs cereal for breakfast? Nothing my friend(s) In life. Is free.

A