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HIGH BROW

Marnie with good browsDear Diary,

It never ceases to astound me what us girls do in the name of beauty. Even when we’re into our eighties like my MIL Ruth or nineties like my granny Marnie we still manage to cover all of our beauty bases just “in case”. Show of hands please from my  MSG girlfriends whose Mothers, Grandmothers, or other “senior” mother figures have issued clear warnings on the topic of present ability in the case of catastrophic circumstance. We have been told none too subtly that whatever our “emergency” it will assuredly take a turn for the worst if we are found to be lacking proper “foundation” pieces (Victoria’s Secret thongs. OUT.) and heaven forbid we’ve forgotten to wax and pluck.

I like to visit Granny Marnie in the earlier hours of the day over at KillJoy Assisted Living- “if it hasn’t been done we’ll do it to you.” A few knocks at her door and I realize that I’m just wasting arm power and turn to the uber bell to dong my arrival. I can hear Marnie in her electric scooter race down the entry. Not because I possess some “super hearing” but because she’s revving the scooter power and is heading full throttle towards the front door like the reckless driver that she is. Nothing like the feel of the wind blowing through your hairpiece to bring out the road warrior in a girl. Marnie throws open the door with a big smile on her lips and her eyes.. A look of wild shock and terror? Huh? As I lean in for the kiss and pat, I notice that the look of fright has not left her face. What is it? W H A T is it?

DING. DING. DING. Her e-y-e-b-r-o-w-s.

Her mouth is saying I’m delighted to see you and her eyebrows are screaming “Holy Mother Plucker! Take one step more and I’ll scream so loud you’ll lose all hearing (too).”

I’m scrutinizing her face assessing with wonder the shoddy workmanship of the dark brown eyebrow pencil heavy handedly applied to resemble a cross between Cruella De Vil and Joan Crawford. On her fair colored, almost non-existent brows, this isn’t the best look for her I can tell you. Of course now I’m completely ignoring Granny’s rundown on her constipation woes and can think of nothing but how I’m going to delicately weave this into our morning conversation and remedy the situation before she naively leaves the room and causes unnecessary terror in the halls of KillJoy.

ME: What’s the plan with that constipation Marnie?

MARNIE: Oh. I’m just going to stay around here for a while. Drink four cups of water and finish the rest of those prunes. (Pointing to COSTCO size Prune container on kitchen counter.) How are you? What cha looking at dear?

ME (Planning the time frame for my visit and Prune consumption): Just you Marnie. How beautiful you are. How you always look so well put together?

(Pause)

ME: Hmmm.. O M G! Who did THAT to you? I want names.

So— maybe not so subtle. But they were heinous. I swear. I could not help myself.

Marnie and I went back into the bathroom and I began to wipe dreaded “slasher brows” off with Lubriderm lotion. I love to play make-up artist. I’m pretty good. Just ask Ruth. She’ll tell you how good I am at plucking, drawing, shading and highlighting. Because Ruth has dementia you’ll have to ask the question like this to spark her memory:

YOU: “Wow. Adrienne does such a fab job on your make-up. It’s so natural and brings out your amazing beauty—that make-up that Adrienne does on you. Who does your make-up?”

I have Marnie sit really still while I make nice feathery strokes along the brow bone. The key here is light and eas.. OOPS.

“I’m not loving this Marnie. It looks like one brow is about two inches higher than the other. I need to try again.”

Marnie is the best model an artist could ask for. She lets me apply and remove brows for a good thirty minutes without moving a muscle. Then she needed to start working on the “other” issue so I had to pick up the pace. I finally hit one out of the park. They looked so amazing; perfectly symmetrical and very natural. When I stepped back to look at the final picture I thought she looked good. Maybe a tiny bit. Constipated. Ugh. What are you gonna do? Great lipstick.

Granny Marnie and Ruth wanted me to pass on to My Sandwich Generation girlfriends the importance of being well groomed at all times hence showing that “YOU” take care of yourselves. “Putting lipstick on should be as automatic as blinking.” Proclaims my MIL Ruth. “Then if you have dementia once in awhile like me, you’ll look presentable and attractive and won’t have to give it another thought.” Marnie concurs. “Put on your make-up after your hairpiece. Then it becomes your regular routine. You won’t ever want to miss a day and put it off. Because then..BAM! That will be the ONE-day that something happens. That’s how it works. You will have forgotten to put on your face and THEN who will want to rescue you?

What are you wearing under there?

A

Posted 15 years, 7 months ago at 10:22 pm.

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Cleaning Girl

Durga Girl

Dear Diary,

It’s that time of year again. The sun is out, the birds are singing and half of my Mother-in-laws belongings have disappeared into thin air thus signaling the need for the Spring Cleanse. We go through this little house cleaning ritual of Ruth’s room over at Happy Daze Assisted Living (floor ROAM) at the time when I notice a great deal of repetition in our attire from day to day. With dementia a girl may forget a lot of things, but she NEVER forgets what she wore the day before and will N E V E R do a repeat (i.e. “I really love my..” section in In Style Magazine). To be caught wearing the same exact pants and blouse two or three days in a ROW? Well, I can’t even go there. No. It has to be something a bit more sinister. Maybe..And it pains me to say this—Thievery. I’m not one to point fingers but I have noticed Marion eyeing with longing Ruth’s Purple Bomber Jacket. I could be wrong. Cripes. It could be Marion is just experiencing a random flare up of flatulence. Look at Lena. Sitting there all quiet and demure at age 91. Let me tell you about this fierce competitor Lena. If it’s cute and THIS season..no amount of Sharpie permanent Marker will stand in the way of illegal acquisition by her sneaky tactics. “Oh this isn’t mine? Why..I have one almost just like it. I think my MOTHER bought it for me.”

I decide the best way to proceed with the “cleaning” is to have Ruth chillax on the bed, out of my way. She can catch up on the May issue of Town and Country and I can search every nook and cranny of her 50 square foot boudoir without her well intentioned assistance.

“What are you doing in there anyway?” Ruth calls out.

She’s glanced up from her mag. long enough to observe me un-zipping her fabric “Never in a million years will I fit back into this” clothing storage bag and tossing size 6 Oscar D. sequined jackets and skirts on to the floor all hari kari. Smart woman Ruth. Didn’t say a W-O-R-D. Almost. “Do you think YOU could fit into any of THAT?”

ME (holding up a beige spandex lace tank): “Probably not. But, I’m thinking this would look nice when I go to a “strip club”. I’ll pair it with THESE (Waving around Gold lame leggings).

RUTH: You have plans?

As I dug down further and further I started to find all kinds of lost artifacts from days of yore. Truly I get chills , recounting the moment I found the stolen lost expensive Target gloves she got two years ago as a birthday gift. We could have cried for joy. One thing after another all smooshed in the bottom of the bag emerged. The missing pajama bottoms the staff had told ME she had flushed down the toilet. Ha! Here they were. Dozens of balled up socks, slips and sweaters (with the tissues and mints still in the pockets) hats, scarves and hand lotion. Oh happy day.

Next I moved into the bathroom. As sweet as the cleaning staff is at Happy Daze, their cleaning abilities are at best comparable to my boys swinging a wet rag around trying to get Club Penguin computer privileges in under ten minutes time. I start looking for something to clean off the counter tops and settled for the green box of Hygienic personal cleansing wipes to give me the high luster shine I was looking for. This brings me back to the time that I signed up for one of those test marketing groups and I was given boxes of personal wipes to test. Are you kidding? I used them for the kids sticky hands’ and faces’ and to wipe down my car interiors. Made fifty bucks doing it. They worked great. For the sink, too.

Ruth starts talking to me as I’m under the bed fishing out lost earrings. I hear her say:

“Oh, I see they’re showing pearls again with everything. What ever happened to all my nice strands of pearls I wonder?”

Ga. How I loathe these pop quizzes. I just mumbled something about looking next in the potpourri bowl.

It was a very successful cleanse. I recovered all previously mentioned “stolen” goods with just a few exceptions. I didn’t find the purple jacket so the plan is— I’m going in to Marion’s closet when she’s downstairs at sing-a-long time. Ruth will distract her long enough so I can do a thorough search and rescue. If for some weird reason, they get done early and come back up, Ruth and I have devised a secret code to warn me of imminent danger. She’s going to “accidentally” spill something on Marion and then ask Marion if she wants to pick something out of her closet to “borrow”. What woman in her right mind would turn down an opportunity of a lifetime like that? Then when Marion is in Ruth’s room changing, out into the hallway comes Ruth shouting “cheese dip”, “cheese dip” to alert me. Only one tiny, itsy bitsy problem. Ruth could possibly forget the whole “code red” protocol and I’ll get cornered in Marion’s room and pegged a thief.  I’ll take the risk. It was a very cute jacket.

My Sandwich Generation compatriots, I now how you L-O-V-E to clean. Pleeezee. The great feeling of accomplishment and recognition for doing such a deed is staggering. Still..Somebody has to do it. Think of it as being on an Archeological dig. You could find some very rare and priceless treasures to make it all worthwhile.

Have a smooth cleanse.

A

Above Photo by: Ruth

Posted 15 years, 7 months ago at 9:18 pm.

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Something up my..sleeve

SurpriseDear Diary,

Nothing like a good surprise now and again, to shake things up. Life can be so droll and predictable when you live at Happy Daze Assisted Living. I know Ruth’s routine on the Dementia floor (ROAM) by heart. Today she’ll get up. Get “thrown” in the shower (her words) and dress. Ruth getting dressing is really the most happenstance part of her day. If she awakens feeling her inner Madonna, I will bet you that I’m going to see her dressed in a green striped tank layered nicely over her cotton turtleneck sweater and a pair of Capri’s over her knit pajama pants “leggings”. I have no problem with Ruth expressing herself through fashion. She has always been on the cutting edge. An interesting observation on this subject..Most of the girls on the ROAM floor are very bold when it comes to taking chances with their wardrobes. I see a lot of different fabrications used in unusual ways. Have you ever thought that a terry cloth hand towel wrapped elegantly around ones neck could serve as a shawl? It can.

Ruth drinks her prune juice, demolishes a bowl of Raisin Bran, maybe an egg or two or three depending on the time lapse from the start of breakfast to egg service (anything over 15 min. and it’s as if it never happened). To complete the meal she has her daily banana from her secret stash (nothing wrong with clipping a few of those from the downstairs free fruit and cookies area) and begins her somewhat predictable day.  Until I show up.

Today Ruth asked me specifically to write a note to Happy Daze excusing her from exercise/Happy Hands class because she has a sore “bird finger” and there is no way she will be able to perform all necessary elements in “Happy Hands”. She is emphatic about the fact that when it comes to finger circles and thrusts she experiences huge “finger fatigue” and is quite unable to point her bird finger in the necessary direction. I’m totally fine with this because I have much better plans anyway that I’ve been keeping secret. Today Ruth is going downstairs to meet up with an old girlfriend that she hasn’t seen for a year..Which on Ruth time might as well be a millennium. Before we go, I’ll need to go through my prepping procedure. This is how it works:

1.    Take Ruth to her room and change her out of Madonna Hooch look into Martha Stewart Prudish Gardener chic.
2.    Repeat name of visitor.
3.    Repeat name of visitor
4.    Repeat name of visitor
5.    Re-apply Lipstick
6.    Repeat name of visitor
7.    Visit little girls room
8.    Repeat name of visitor

Ruth at this point is so surprised that she has company downstairs and beside herself with excitement. Before we even GET in the elevator to go down to meet, “what’s her name again?” Ruth is ready for a nap. This is why I don’t tell her anything before hand. Ugh. I have had to learn the hard way so I’m going to spare YOU My Sandwich Generation sister’s. Never tell your seniors (Alzheimer’s or no Alzheimer’s) about any upcoming event. They will obsess about it for days. They will ask you e-v-e-r-y single hour for the twenty-four leading up to the big DAY, “Is it time to go yet? What will I wear? What will I say? How will I walk to her home in my UGGS?”

RUTH: How will I walk to her home in my UGGS?

ME: We’re NOT going to walk to her home. Dee Dee is coming HERE. We’re going to meet her in the “free bananas and cookies” room.

RUTH: OHHHHHH. Is Dee Dee’s husband coming too? Let’s see..his name was Joey.

ME (all excited and giddy that spouses name was remembered): No. I don’t think he’s coming. Dee didn’t mention he was. Maybe you’d better not say anything about him..we don’t know. Things HAAAAPPEN. Ya know..THINGS.

RUTH: Do you think he’s dead?

ME: Who knows. I didn’t ASK. Don’t YOU ask.

RUTH: Oh no. I would never ask such a thing. What did you say her name is?

Down we go and it’s SHOWTIME

RUTH (giving hugs and big kisses): “Hi—? (looks at me for hint)

ME (singing softly): A, B, C..

RUTH: Dee! DEE..How’s your husband? Where is he? (Looking around wildly)

Blech! Feh! GA!

She had a great time with her gal pal. Forty minutes in and I decided to call the game because Ruth was showing signs of wear and tear.

“I’m ninety-two years old NOT eighty-two. I know it because Selma and I were talking about it and she said SHE was ninety-two and I said I am too and she agreed. So I’M. NINETY. TWO.”

O.K. be ninety-two Ruth. In fact be one hundred and two. We’re out of here PRONTO.

The elevator ride is a great time for the “wrap up” I find. Ruth says she had a great time with Dee Dee and Joey. What a great surprise. Good. That’s all that matters. That and getting Ruth into her room before the melt down begins.

Good thing I entered her room first. Surprise! An industrial strength fifty pound, 30×30 FAN is sitting right in the middle of her floor. Nice going, facility maintenance, dudes. Because you wouldn’t want Ruth to slip on the wet carpet, thus splitting her head open. Better to leave the fan in her room knowing she has ZERO vision so she could TRIP over it. Yup! Never a dull nano second over at the “happiest place on earth.” Oh Happy Daze are here again.

Unpredictably yours,

A

Posted 15 years, 7 months ago at 10:28 pm.

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Out of SIGHT..Out of MIND

Mothers DayDear Diary,

If something happens in your day to day (or night to night) goings on and you don’t REMEMBER it..Does it then cease to have ever happened? Let’s say hypothetically, that I ate two doughnuts from Krispy Kreme. If I don’t remember that I ate those Krispy Kreme doughnuts thus forgetting to add their consumption to my daily caloric intake sheet it’s really like it never happened. Right? Some of you will argue the point that when I get on the scale and I’m up two pounds then I’ll remember PLENTY. I don’t think so. When I was eating the doughnut— I was in the moment. Enjoying all the sweet, gooey, delightful qualities of said doughnut. When the doughnut was done I was in a new moment and I couldn’t remember that I ate the doughnut but I was full and happy because of it. Do you see where I’m going with this?

My mother-in-law Ruth operates with very similar mechanics. Believe it or not, there are times when I find it to work to her advantage. When you have Alzheimer’s you lose all sense of time and place, thus enjoying the very point in time that YOU are in. It’s no secret that you and I have purchased..I don’t know? What? A MILLION books on How to be in the Here and Now: A step-by-step guide for blowing off everything in your already cluttered chaotic mind and being fully focused on the dilemmas before YOU. Best Seller. Plus, the Doc who wrote it? He’s looking forward to his big fat retirement in Florida because none of us can figure it out.

H-E-L-L-O Ruth. Absolutely NO freakin’ idea what happened yesterday or an hour ago or five minutes ago for that matter. She seldom worries about this little “problem” and there’s a very good reason why that is. She has ME to playback every second of her previous day with great zip and zeal. What she did. What she said. What everyone said ABOUT her. All that..With a little somthin’ somthin thrown in for good measure. Bwahahaha.. Joy Happens.

The day after Mothers Day I get a call.

“Excuzze me, Adrienne” comes the sweet voice of one of the dearest aides on the ROAM floor. “Could ew please talk to Rut? She thinks she was rude to you yesterday and said something. What eeze dat? She said she was.. Snarky. ”

I can hear Ruth in the background giving directions in her “worried and I’m sooo BUSTED voice.” Kind of like the time she and Blanche got caught downstairs trying to escape.. Never mind. I’ll save THAT one for later.

“Honey?” this is Grandma. “Was I rude to you yesterday? Because if I saw you..I think I must have been rude to you. I don’t think I even had a good time because I didn’t get to spend much time with the children..if they were here.

O.K. Now comes the fun part. Watch closely how I do this and feel free to take notes. Always keep your eye on the BALL.

ME (sounding like I smoked some kind of illegal plant life..which I would NEVER do but I’ve seen people): G-R-A-N-N-Y! We had the BEST day with you yesterday! I brought the boys to your place and we all had lunch together. Then the boys went to play pool downstairs and the male strippers came. You can’t remember how good-looking they were? You had a blast. They got up on the table and everyone was dancing..and you had the time of your life. The end. (pause for effect)

(cont.) “I have never seen you have such a good time. Do you feel better now?”

RUTH: Wow. Do I. Who wouldn’t? It’s too bad I can’t remember that though. But OH well. It sounds like it was some party. I’m going to go to my room “A” and take a nap because I’m exhausted from all that hoopla. Bye. Thank you soooo much:)

Cha-Ching!

What actually happened:

Every year on Mothers Day, the kids (Alien Dude28 and Smart Alec2) and I assemble roughly twenty-eight little bouquets of flowers and bring them up to the girls on the ROAM floor at Happy Daze Assisted Living. One tenth of a second after we pushed ourselves through the “faux bookcase” door— I see Ruth flying shuffling(it’s the UGGS) towards me wearing a look of “I’m on stimulation overload” or “I’ve done a few to many prune juice shots”. She looked kind of dizzy and out of sorts but after an hour of circumambulating before the magic keypad door I can’t say I’d look any better.

RUTH: OMG! Look who’s here? Would you? Well. I’ll. Be. I was going to come down and walk over to your place.

Sure you were granny. Because I live soooo close. I have no doubt you could walk it in..two, three maybe four..D-A-Y-S. That is IF you could figure out how to WORK the elevators once they actually arrived on the floor (which on a good day could take upwards of an hour).

RUTH: I can’t remember the code to this bookcase. I feel like I should know how to do this by now. I’ve been standing here for DAYS.

Ruth and I share the trait of embellishment. I seriously doubt Ruth that you had been standing here for days. Hours? Maybe. Days? Naaaaah. I saw you yesterday.

After I walked Ruth through the art of the “deep cleansing breaths”, we made it into the dining room so that Grandma could receive her accolades. Ruth just glows from this “flower delivery” because let’s face it..HER grandkids otherwise known as her “SONS” children have taken it upon their extremely academically gifted and talented selves to give back to society and make such a profound difference by their selfless act of throwing mini-carnation’s at her BFF’s around the lunch table before helping themselves to the cookie platter with sheer abandon.

Ruth had a fab Mothers Day.

My Sandwich Generation mother’s, it’s time for us, as of TODAY to experiment with the concept of living in the moment. Let’s leave the watches and the cell phones (no U may not txt:() at home or locked in the car (in purse on vibrate) and try it. What is reality anyway? Normal functioning can be SO overrated. Be and find some joy right where you are in this space and time. Suck up every second. Find a way to imprint it on your heart and draw fullness from the time you have with that dear parent or grandparent that you are in the presence of. When you leave them, what do you have left? The sweet swelling of your heart and a deeper inner contentment of the soul. The actual time together may have passed..but the inner contentment lives on forever.

Now you see me.

Now you don’t.

A

Posted 15 years, 7 months ago at 10:01 pm.

2 comments

Meal Pass

Waiting for Lunch GuestsDear Diary,

Lunchtime over at Happy Daze Assisted Living (floor ROAM) is a real treat for the guest LUCKY enough to score an invitation. Even Granny Marnie (electric scooter bound and reckless)..who herself already lives in the much ado-ed and incredibly pretentious Killjoy Assisted Living (motto: If old age doesn’t do it..we will.) will “stoop” to great lengths to gate crash (or just crash) into this must be seen exclusive lunching haunt. I think I overheard Shirley say the much coveted meal pass is going for about $15 on the “open” market these days. That’s like…ten strands of green tin beads in ROAM floor currency. Doesn’t really matter how you get in to the dementia dining hall, it’s really all about how you survive once you’re there. Don’t let me scare you. Sure, it can be a bit intimidating at first. Everybody is staring at you all “What is SHE doing here? ” and “Who does she think she is?” Remember, it’s not being mean spirited, they’re only saying that because they don’t have a clue themselves who THEY are and WHAT they’re doing there. But, if you end up at the “choice” table you’ll already be looked upon by the rest of the group as highly special and one of the elite so you can relax just a spot and enjoy the meal.

Every time, before I sit down, it is paramount that I make “the rounds” if I wish to enjoy my meal (avoid acid reflux). This is the first piece of dementia floor etiquette to note. Always introduce yourself. No. Not just to YOUR table. Get up and go to each and every lady and the gentleman and tell them who you are and state your title and business. Example:

“Well hello______(fill in the blank with residents name for higher marks.) I’m Adrienne and I belong to Ruth. Ruth is my MOTHER-IN-LAW.”

You must state your title clearly and hope that your senior has high social ranking in the group. If not.. You’re screwed. The minute you turn your back to walk away they are SO going to talk about you and it won’t be pretty. Because my Ruth has very high standing, I can turn my back with confidence and know that Selma will not be talking trash to Blanche when I’m out of ear shot. Ha.

“I’m here because..”

Make this good. Don’t just say, “I’m here because I’m hungry and I heard you have good fries.” Use your creativity.

Say THIS: “I have missed you all so much. You can’t imagine how droll my friends are compared to you. There is always so much knowledge that I gain by spending time here in your company. Thank you for having me. Is that a new blouse?”

Bravo!

Now, just don’t say another word. Zzzzzippppp. Shhhhhhush. The key to your success or failure at lunch, is knowing when to just say enough. Too much and your going to illicit serious eye rolling.  Maybe even a little shouting if you’ve hit a bad “Faye” day. “Ahhh sit DOWN and be QUIET already. Don’t you know when to shut-up? Bring us our dessert if you want to be helpful.”

On the flip side— is not ENOUGH gab. Too little talk and someone will inevitably shout “What’s a matter with her? Doesn’t she understand English?” Just sit there and take in the flow of the conversation before you step in the river.

RUTH: We were supposed to have a bus ride today. I guess the bus must have broken down again.

SHIRLEY: What do you mean? We had a bus ride. We went to..Where did we go?

GRETA: We went to exercise class with Teddy upstairs.

RUTH: Oh. Is that where we went on the bus ride? To exercise class. Yeah. I remember. What did we do there?

BERTHA: What did we do where dear?

RUTH: At exercise class?

BERTHA: We didn’t HAVE exercise class..b-e-c-a-u-s-e we had a bus ride.

All I can say is thank the higher powers that be for TUMS, my bottle of MOTRIN and my cell phone. Who’s going to notice me texting my husband Steve who unfortunately could not join us this afternoon but begged me to relay every single detail of my conversation so he didn’t feel excluded in any way!

“What’s she doing there?” shouts Faye. Rats! Ruth being the tech-savvy chick that she is blurts back, “What does it look like she’s doing? She’s texting.” Way to go Ruthie. You tell her. “Are you doing that twitter? Here let me get on.” OOPS:( How does Ruth KNOW about twitter? Gulp. Probably because she’s DOING IT..Meet “dementiachick“. Cripes! SHE has more followers then ME. Yeah. I know—pathetic. Have to admit her tweets are slightly amusing.

Now Ruth will launch into her explanation of social networking. This is the fun part. I get to see Ruth in the educator role and she is always so clear and concise in her teaching methods. She explains (very well I may add) how I type on the little typewriter all sorts of very important “codes” so that everyone who follows me will know what I’m doing because (these are my words now) “I’m a very important person and people like to know how I spend my time.” Hey. Why fight it.

My Sandwich Generation ladies, (who may or may not lunch)..Having your meal with family is such a great time as long as you remember the basic and old fashioned rules we learned as children: A. Only speak when spoken to. B. Out of site out of mind..out of hitting range. C. Don’t talk with your mouth full..keep your mouth always full. D. You can only be excused when everybody’s done..So bring your phone and text discreetly. Lunch goes on right through till dinner.

Plop Plop Fizz Fizz,

A

Posted 15 years, 7 months ago at 10:54 pm.

2 comments

Minding P’s and Q’s

Getting ready to put out

Dear Diary,

One would think that my mother-in-law (Ruth) lives a very simple life over at Happy Daze Assisted Living-ROAM (dementia care). Really. What could POSSIBLY be so tough about getting up, eating breakfast, forgetting that you’ve eaten breakfast.. eating breakfast AGAIN, getting dressed and having your daughter-in-law show up to take you out for fun and excitement beyond your wildest musings. But alas..life does become challenging when your “secretary” has very little or NO talent in the “social booking” arena as Ruth’s does.

Today first thing, Ruth and I sit down on the bed and pull out the calendar for this week. Well, there was one little thing that we did before we sat down on the bed.

ME: Ruth I need a sample.

RUTH: What kind of sample.

ME (throwing my eyes towards the bathroom): You know. A S-A-M-P-L-E.

RUTH (light going on in head): Ohhhh. A SAMPLE. I’ll be right back.

This should be interesting.

Why lookie here? Ruth is proudly handing me a mini-size Estee Lauder face cream from (looking at container) if I had to guess I’d say 2006. Maybe 2005. I know this was a gift with purchase because I gave her that for..I think it was her BIRTHDAY three years ago. Came with a Cherry Pink lipstick and matching Blush in a sweet little blue plastic bag.

Close. But not quite what I was looking for. I go over my definition of “sample” with Ruth using medical terms that might spark her memory of my task at hand.

“Pee”
“Doctor”
“hat”
“gloves”
“aim”
“can”

Ruth the RULES of the game are this: you start only on my “go” and not a moment before. If you DO go early, you’re gonna miss the target and you’ll be penalized and brought back to Starbucks to drink yet another Venti Mocha. Do you understand the rules? (Ruth nods her head) Good. I don’t want any mistakes THIS time.

On go the gloves and the little plastic hat (pee collector). Please have a seat Madame.. We’re off and running. SCORE! Caught it on the first try. Ruth is a little irked that I made her “put-out” without telling her before hand. You really can’t blame her. How would I like it if my DIL showed up and said “I need three ounces and I need it now?” I just don’t like to mention these things prior to delivery for fear of performance anxiety. Then it’s all DRIP.  DRIP.  DRIP.  and what am I going to do with that?

Back to the business of the day; the illustrious social calendar. Ruth wants to see what I’ve got booked for her so far.

I clear my throat and begin my decidedly amateurish presentation..

“As you see on graph A. Ruth, I have scheduled you cousin Jan from 11:00-11:45 on Monday, thus giving you time to have lunch and be ready for your 1:15 nails with Xuck.” Then I put Debbie..You remember little Debbie? I placed her in the 2:00-3:00 time slot, for maybe a nice walk– a cup of free tea and cookies downstairs, whatever. Then you’ll come back and lay down. From 5:00-6:00 your old neighbor Djimon Hounsou and his friend Kimmora will stop by and bring you down for dinner. At 7:00-8:00 some of the gals from your old Bridge game thought they might have a prune-tini or two with you and then..bed no later the 8:30.

I glance up at Ruth so proud of the orderly and skilled way I have organized her day. What a fab girl I am. Well rounded. Together. Medically trained.

Ruth has a completely befuddled look upon her face.

RUTH: I can’t do Monday.

ME: What do you mean “you can’t do Monday”? Of course you can do Monday.

RUTH: You’ll have to call..what did you say her name is?

ME: Jan.

RUTH: Who is Jan? I don’t know a Jan? Do I know a Jan?

ME: She’s your cousin.

RUTH: I don’t have a cousin named Jan? Are you sure it’s Jan and not JOAN?

ME: Ummm. Well, it could have been Joan..

RUTH: Well, I can’t do Monday with…

ME: JOAN.

RUTH: I thought you said her name is JAN. WHICH is it? I have a bus ride that I’m not giving up on Monday. Don’t you remember that we go EVERY Monday? Honestly. (Quick internal pause) And dinner’s out. It’s “happy hands and a movie” night. You’ll just need to switch it around.

FEHHHHHH! Look what I’ve become? Maybe Ruth should just text Djimon herself.

My Sandwich Generation Mama’s..you won’t even KNOW how to answer your own CELL phone, when your own yummy eldercare mouthful arrives on it’s plate. This is what I’ve settled on:

“Thank you for calling Ruth’s social secretary’s office. This is Adrienne. I’m away from the phone right now— probably driving Ruth to some appointment or function. Please leave your name—spelled out s-l-o-w-l-y, date of birth, social security number, mother’s maiden name and phone number and how you know Ruth and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can remember what I did with your number. Thanks for calling. Have a nice day. Don’t be a stranger.

B-E-E-P!

A

Posted 15 years, 7 months ago at 11:21 pm.

4 comments

VAGUE-All ROADS lead to ROAM

VAGUE- may

Posted 15 years, 7 months ago at 11:03 pm.

2 comments

Spring Fling

Ruth and her new NEW clothesDear Diary,

For the fashion forward, spring is a time to come out of the closet so to speak. No more heavy Camel Hair coats and Alpaca zip up’s. All the UBER chic on the ROAM (dementia) floor of Happy Daze Assisted Living, resign themselves to the fact— that the time has come to reveal their more shapely silhouettes in something a bit more, well.. body conscious. In goes Ruth’s personal wardrobe consultant/ daughter-in-law. Out goes, via hefty bag force flex: Two pairs nasty breast fed baby number two yellow colored polyester pants (compliments of an acid rinse by weekend staff). A similarly dyed to match vest (originally olive green), a (at one time) adorable Liz and Company jacket, two shirts (one was a Ralph) and one nightie (Target..My bad). I methodically pack up all the puffy peplum and everything shirring or ruching and begin to unfold all the “new” old spring collection from the years of yore. Don’t get me wrong. Anything that I saved from last year will not automatically be placed on a hanger and resume it’s position back on the bar. There is a lot of thought that goes into deciding which pieces will make the “cut” and which pieces will be marked CNR (Can Not Resurrect). Always in the back of our minds (wayyy back in Ruth’s case) is the question: What will bring the largest amount of accolades and envy from the other “girls” towards Ruth.. out on the catwalk hallway?

“What about these leggings?

Are the girls wearing leggings? Or do those go in the box, too?” inquirers my forgetful fashionista, Ruth.

No the “leggings” otherwise known as COMPRESSION HOSE have to stay. This won’t be easy convincing Ruth that the leggings work well with Capri’s and cropped pants. I have this problem every, single spring and summer.  Why can’t these ugly beige knee socks come in.. maybe a fishnet? Yes! I’ve GOT it! Maybe a black fishnet or a cute little “sheer” with a seam up the back. There could be pastels. Prints. Paisleys. The possibilities are endless.

ME: Look. Just add a ballet flat and it really completes the look..I’m telling you! I even think I remember that Calvin showed them in his cruise wear 09 collection and they FLEW off the rack.

RUTH: Hmmm..(Looking down) I don’t know. Really? This is how they’re wearing them.

ME (cheery BS voiced): OMG that is SO the look. Here. See this?

I’m pulling out an old copy of W Magazine and pointing to Vivienne Westwood’s fall 1989 “Voyage to Cythera” collection. One would probably describe the model’s look as she posed on the runway in periwinkle colored, argyle “leggings”(compression hose..wink. wink), matching top and a red and white hounds tooth bomber jacket to finish the look, as a cross between Jackie Kennedy and Bozo the clown.

ME (stabbing the page with finger for emphasis): Can you see this? It’s shown in all the magazines. Do you know who this is?

RUTH (bringing her nose to the page to examine): No. Who is it?

Predictable answer. Yet— One NEVER knows whom Ruth will recognize. I once tried this same trickery to get Ruth to wear a hat and dark sunglasses (Macular Degeneration = light sensitivity) 24 hours a day by showing her a picture of Madonna avoiding Paparazzi in roughly eleven O.K. and US magazine’s. “Do you know who this is?” I say. “Sure.” Ruth says back. “Everyone knows that’s Madonna. What’s the matter with you?”

RUTH: It’s a little bit loud with all that color and craziness. Don’t you think?

Come on. Sell it baby.

ME: Not at all. In fact— That’s how it’s supposed to be. Everyone is wearing them that way. Plus..What are you worried about? Your hose are beige. I know Greta’s wearing her’s. Joan will be wearing her’s for sure. Do you want to be the ONLY one who doesn’t wear them?

Good. Peer pressure. Works E-V-E-R-Y TIME.

Once we agree that support socks will remain a daily MUST.. We move on to bringing out the NEW New things. Not to be confused with the NEW, old things. I had just finished a shopping trip to JC Penny’s to fill in the “holes” of our warm weather attire and began to dump the contents out on the bed for closer inspection.
You should have seen granny OOHHH-ing and AHHH-ing over each Navy. Beige. Tan. Item tumbling out of the white plastic jumbo bag. It’s always such a thrill. Then Ruth wants to run (shuffle) down the hall to show off her new look to the girls (and guy) hanging out in the dining room watching some hot Doris Day flick and chomping? on popcorn.

I watch her flit and float away and resume my black perma-marker hack job on the tags inside all her new ready to wear. Sure wouldn’t want to see Greta end up in this. Ruth would hurl.

My dear Sandwich Generation pretties. When you do your seniors clothing cleanse thrice yearly; you may need to learn the art of compromise. Don’t feel it necessary to win every battle with your parent. If they want to wear THAT pink floral cotton nightgown under their orange j. Crew polo and have the bottom skirt part hanging out over her pants..well then you might have to let THAT one go. Where you WILL have to draw the line is the other Madonna look. The BRA worn over the shirt— is no longer in VOGUE.

Strike a POSE,

A

Posted 15 years, 7 months ago at 9:28 pm.

2 comments

GIFTED

Wooden Pineapple'sDear Diary,

Let me ask you.. What do you give the girls that have everything— for Mothers Day? While you’re chewing THAT one over, here’s the more important question—“What will the girls that have EVERYTHING give me?” Yes me! The always Depends-able, incredibly diligent, always discreet, Daughter-in-law to Ruth (dementia) and Granddaughter to Marnie (reckless electric scooter bound granny).

Now, don’t get me wrong. I really have no need for materialistic showering’s of affection. But, it’s a nice gesture every now and again to receive the token.. “crystal” lucite vase (won at The Bridge Championship, 1975) that has till now, resided in the “end of the hallway” re-gifting closet at Grandma Marnie’s. Words cannot describe the delight in being “re-awarded” such an amazing antiquity such as this.

MARNIE (zooming down the hall in scooter): Honey. Come here for a second. I h-a-v-e something for you.

I have come to fear those innocent words. I. Have. Something. Partially because, at least in the last decade..those words are symbolic of the fact that soon, I will be hauling some new acquisition home that will take up MORE space in my “things that can never be donated for guilt and sentimental reasons” pile in the garage (usually on husbands side).

The worst was when I was recently helping Marnie get ready to move out of her home (of fifty years) and into Killjoy Senior Living, motto: if it’s not already done..We’ll do it to you. I’d spend hours helping Marnie dig through “treasures” that I “MUST take home” with me, because other wise it “will just be thrown out.” Yeah..Priceless artifacts, these. Nothing like THAT offer to come a runnin’ let me tell you. I can see all us grandchildren bickering and fighting over this little NUTS, BOLTS and SCREWS sculpture of a dude on “the can” reading a newspaper.

“I want it! I’ve ALWAYS wanted it.”

“No, I should have it! I’m the oldest.”

“It should go to ME! I had my NAME on it.”

Marnie tells me she has loved that bathroom art for years and now it should belong to ME to pass down to my children..and my children’s children. Yup. I can see her great-great grand-kids now.. gazing reverently at Nuts and Bolts man, feeling all inspired and contemplative.

“Honey, how about this?”

Well looky here Marnie has an avocado and gold colored gizmo that resembles a bed pa..
“Do you have a need for this “new” crock-pot?”

Ohhhh. THAT’S what that is. Silly me.

“How long have you had that Marnie?” I say, recalling that I may have seen something like this in Leave it to Beaver re-runs or pictured in my ancient Thoughts for Buffets cookbook (circa 1958). “Oh. Maybe a few years. If that.” Then the sentimental me starts envisioning, Granny Marnie in her cute little polka dot apron and strand of pearls, making some beef stew with potatoes and carrots, maybe a little onion.. Many decades before I ever existed.

“I never used it. But, I think your mother once brought home her science project in it.” S O L D! To the young lady with the sick look of dread all over her face processing knowledge of the nature of MOTHERS school science projects.

I made quite the score that day. I loaded into my car:

2 Portraits (48×600) Hand painted (by monkey) of my Great-Grandparents. Beautiful. Non-likeness, rendering. Estimated value according to Marnie: $5,000.00

2 Lined with tin foil woven reed cornucopias. Marnie Valued: $200.00 each

1 Fish platter (to hold my “CHICKEN LIVER pate”) in shape of fish (white stained plastic with colored fins) MV: $450.00

1 Gently scratched and rusted, Bundt Cake pan (which I must have, for when I entertain and make a Bundt cake). MV: at least $175 to replace it at Williams Sonoma

1 Yarn picture that I had made for Marnie when I was 6 years old. MV: Priceless.. “Here (tossing in car window). Take it with you.”

Lest you think me a terrible ingrate..
I jumped up and down in excitement the whole way to the car with Scooter Girl following closely to make sure I didn’t sneak anything back.

“Thank you Marnie, so much!” I sing, in my gleeful, “I’m going to Disney Land” voice.

“You’re welcome dear. May you enjoy those things as much as I did.”

You know what our gifts are? Ladies of MY SANDWICH GENERATION? Our gift from our senior family is the joy that we feel every time we make them smile. When we hear the tinkling (pardon the potty ref.) of their laughter and the look of contentment upon their face. We can feel our own fullness through theirs and we all know–there’s no better gift than that.

Happy Mothers Day!

A

Posted 15 years, 7 months ago at 6:03 pm.

5 comments

One Track Mind

CHEW CHEW MSG

Dear Diary,

Seriously— How am I supposed to be debriefed on all the delectable dish from the Dementia floor of Happy Daze Assisted Living if my undercover paparazzo agent Ruth keeps leaving out huge chunks of SCOOP from her report? What am I supposed to do with this..

RUTH: That guy. I forget his name. You know the one who wears glasses? I saw him the other day try and.. You know what he tried to do? Right in FRONT OF ME he.. (long pause while examining her finger nails)

ME (leaning in closer for follow through): He WHAT?

RUTH:  Huh?

ME: You said a guy was doing something in front of you?

RUTH: I was? What guy? Where did you hear THAT?

C-r-i-p-e-s!

I might if I’m feeling particularly curious, poke around a bit to see what other factoids I can unearth. My method is one that, if executed properly, will produce all kind of juicy little morsels that I then piece together to give me..VOILA! Knowledge. As Ruth’s ever so helpful daughter-in-law/advocate, it is my duty to be kept a breast on all the latest news and gossip information that I may (or may not) need to know. Because I feel that it would be useful for me to know what “that guy” was doing in front of my MIL, I continued my inquiry some fifteen minutes later. Somewhat casually I float “anything new happen today to you with a man wearing glasses?” It’s kind of like a GOOGLE keyword search. I need to fit in the words “man” “you” and “glasses” within an understandable context to spark Paparazzo Operative’s faulty memory.

RUTH: No, no. Not that I know of. Except..

I tend to unconsciously hold my breath at this point. I’m not sure why. It’s kind of like that old game show— Name That Tune. I can name that tune in “five” notes Dick. Well, Dick—I can NAME that Tune in four.

DICK: O.K. Mother Plucker..NAME THAT TUNE!

RUTH: I don’t think Albert likes me.

ME: Why don’t you think Albert likes you Ru?

RUTH: Well he did the strangest thing to me today.

Ah! Ha! I knew this would work. What did Albert do to Granny?

RUTH: Did I have my lunch today?

ME: Yes. You had Tuna and it was delicious. Ate the whole thing. What happened with Albert?

RUTH: Who’s Albert?

This whole back and forth can go on for..Hours. Days. Even months— when it’s Bad Karma payback time. Today, I decided to call it a day and let it go. Really what could be so bad over at Happy Daze that I would need to press???

ME: Wow! O.K. then..

ME: That Albert he looks so smart in his glasses. He really likes YOU Ruth.

RUTH: I don’t think so because today he..

OMG! I’m not even going to say anything about what Albert, whom I have now nicknamed the “WHIZZ kid” chose to do in the presence of my Undercover agent. My lips are SEALED.

Ladies, you are members of perhaps the coolest, hippest generation to ever be. My Sandwich Generation. As such, you must be very proficient at secret sleuthing when the need arises. If something doesn’t seem right,  just go with your gut. Dog that thing until you have uncovered Every. Last. Shred. of information and can put two and two together. Search her Facebook account, twitter, MY SPACE. Leave no stone unturned when it comes to eldercare safety and well-being for your mother or Grandmother or both.

All aboard!

A

Posted 15 years, 7 months ago at 8:46 pm.

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