Something Smells Fishy

Dear Diary,

You know how when you walk into a persons place of residence and the very first thing that you notice is..how it smells? It’s not “Look how nice and clean and well appointed.” or “WOW! I really like what you did with the pink plaid couch and the powder blue chintz throw pillows.” News Flash! The very first thing we notice is Home B. O. (building odor). For instance, let’s take my friend…umm..Zena. Now, when I walk into the den of Zena I’m aware of a delicate fruity upper note accentuated by rich vanilla undertones and musk infusions. Nice. Not to overpowering, very easy on the nasal passages and conjures up the feeling of roaming through.. a used book store.. stationary store. Yes, that’s exactly the smell..Stationary store No. 5.

I find that I could be blindfolded and guided into a vast array of different dwellings and score with 100% accuracy who the occupant is. Take for instance Grandma Marnie’s abode. What strikes first, is a whiff of Old Spice for the “manly man” aftershave, mixed with Aqua Net hair spray (Extra Super Hold, Original) with a hint of Listerine for the after punch. Believe it or not, it’s a pleasurable scent and although it wouldn’t do well in fragrances you can never be too sure. After all Britney’s Fog found shelf space.

Happy Daze Assisted Living (Motto: We Forget You Have Dementia) is quite a different story.
The smell hits my nostrils even before my second foot’s through the door and makes me sooo glad I’m not in my third month of pregnancy.. if you catch my whiff. It’s an ever changing fragrance that makes me think that they have numerous cases in reserve stacked in the stock closet. Cases labeled with exotic names like.. Corn beef and Cabbage Eau de Parfum or Deep Fryer Grease Eau de Toilette or just Toilet– a cologne that comes in either Room Spray or
plug-ins. It’s getting to the point were even mouth breathing doesn’t prevent infiltration. Light some incense, burn lemon verbena scented candles, anything..

It never ceases to amaze me how the scented air of the building attaches itself to my scalp and becomes so deeply absorbed into the hair strand DNA, that to eradicate it can take upwards of five, maybe six lather repeats. Maybe I need a more industrial strength shampoo? Or maybe I should try masking the offensive aroma with Tar Shampoo for dandruff? (I don’t HAVE dandruff but it’s conceivable that I might develop a case..later.) Funny thing is that when I step into Ruth’s room..it’s all floral base with mild notes of brown sugar and chocolate. I need to speak with the B.O. department on this one..or maybe just package what Ruth’s got and sell it to cover costs!

I must tell you a secret My Sandwich Generation BFF’s. Do what I do and before you go out, shove a few newly ripped magazine fragrance sample strips into your purse. Bring them out if you know you will be encountering some B.O and hold them under your nose and rub briskly. It works every time…even if it’s Eau de SKUNK!

Much stanks!
A

The Dating Game

Dear Diary,

Cripes! We really need to do something with the gender ratio in Happy Daze Assisted Living. I really can’t figure out why there are so few Pappy’s to such a colossal number of Grannies? This is one of the first things I noticed as Ruth moved into Dementia Central. Where are all the fellas? I’d maybe see one hanging out at the fish tank and then another chilling on the couch.. in palm up position (as if some phantom object was still nestled there). Yes, Ruth has dementia, but she’s also afflicted by terrible A.H.B.A.D (Alzheimer’s Halted By Adorable Dudes). If I want my life to be easy and Ruth’s dementia to slow in progression, then I had better start prowling ASAP!

Ladies you know how the game is played but because you may have forgotten the rules I’ll review them with you just after we bring out our first bachelor. He enjoys domino stacking, ancient trivia questions and BINGO..not to mention munching on Cornish Hen with Giblet Gravy and Lime Jello Mold, let’s give a warm welcome to..HARRY! (wild applause) ..COME ON OUT HARRY! H- A- R- R- Y!
What’s that you say, Harry? Yes, I am indeed sorry the game starts at nap time, but I promise it will be WORTH it when you meet the three lovely ladies you’ll have to choose from. Then guess what, Harry? Y-o-u will be approved to hook up with her AFTER the show. Let me introduce them to you now.

Bachelorette number one can you tell us your name please?
NO. 1: Hmmm?

ME as Show Host: Your name dear? Tell us your name?

NO.1: You already know my name? What’s the matter with you?

ME as S.H.: We’re playing a game grandma just go with it.

NO. 1: Well, my name is Ruth and..

ME as S.H.: and..?

NO. 1: ..and why are we doing it this way?

In order to be fair when it comes to the “pair up”, there is a certain protocol that is followed.
Established internally, the memo states clearly (in BOLD jumbo text).. “NO granny shall exhibit hussy behavior which consists of the following”:

1. Clinging, holding or guiding any male resident over to “available seat” next to oneself at lunch, without sign off from other female residents, may result in dismissal from hook-up eligibility.

2. Any kind of flirtatious behaviour i.e. wiping food off of gentleman’s face, asking to borrow his walker (or any discussion of brand, wheel type, m.p.h etc.) is strictly prohibited.

3. All verbal communication’s must be performed at least three inches away from gentleman’s face. If one is found to be speaking in gentleman’s ear due to hearing difficulty of fore mentioned party of the first then, proof of lack of hearing device must be obtained and shown to all parties of the second.

Mothers of MY SANDWICH GENERATION you of all people understand the meaning of “survival of the fittest”. Why do you think we kill ourselves every day on the freakin’ elliptical trainer? So we can stay fit! Maybe even look smokin’ to that special someone in our lives. Girlfriends.. when we’re old (hopefully our kids will have followed our lead and kept us in cool clothes and full make-up) it won’t be the food that keeps us going! Some things are just a part of our essential make-up. (No, I didn’t say ESSENTIALS MAKE-UP, although.. they have a great mineral powder foundation.) COMPANIONSHIP is the key to a happier aging experience. So, GOOD LUCK and may the best girl win.. the shot at being Harry’s Girl.

And that’s my number, feh!..such a HUSSY!
A

FEATURED LOOK OF THE DAY

LOOK SHOWN ABOVE on Model Ruth:

UGGS (NORDSTROM. Beige $99.95), Support Compression Hose (Druggie Inc.,Knee Highs, beige $100), Poly blended stretch Pants (ummm, JC Penny, Nasty Brown $30.00), Venti Chai Tea Latte (duh..$3.50), Tin Beads (Happy Daze Assisted Living/Dementia Care, Garish Green, 1/20th of a cent), Beautiful Ruth’s Smile..PRICELESS

A note from our model: “I have always kept my figure and people tell me allll the time I should be a model.” la!

Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes..

Dear Diary,

I am constantly reminded by both grannies, Ruth and Marnie, that “aches and pains are just a part of getting old..dear.” Just when the tennis elbow stops its throbbing protests, the runners knee’s add their few cents worth into the mix. Today, Ruth was berating herself for her sheer lack of hamstring stretches and spotty attendance at Killer Commando Abs class..in 1984. We visit the possibility that IF she had skipped the 75% off, not to be missed..one day only blow out sale at LOEHMANS and gone to class, then maybe her back would not be as sore as it was today. We examined this point from JUST ABOUT every conceivable angle.. but it was my closing argument..”maybe the back WOULD have been stronger, but she may have gone down a notch in hotness if that Oscar D dress hadn’t been as hastily acquired and Patsy had gotten to it FIRST! Well, THAT put a rather abrupt halt to any other mussing on said back ache.

Many of you have asked the question about Ruth and the authenticity of her UGGS (please see past blog). First of all, just so we never ever have to visit this point again..for the record..Ruth NEVER wears fakes (shoes). That being said..we’ll talk about the sock stuffing episode another time. I took Ruth to NORDSTROM at the most quiet, settled, off hours (9:00am-9:00pm, drat this economy) to look for a nice pair of comfortable slip-ons that can help ease the discomfort of her corn infiltrated foot. We find the UGGS and Ruth tries them on and shuffles around on them and comes back, plops down and with toothy grin says “they’re good.” I, glance at the sticker on the box and cringe (blah..such a fib..I know darn well what UGGS cost..any COOL girl worth her salt does) and say to Ruth, “are they $99.95 good?” To which Ruth replies “sure.. maybe $50 good?”

Me: But what does THAT mean $50 good? They’re $99.95..do you love them $99.95?

Ruth: Sure, I love them $99.95..but I’d love them a lot more at $50. Will they take $50?

Me: My head hurts.

Ruth looooves her new UGGS. She tells me every day how fabulous they are, and how comfortable they are and how someday maybe I will be fortunate enough to have some myself. ..
pfehh!

Mothers of My Sandwich Generation, at any age..we should never sacrifice comfort and joint health for style. We could sustain a multitude of aches from our high heel wearing (BCBG anyone?) ways, that might just surface when we’re 82. We’ll have only ourselves to blame that’s for darn sure. One can only fervently hope and pray that OUR children are taking notes and understand the no casual brand name slippers for us rule. Don’t bank on it.. UGG.

..knees and toes!
A

I GOT CARDED

Dear Diary,

As I jauntily march through the doors of my favorite Den of Antiquity (Happy Daze Assisted living where “THEY DO DEMENTIA RIGHT!”) I am accosted by a hyperventilating Ruth waving some sort of official looking envelope (jury duty?) in my face. WOO! HOO! “Wow, look what you have. What do you think it is?”
To be perfectly frank, I KNOW what it is.. NOW, that it’s recklessly violating air space in my personal comfort zone. BEHOLD! The same letter that I have been reading to Ruth adnauseam for weeks on and off.. because she loves to hear it. W-h-y does she like to hear it? Again, I bite myself in the badunkadunk.. SHE likes it because I EMBELLISH, that’s WHY. Taking a little artistic liberty from time to time is no crime and in this case it makes the Old Lady happy, so what’s the harm? I’m sure not going to read this Valentines Day card from her son, let’s call him..Kevin (and her other sons will be ummm.. Joe and Nick*..) the way it was W R I T T E N. Not that there is anything wrong with the syntax of said Vday greeting. You be the judge..which would you rather have read aloud in front of YOUR
twenty- five Alzheimer friends congregating around your seat at lunch?

1. Happy Valentines Day mom. Will you be mine? Love, Kevin
or..
2. Dearest beautiful Mother, What ever did I do to deserve a mother like you? Never has there been a more blessed man on this earth than me for being able to grow up with such goodness surrounding me at every moment. How does such a man deserve..
(turn card over and cont. page 2)

..and you know mom that I can’t smile without you, I really can’t smile without you. I can’t laugh and I can’t sing and I’m finding it hard to do ANYTHING. You see I feel sad when you’re sad, I feel glad when you’re glad and mom, if you only knew what I’m going through..I just can’t smile without you.

I bet you’re thinking those words SOUND kinda familiar..well, what do you expect? I have to change it up a notch every time I read it and I’m running out of ideas. Special thanks to Berry Manilow for helping a sister out of a jam. Then I take it on home with the close (this also changes depending on my mood and creativity). Never do I do just a plain “With Love”, way too anticlimactic.

After my reading is complete..I look up to check the reaction. S-U-C-E-S-S.. again..not a dry eye in the place. Ruth is positively beaming with pride and now that my job is done I get to sit back and listen to the post game wrap-up. This is my FAVORITE part– when Ruth reaches an ecstatic HIGH on the proud-ometer and everyone talks at once about what a great child she raised and how they have NEVER heard such a letter in ALL of THEIR LIVES. Maybe I’ll substitute something lyrical from Brittney NEXT time..possabilities..ENDLESS!

To all you Moms in the bread..ladies of MY SANDWICH GENERATION..never be afraid to pull out all the stops when it comes to spreading joy around the family..and around..and around..”WHAT A FEELIN’..!”

LOVE,
A
* Any semblance to the names of the three JONAS BROTHERS is purely coincidental.

MOTHER PLUCKER

Dear Diary,

I LIVE A DANGEROUS LIFE.. many missions that I undertake have huge risks associated with them. Take for instance my under cover work as PLUCKER. A steady hand, the sharpest of eyes..one wrong move and it’s oozing blood and hysteria.. usually mine.. all over. Today, I have no choice, I have to go in and..OUCH.. WAAAAAH! My face contorts and I curse the fact that this hair plucking thing is not a service the FACILITY offers. Let THEM be held responsible for pain inflicted on a poor (hardly) elderly (pleeze), UGGS wearing (beige slip-ons, I D-I-E) dementia patient. Ruth is just so darned nice about me gouging her and leaving bleeding hair follicles in my wake of destruction. Always following the yank, is a kindly hand pat and sympathetic smile for the woman rooting out chin hairs with the tenderness and skill of a first year dental student attempting a “plaque scrape” for the very first time.
“Sorry.. sorry.. sorry it won’t happen again.” I lie with trembling lower lip.
I know it’s a lie, Ruth knows it’s a lie, all the Happy Daze staff knows it’s a lie. I will inflict more PAIN because THAT’S WHAT I DO. Ruth will smile and console me, encouraging me until the LAST..OUCH..HAIR..AUGHH..HAS..PHEEE been..PLUCKED!

NEXT?

A

WHY-KEY-KEY?

Dear Diary,

Nothing like sitting around the table in the communal dining room chewing the fat (chunks of it) with Ruth and a few of her closest gal pals. Today it was me, Selma, Virginia, Greta and Faye bonding over some sort of HEN in a faux dairy base with an exotic name..(Alvarez? Alcatraz?). This of course being part of the marketing plan, to lead this group of Alzheimer’s patients into thinking they are really in a land of mystery and intrigue. This ploy didn’t fool Ruth who grabbed the spoon and started fishing for the chunks of sodium free, dairy-less, perhaps meat-less, poultry all the while exclaiming..LOOKS LIKE CHICKEN TO ME. Can’t fool that Ruth.

By the looks of things, previously mentioned ethnic cuisine was NOT a hit, but the Moose au chocolate caused a stampede to the dessert table. Ruth wanted to wrap hers up in a napkin and put it in her “bag” for later. Two problems with this idea:

1. How do you wrap up a PUDDING?
2. Ruth doesn’t carry a BAG.

Think fast dear girl because YOU know what’s coming. Now Ruth’s shouting loud enough for our whole table to hear.. what do you mean I don’t have a bag? She is incredulous. Oh n-o-o-o-o! I couldn’t be lucky enough to have it stop there..THAT would be too EASY. I thought I brought my bag with me to THIS table. Where the heck did it go? B-L-A-H-H-H-H! This is NOT a good sign when we utter the words “WHERE DID IT GO?” It’s in these simple words uttered, that I always succumb to the trap of engagement. Rule number one my sweet, innocent, Sandwich Generation NEWBIES, NEVER EVER SUCCUMB.

This eldercare thing is NOT for those slow on their feet! It’s a THINKING MANS (oh sure, THAT will be the day) game. I wasn’t in it to WIN it today and for THAT I will be PUNISHED. Selma who had been quietly watching our little exchange decides to be helpful. “Well, I’ll drive you home and we can look for your bag there..let’s see.” Selma looks inside HER (empty) purse, obviously becoming more and more agitated by the second as she ruffles through air. I begin my internal countdown to all hell breaking loose..3,2,1.. WHERE ARE MY KEYS? We have lift-off!
Faye? Do you have anything to add to this discussion?
Greta where’s your purse? (might as well go ALL the WAY)
RUTH: OMG! I had MY keys in my purse…

When in doubt use distraction and I don’t mean the old, WHAT’S THAT OVER THERE? Tell a story–it’s the old bait and switch but used for GOOD never for EVIL. I just so happened to have a true story in my repertoire.

On the way to Ruth’s for lunch I was stopped at a red light and I was just kind of hangin’ out, mentally tallying up my caloric intake for the day, trying to asses how many calories are in just the frosting part of the pumpkin scone I had for breakfast. THUNK! I’m hit from behind by CELL PHONE TALKER GIRL, who makes ME get out of MY car to come over to HER. She says to me “s-o-r-r-y.. I forgot which was the gas pedal and which was the brake! How LAME is THAT?
Ruth looks up at me lost in..thought and says after a brief knowing nod,”Yeah, that’s WHY I quit.”

Mother-Girlfriends of MY SANDWICH GENERATION remember age should NOT always be a factor in the decision to take away the keys to your elderly’s car. Try this test..Put your bound and gagged husband in the up-right position, in the back seat of your seniors vehicle. Next, have granny take him for a spin…any freeway will do. Allow your husband to make the final call..he will feel so needed and appreciate you involving him in these large, life altering decisions– a true ego boost to be sure.

Me? Putting pedal to the metal..

A

Bridge Ahead 1/4 Mile: Bystanders Will Be PERSECUTED

Dear Diary,

Silence. Silence like you have never heard before type of silence. A silence so still, thick and heavy that you might think that someone has just di..”One no trump”. Huh? “12-14..hi dear, come sit down”, comes the whispered command from Grandma Marnie. I slink around the square, white linen cloaked, bridge table trying my darnedest to be as invisible as humanly possible (given my notoriously clumsy reputation, it was not a shock to see all players brace for impact). Each player in turn, acknowledged me with a brief nod and obligatory, half cocked smile and returned to evaluate the upcoming incursion. “How we doing Marnie, are we winning?” SHHHHHHH! “Sorry…oh I’m..” I throw my hands over my big YAP and make “kitty eyes” (learned this trick from my youngest kid who is a SHREK devotee) so that the “girls” will remember that I’m really just a sweet, naive, innocent grand-daughter (as apposed to an undercover agent sent to distract the players so that her granny can rack up all the winnings).

The game goes on and on and it’s BORING. They talk in a weird code and it’s all.. “one spade” and then the lady with the red lipstick does a front teeth wipe over with her tongue and whispers through her nose “stop; three hearts”. We move on to the player wearing the navy and maroon Burberry Classic pullover (that I would kill to have), brushing an imaginary “somethin’, somthin’” from the front of my…um HER sweater. With an almost constipated expression, she manages to choke out a…”pass”. Pass what? Tennis balls?

DING! DING! DING! Was that “unauthorized information” I just saw before me? Where’s the ref.? Burberry lady is cheating! It says in the rules, and I quote, “any extraneous remarks made during the game; any bull shwanky hand gestures or pathetic questions about bidding are grounds for A PENALTY. I’m elbowing Marnie so I can share my astute observation and doing so in such a way as to not draw attention to our side of the table. Marnie starts thunking me back with her thigh and glaring at me from underneath furrowed brows. I am totally getting reprimanded for interrupting her concentration and that is reason enough to seek the DEATH PENALTY. “Dear, why don’t you go and put together a little refreshment platter from the lobby?”

I know you’re thinking, so what? What’s soooo bad about the LOBBY? Here’s the deal..Ted is in the lobby and TED loves to talk. If I am sent downstairs I may never be seen again. Days may go by; I’ll miss pick-up and my children will be left to wander aimlessly through the school halls while waiting for their turn on the office phone with all the other “forgot-lings”. No! This cannot be MY fate!

Marnie is winning.. as she should. She is a c-r-a-z-y bridge player and only the very elite or the VERY stupid play with her. She will kick your..”FABULOUS hand dear. I guess that’s it. Are we playing Thursday?” Victorious again and counting her winnings, Marnie hardly looks up to answer, “sure, we can meet on Thursday..”. I could tell by the pause that more words were on her lips. “Ummm, maybe we can up the stakes just a bit”. Poor chumps! Next time they play for QUARTERS. Sorry gals..I see tough economic times in your future.

My Sandwich Generation…heads UP! Pure and simple..YOU NEED to know how to play bridge. If you don’t, you will be like me.. lost and out of sorts and the BUTT of all the old ladies’ JOKES. This is NOT a good position to be in. Eldercare can only be done well, if you know HOW to play THE GAME.

I fold!

A

When Bad Clothes Happen to Good People

Dear Diary,

In the vast array of crayola crayons in the 500 assortment box, have you ever come across a color called breast fed baby’s No. 2, yellow? It’s in the mustard family. I want to be perfectly clear from the start.. I watch WHAT NOT TO WEAR and I know better than to EVER purchase any item in this repulsive shade. Imagine my horror as I walked into Ruth’s room and there she stood, all.. I’m all that, with hot pink blouse (not a baaaad choice if accessorized well), cocoa-mocha brown cardigan, beige pearls (see… my girl DOES now how to accessorize) and pants a rich hue of..HOLY SAINT JOHN– mother of all knits! What are these? I find myself frantically tugging down the polyester-rayon blended, elasticized waisted, butt ugliest pants I have ever seen. Then I start with the fifth degree..Where did you find these? Who gave these to you? Why did you put these with a pink shirt? I was rattling off questions left and right, all the while pushing Ruth to a sitting position on the bed and yanking them down to her ankles and over her shoes.

Lets look at who these pants REALLY belong to…probably Marion…! “Sure!” I say confidently. These look just like something Marion would throw on, with some puke green neck bowed blouse to finish the look. I have a peek at the label to see what name had been inscribed in marker over it’s surface. Behold! In faded, hardly legible “me” font, the name..RUTH! W-H-A-T? That’s when it hits me. “Where are your chocolate brown, nice pants that go with that..you know.. brown leopard print pull over?” Pant less Ruth, gets up and shuffles over to her rather full closet (they had a SALE at Penny’s, I couldn’t HELP myself) and starts searching through the rack with the wrist flick technique of a very well seasoned, professional shopper. Score! Animal print sweater found, and I’ll be..It’s the SAME color as the previously mentioned nasty pants. Wow! Color coordinated! Looks like the staff has been washing your clothes in LYSOL again granny!

Lovely ladies of my sandwich generation, a few fashion tips from me to you. Buy clothing for your fashion forward senior that is easy to wash and you can afford to have obliterated by over worked staff who don’t read labels. Avoid cotton (except for short nighties and other intimate apparel). Say no in fact, to any natural fiber unless you are going to do the laundry (in which case leave me your cell number cuz..I’m just saying..). Most importantly choose pants with elastic waist bands (and I don’t need to tell YOU why). Meal time is one big, never-ending food fest; belly expansion (even with all that Wii Golf) is par for the course.

See you on the cat walk!

A

Out to Lunch

Dear Diary,

It was THAT time of the month again. When the feeling is all– OHHH! NOOO!…Not AGAIN! Loss of appetite, general malaise all because of.. RED-HAT-DAY! I’m not really sure what the whole story is on this greatly celebrated day over at Happy Daze Assisted Living. Something about being old and wearing purple and red and doing whatever you please. I don’t actually give a rip, but Ruth and friends have to partake in this monthly ritual, so as advocate I have to “kind of know” what it entails. Because, what happens if it’s actually some GIRLS GONE WILD sorority hazing function where you get all dressed in red and don a red hat and do shots of tequila? Then dance to tunes from Madonna’s VOGUE CD. I’d feel p-r-e-t-t-y BAD if that’s what she was made to do and I wasn’t inclu..know about it!

Ruth told me yesterday she can’t stand going to Red Hat Day! When I pressed for details, she gave me a very lucid and well thought out answer..”IT’S DUMB!” Hmmm!

Me: Do you want to be more specific?

Ruth: They dress us up in these S-T-T-T-UPID HATS and parade us upstairs and we sit in this noisy room just eating and drinking!

Me: I don’t know about YOU Ruth, but I’m thinking, THAT sounds just like grounds for ABUSE charges.. I’ll just whip out my cell (there is NO whipping out my cell..it is buried somewhere under all my “NEVER leave home without” stuff) and place a call to the OMBUDSMAN* HOT LINE! Oh look, it’s on speed dial…

Ruth: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA …….! I have to find the Ladies Room….NOW! (I always know this is coming when I make her laugh, but I can’t help myself)

Ladies rooms are not as fun as they used to be with Ruth. We go in and try to decide if we take door #1, door#2, door #3 or the big one– door #4. We’ll take # 3 no, no, no–#4 Jack, for fifty…minutes. In we…(YES, you heard correctly), go. Through are set-up (have to use those seat covers– at least five or six of them) and deployment ritual. I like to exit at this point to give Ruth some privacy to examine the stall decorum. Truth be told, I’m really just standing outside her door peering through the crack giving directions very discreetly. “NOW FIND THE TOILET PAPER RUTH. NO, THAT’S NOT IT!… IT’S TO YOUR RIGHT! NO! THAT’S LEFT! RIGHT! YEAH! GOOD WORK! NOW…” Inevitably some lady walks in and stands there completely befuddled by the display. I don’t even bother explaining the whole Alzheimer’s thing…

I see Ruth today after the party! All the gang is hanging out, laying on the couch, looking like they knocked back one too many Prune Juice Spritzers…MM-mm! Good! Ruth and I took a little walk to clear her head and I apologized for not saving her from the overly stimulating soiree. I was with the OTHER upper crust part of My Sandwich Generation combo meal..Grandma Marnie. As we walked and talked, I shared some very private thoughts with Ruth regarding my own life and feelings. “Ruth” I say, “I’m going to spill my guts to you.” I have her rapt attention now. “I’m BANKING on the fact that you won’t spill the beans…because YOU WILL FORGET EVERYTHING I am about to tell you…RIGHT??” Ruth looks at me with a sly smile and says…
S U R E.. I will!

Chow!

A

*OMBUDSMAN Program for all MY Sandwich Generation girl friends, is a group that protects and promotes quality of life for people who live in a licensed, long-term adult care facilities. Your local Ombudsman is a trusted resource in mediating complaints or concerns you may have regarding your eldercare recipient .