My Future

Billie Jean Dancing Senior Citizens:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIsLsDXXJUE&feature=related

Random tidbits . . .

My father, now traveling in cars as a passenger, vehemently argues with the GPS voice when it gives directions. He thinks it's my mother trying to tell him when to turn, and "dammit, that's not the best way to get there!"

My mother has to get unpleasant catheters inserted due to chronic infections, and the nurses don't always aim so well. She is using a Sharpie marker on her privates to draw an arrow with the suggested path.

No more talk of moving out of the house. At least in Mom's case, she is probably no longer eligible for an independent living situation and would have to go straight to assisted living. The wait continues for the inevitable crisis and I jump when the phone rings late at night.

Cultural Sensitivity

Ponder the following events I’ve recently attended in Seattle:

Viking Days – an outdoor festival of many elderly Norwegians and Swedes reveling in their lingonberry pancakes – and it’s silent. Strangely silent. Pete had to explain to me that it was the sound of Scandanavians not expressing their feelings, and it was fine.

Indian Days Pow Wow – summer in Seattle with hundreds of elderly Native Americans wearing feathers, fur and down parkas, beating on drums – smiling, unlike the Norwegians – but also relatively silent.

Now, back to my roots, where I’m watching the longest running Woody Allen movie – my parents are very, very noisy, and it seems normal.

The latest – unwilling to part with any of their piles (see related news stories I’ve posted about hoarding), and desiring a place the size of a bowling alley, my parents have retreated into resistance and denial once again. There was a brief chapter where home-based nurses or cleaners were considered, mostly because the price tag seemed like a bargain compared to a residential facility. However, that phase has passed for now. I’ve been trying to prod them with active listening – “and what do you think will happen next”? “how does that make you feel”? It doesn’t work well with people who refuse to use technology such as hearing aids or a phone built after 1970.

I’m monitoring from afar, worrying about the next crisis, hoping they stay relatively safe.

Elderly woman found dead in trash-filled Skokie, Ill., home

Chicago Tribune July 21, 2010

CHICAGO -- A 79-year-old Skokie, Ill., woman was found dead Monday night in a home so crammed with trash, police said a hole had to be cut in the roof to reach the woman. Marie Davis was found under a pile of debris in the single-family home in the Chicago suburb, officials said. Skokie police were called to the house Monday and saw the woman's 54-year-old daughter at the front door, sitting on a 6-foot pile of garbage and screaming for help, according to Skokie Police Cmdr. Michael Ruth. The woman told police her elderly mother was dead inside, Ruth said. "There was so much garbage, it left about 2 feet of space between the pile and the ceiling. Apparently there were tunnels and the residents had to crawl on top of the debris to get around," he said.

News Story: Chicago couple found buried alive under trash

from Associated Press 5-26-10:

Fire crews investigating a mysterious stench found an elderly couple buried alive under mounds of garbage in their Chicago home, authorities said Tuesday. The couple, in their seventies, were found Monday night, fire department spokesman Larry Langford said. The fire department team forced in the door of the South Side home and found an overpowering smell, piles of food waste and trash. A spokesman for Jackson Park Hospital, Margo Brooks, said the two were admitted and remained listed in critical condition at noon Tuesday.

Police had initially been called to the two-flat apartment building by neighbors who had not seen the couple in some time and wondered about their welfare. Police called in the fire department because of the stench and the team that entered wore hazardous materials suits. An 83-year-old neighbor, Hattie Fields, said the couple had lived in the building for years. Police declined to identify the couple. "I've been here since 1965 and I can't remember if they were here then or not," she said.

She said that she used to see the woman sitting on the front porch as she walked by but no longer could because the hedges had not been trimmed for years and had grown level with the second floor of the building, obscuring the view. She said she was fairly certain that no one else lived in the building, although there were unoccupied apartments on the first floor and in the basement. She said signs of neglect were obvious. "The back yard is also full of debris," she said. She said she used to see the man going out and getting in his truck to go to work in the morning, although not lately.

It was supposed to be Moving Day

I should have known it wasn’t going to be this easy. If my parents don’t die peacefully in their sleep, I may consider killing them. No, not really.

To get up to date, a few significant events have transpired. First: my mother went into panic mode about moving to a retirement facility while my father was all gung-ho – a complete reversal of their stance 6 months ago. They cancelled the apartment, got back their deposit, and created a lot of drama. Second: they attempted to get the house ready for sale by hiring a contractor, which was a sobering challenge and only unveiled the tip of the iceberg. As soon as the wall cracks were repaired, there was a 7.2 earthquake in Mexico which created – you guessed it, more cracks. Mom felt the ground shaking, got dizzy, assumed her diabetes drugs weren’t working, and called the doctor to complain about the strength of her prescriptions. Third: Mom switched her primary care physician to someone more inclined to listen to her complaints (but located many miles away, requiring HMO-supplied transportation).

I tried a new tactic – offered to personally take ALL the stuff, so nothing would get dumped in a landfill or God-forbid another Goodwill bin; it would just be magically transported to my attic in Seattle. Yes, it was a little white lie. Mom’s response – “Why would you want all that junk?” This stumped me for a bit (why is she hanging on to 50 years of broken plastic if she knows it’s crap – clearly, it’s about security and memories, not the things).

Yesterday she told me that my father will only accept a community offering 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, large walk-in closets, 3 giant meals a day, etc. These places might exist for rich celebrities, but not for the common man. Of course the idea of anyone entering their current home to help clean or cook is simply not acceptable.

So where does that leave the story? Well I’m not offering any assistance or opinions for a while. Instead of visiting my parents, I’m going camping with friends in a heated yurt on the coastline of Washington (thank you Lisa). I’m waiting for the inevitable call about a fall or a heart attack, which will decide their fate. It’s not an amusing way to end this post, but it’s unfortunately it’s the next likely chapter in their lives.

Objects of Accumulation

This article has inspired me to get back to blogging! Thanks to Kathy for finding it and Larry for sending the link.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/25/magazine/25lives-t.html

Clinging to the Barnacles

I’m sitting in the San Diego airport in a stupor, really looking forward to going home. Today was a big thrash – met with my parents’ primary care physician to get their DNR forms approved, asked him for referrals to other doctors in the town they are moving to – he had no idea, but he tried to use the online provider directory, messed up his computer connection, and asked me for assistance. There’s only so much helping I’m doing at this point. I politely told him I would do my own research. I actually found a decent doctor (I think), the same guy my mother also dug up from her phone calls, so we’ll see if that works out.

For 25 years the squeaky door in the “guest room” has been an irritant; it’s a challenge to easily sneak in and out. My quest to find a working can of WD-40 in the workbench pile was fruitless, so I used cooking spray instead. Fixed!

After wrestling old dusty purses from Mom, all with wadded up tissues inside (“but I might use them one day”), trying to make copies of keys that no longer are in production, and refusing offers of cut crystal dishes to slip into my carry-on luggage, I escaped.

Coming up on Thursday is an interview with a liquidator/estate sale organizer to see if my folks can offload any of their treasures for cash —and fortunately I’m not going to be present for that event. They’re on their own! It was set up by their potential realtor.

I’ll go back to facilitate the move and get things in order – but I need a long break.

Running Low on Bananas

I’ve lost count of how many trips I’ve made to supermarkets to stock up on essentials: bananas, mustard, smoked salmon, pickles. My parents are hoarding food in 3 refrigerators – how will they ever downsize to one?

Today’s accomplishments: I managed to pack all the photo albums and ship them to Seattle. Donated a mountain of travelogue photos to the local library. Went with Dad to the bank to rearrange his accounts and ensure a free safety deposit box at any branch for life. Reinstalled his internet service after he accidentally removed it. Talked to 2 real estate agents and showed them the extension cord curtain in the garage. One agent was excellent, sensitive to geriatric issues, and paid attention to detail. The other agent was pathetic. For a total of 4 hours, we all learned about plumbing, floods, termites, and other plagues that will deflate the market price. Then we managed to go to dinner, after the frantic daily hunt for the house keys. Dad was frustrated that he couldn’t find his favorite jacket – and I had a growing dread that I stuffed it in one of the donated sacks of clothing. I was on the verge of confessing when it turned up in the bathroom.

Future options include an estate sale, an auction, a painting party, and/or a landscaping intervention. I had previously promised to drive all the tools (see picture for just a slice of the inventory) up to Seattle in a truck. The latest plan is to rent a van to transport everything not picked over to my friend’s house one hour away and hold a giant garage sale on his front lawn. I’ll have to pretend to be on the road for a few days, no one will be the wiser if you all can keep a secret.

Furtive Trips to Goodwill

It’s my morning ritual. Stuff hefty bags full of who-knows-what and drive to town to frantically toss junk into a waiting bin. No, I don’t need a receipt. 3 carloads so far and it hasn’t made a dent. Today I spent 4 hours setting up Dad’s new Internet service (found a dial-up provider way cheaper and better than the evil AT&T), new Google email, new Thunderbird software, etc. All this so he can get coupons he can’t use, and pay his utility bill. After I realized the sun was shining and it was gorgeous outside, I escaped to go swimming at the local Y (big outdoor pool, the only good part about Santee CA). I called 2 real estate agents and made appointments for them to come chat – then realized that they would probably scream in horror if they entered my parent’s home without hazmat suits. So I bought a new door mat (remember when selling a home, it’s all about staging) rushed back to hide things in the garage, vacuum, scrub the floor, etc.

In the garage I found:
The Newsweek issue with Tanya Harding’s knee-bashing interview, a complete set of Judy Collins albums (which I played on the 40-year old record player), many broken beach chairs, a dead sparrow, and lots of spider eggs. Yuck. The neighbors have taken pity on me and invited me over for cocktails. I may succumb to their kind offer soon -- today I am much too busy! With all of this activity, I have yet to tackle my macramé plant holder, made in junior high school. It hangs in petrified dusty dignity in the living room. Would anyone like it?

The Folks Set a Date!

I spent the morning trying to convince my mother that she could part with shoes that no longer fit, were popular decades ago, had stacked heels, or only matched glitter outfits. I threw all the shoes in a box and hid them in the car trunk for eventual disposal to Goodwill. I already made one secret run before breakfast to the thrift shop with piles of clothing, most of it size large, never worn. Note that my mother is 4 foot 10, weighs 100 pounds, is quite petite – but these clothes were really good bargains in their time.

We went off for yet another free lunch at the retirement facility -- herring/gefilte fish salad, an acquired taste. Next on the agenda was visiting an apartment that has been held for them since January. We took pictures. We measured counters. We took turns sitting on the shower seat. We discussed how to fit 6 broken vacuum cleaners and hundreds of old bed sheets into a place that offers cleaning once a week and free linens.

Maybe it was watching the old family movies last night, maybe it was a growing realization that they couldn’t rely on their neighbors much longer for trips to the grocery store, maybe it was just the right time -- but they agreed to commit to a move-in date.

Imagine my surprise when my father whipped out his checkbook – even after the facility had waived the deposit and move-in fee – to ensure they had a spot. Much negotiation ensued about the date – the marketing manager wanted April Fool’s Day, I was positioning for Mother’s Day, my mother said “can you hold it until Labor Day? We need some more time.” We settled on May 27 as the absolute deadline. Everyone shook hands, I blinked back tears of relief, and immediately went into micro-planning mode to facilitate the transition. If it were up to me, I would hire movers to come tomorrow, with or without the post-it notes.

To celebrate, I rented ‘Up” for the evening to watch with my parents – sort of backwards logic there, if you’ve seen the film – but hey, I got it for a $1. I like bargains too.

I brought back the box of shoes from the car trunk for my mother to go through again. Heck, she can keep them all if she wants. Some things I totally understand.

An Endless Seinfeld Re-run

I’m baaack – visiting the parents. No, they haven’t moved out of their house yet. But they have spread out every box and closet all over the floor in an attempt to
“organize.” Nothing can be discarded without an analysis of how it might be useful one day.

AT&T stopped supporting my father’s dial-up modem last week and as a result, he has stopped getting email. I’ve been on the account remotely from Seattle – the man has 130 unopened messages, 128 of which are coupons and 2 are from me. I brought my laptop and showed him the backlog so he could see what great deals he’s been missing. In order to get a wireless connection I have to sit on the driveway in the dark and hack into a neighbor’s modem (thank you, G Belkin, whoever you are).

We all watched family movies from 1959, which were originally on 8 millimeter film reels. I just had it converted from a VCR version to DVD format with an updated music track. In these movies I’m 3 years old and totally adorable. It makes me cry every time I see it. It makes my friends go all goofy. What did my parents do when they viewed it? They argued about which relative died of what disease.

Here’s the cleaning plan for the weekend: I’ve brought post-it pads to place on every item. Green = goes. Blue = stays. Yellow = goes back on the floor and my mother trips on it. There has been some progress in the last month. Dad sold his stamp collection and is getting $50 for his 200+ albums (a quarter each, and the vintage classics you would expect).

Tomorrow we get to have another free lunch at the retirement community! Looking forward to seeing my buddies again.

another elderly couple - 62 years of marriage

An elderly couple walked into the lobby of the Mayo Clinic for a checkup and spotted a piano. They've been married for 62 years and he'll be 90 this year. Check out this impromptu performance. We are only as old as we feel, it's all attitude. Enjoy! They certainly do! Click on the URL below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XtyAsiZWktY

Calling the Cops

After trying to reach my parents by phone for 3 days, getting a busy signal at all hours of the day and night, I considered that not even my father could be working on the computer that long (he has a dial-up connection, the last one in America). I considered that the phone could be off the hook, I considered that they could be having a wild party, I considered that they could be in big trouble. I tried calling one of their neighbors to no avail. So, doing what every paranoid crime-buster would do, I called the police to investigate. Not 911, that would be drastic. I called the non-emergency dispatch unit of the local sheriff’s department. Figured they were bored anyway. To credit the Santee police, they were responsive, polite and sent an officer out to my folks’ house within 20 minutes. Hopefully not with a siren.

The very nice deputy guided Dad to a special police phone to call me and say hello. Mom apparently slept through the whole event. I heard my father telling the officer “well, that’s my daughter. She’s very thoughtful but such a worry wart.”

It turns out that the town lost all phone and some electrical service for the past 72 hours due to tornado watches, floods and winds. While I know that California is experiencing “weather” I thought that meant a few showers.

Sometimes you just have to go with your gut. I don’t regret sending the coppers out – at least now they have a case record for the next incident, and I can bring them donuts on my next trip.

To bring everything up to date, my parents successfully checked out of their trial stay at the retirement facility and are actually considering moving there. They talked to a real estate agent about putting their house on the market. And here’s the best part. Mom is recognizing that they have to downsize. She cleaned off the kitchen counter – while that may not seem significant, it is a BIG deal. We haven’t seen the counter since 1988 due to the piles of expired coupons, pill bottles, old magazines and crusty ketchup packets.

I believe the hardest part – acceptance that their current housing situation is not good - is over. Practical logistics come next. Onward!

Oh – and yes, I really did color my hair back to brunette (with red streaks courtesy of neighbor Laura) as soon as I arrived back in Seattle last week. Surprisingly, most people tell me I look better in silver!

Parting Comment

Hanging out in the garden with a nice lady who moved here 2 years ago from Minnesota. She tells me "I want some bacon! I'm sick of eating nothing but kosher!"

In two hours I will be drinking a large margarita at the Old Town Mexican Cafe. Bye for now . . .

Fitting In

Today I lost a phone (found it), broke a phone (fixed it), lost my room key (still looking) and drove erratically all over town (no news there). I wanted to go to sleep at 8 pm. I think I'm morphing, eek, send me home!

Some of the residents try to accommodate all of their former furniture into a one bedroom unit, with varying results. Edna the Chair Lady (who, by the way, is 100 years old), showed me her place with great pride. She has crammed in 12 chairs, 2 overstuffed recliners, 2 sofas, and a loveseat. Not a good role model.

My parents are settling in to the point where I am now worried that they won't leave at the end of their trial stay. They may need to be hauled off to the nearest Goodwill store, along with a few of those chairs.

I'm checking out tomorrow, but of course the story is not over. Mom and Dad are facing a complex and frustrating journey as they have to make many decisions over the next months/year. I sure hope I can maintain a sense of humor; frankly it's the only way I can cope with the stress and help them at the same time. Stay tuned for further chapters . . . and thanks for your support!

Stuff You Can't Make Up

Why is there a small rubber chicken in the drawer of the front lobby desk? Some questions are best left unanswered.

We missed Paddy the Mini-Horse due to a late breakfast, but we did catch a live jazz trio on the patio. Quote of the day from Harry, a self-proclaimed "former class clown": "If you run out of money here they won't throw you out - they go after the kids. And when the kids are broke, there's a fund to pay for your care." Gee, now I feel better!

This place may keep the oldsters alive but it completely drained my phone (bad cell coverage). I escaped to Verizon and discovered the many surfer beaches 1 mile away. Upon returning, I found it was Dad's turn to be flaky. He brought lots of emergency snacks but no underwear. Off I go in search of a shopping mall. On my way out of the building I stumbled into a rousing karaoke class with a dozen people howling Frank Sinatra classics (unlike Seattle's senior karaoke, there were no bingo games in-between songs). I was invited to join but declined (for now).

Most residents are fairly active and seem content; they look after one another. The group consists of retired teachers, doctors, musicians, college professors, housewives -- people who were committed to community service one way or another. It is not a depressed atmosphere at all -- until the brownies run out, and then it's kind of scary.

My neighbor Marion has suggested a great way to customize Mom's walker: drape it with all those defunct extension cords Dad has hanging in his garage. Currently serving as a window covering (see picture), the cords can be recycled yet one more time!

Things Seniors Write in the Middle of the Night

Files on the hard drive of the public access computer I'm using at the Retirement Community:

You Have Been Awarded the National Lottery to the sum of £4,908,817

I love coral reefs.com

The park bench was empty as I sat down to read ( a poem)

Once Upon A Time A Monkey Was Climbing In The Trees and Cut His Ankle (creative writing)

The Development of Purim Spiels- a historical summary

Beware, all Walkers Look Alike

First of all, as soon as I return to Seattle, I’m coloring my hair again. I do not enjoy the residents saying “oh hi honey, are you new here?”

We were briefly inspected – forms shoved in a drawer without comment (I had spent hours making sure their medical forms/TB tests/etc. were done). Despite bringing enough clothing for a month, somehow my mother forgot her toothbrush – so off I went to the local drugstore. Afterwards we all met with our official personal greeter, who has been assigned to follow Mom and Dad for a week to make sure they don’t steal the silverware.

Dinnertime! At 5 pm, of course. Here is the senior networking part. Would you believe my mother hooked up with a friend from Brooklyn College, where she graduated from in 1942? Yes, the girls looked a little different but they still talk the same. And of course there’s Not-Dead-Yet Ida, the 90-year old fitness queen. Ida walks to the Y every day to work out and wears chic Yoga outfits. (My mother and Ida used to live near each other about 20 years ago. At a recent lunchtime visit here, when my mother realized Ida now lived here, she yelled across the room “Ida! I thought you were dead!” Nice.

My Dad was counting all the guys in the dining room. There were 9. Old men don’t last as long as old women. One lady told me “we used to have a table of 14 people who liked to eat together – all the male spouses passed on, so now there are just 7.” Another new friend was whispering in my mother’s ear “It’s not so good here. Come to Room 253 after dinner and I’ll tell you the dirt.” The folks here have their cliques.

We all rushed off (mostly rolled off in a sea of blue walkers) for the evening entertainment, a piano/choral concert in the lobby. The music was actually quite nice despite the occasional snoring from the attendees. My father loaded up on the free brownies and piled them up on my mother’s walker seat – he took not one, not two, but SIX brownies back to their room. He managed to lose one brownie, step on it, mash it into the hallway carpet, and keep moving. I asked if he intended to eat the brownies – no, he wanted to put them in the mini-frig just in case he gets hungry in the middle of the night. Upon inspecting their room after 3 hours of use, the bed was piled with clothing, the bathroom was full of junk – in other words, the hoarding impulse was immediate and the place looked just like their house.

I have inspected the Activity Sheet for the week. Unfortunately I will miss Zack the Portugese Water Dog and his handler, as I must leave on Monday. However, tomorrow is Classic Movie Night and that could be wonderful. I have my own private room, on a different floor from my parents, and I have the secret gate passcode to come back and forth in case I need to, oh maybe, go to the brewery late at night.

The Prep

I arrived at my parent's house at noon to find them still in their jammies, not packed, fully in the throes of denial. It took only an hour to get them somewhat ready. I had to promise that I would rent a van to drive all of my Dad’s tools to Seattle when/if he moved out. We are still negotiating about the thousands of vacation slides he has taken over the past 60 years (does anyone want them?)

My folks were really excited about getting their hair cut – since the loss of Dad’s driver's license (which he only brought up every 10 minutes) they have both become hairy hermits, emerging only to go to doctors appointments. So – blinking in the California sun, we troop off to get shorn. Somehow my father has found a re-creation of a dingy barber shop from the lower east side of NY, in a Santee shopping center. He sat in the chair like a king, ordering the young cutter “take more off!” take more off!” The poor guy, I had to sneak in afterwards to give him a big tip. Meanwhile, my mother sat in the ladies version down the street, getting her eyebrows trimmed and demanding that they honor 2-month old coupons (which they did).

Driving here was uneventful; I had upgraded the car rental to get one with 4 doors so everyone could get in without chiropractic adjustment. Fortunately I brought an emergency supply of bagels for snacking. We arrived at the facility on time – amazing! – and I noticed with relief that there is a beer brewery conveniently located down the street.

Entering Q-Tip World

For those of you with white-haired elderly parents, or who have met mine, welcome. This blog will give you a personal glimpse into the strange dynamics of aging in America. My folks are both 87, in deteriorating health, stubborn, and smart - a tricky combination for anyone to deal with, but especially for them. I'm the responsible adult-child, ill-equipped to handle geriatric case management, but well-versed in dysfunction (I have New York roots).

As my parents have become more isolated and need more resources (don't ask about the driver's license debacle), moving into a "facility" has become a more attractive option - sort of. They are at least willing to experience a trial stay - senior summer camp, if you will. The catch? Per their request, I have to go with them. Okay, there are good reasons:

1) to make sure they don't escape;

2) to ease their transition;

3) for the story.

I will be staying this weekend at a Retirement Community in my own guest suite, observing the action. I'm journaling due to a self-serving therapeutic need to manage my own anxiety, plus it might be really funny.

Giving credit where credit is due, I thank my parents for their genetic transmission of a fine sense of irony and appreciation of the absurd. Coming soon:

• Bargaining, pleading and coercion - dealing with old people
• Irrational moments - stuff you can't make up
• Social networking senior-style
• Out of the mouths of geezers (with a nod to Art Linkletter)
• "He's not Jewish, he's Swedish" - unsolicited feedback from the dining room

I hope you enjoy my postings.
- Karen

Mom and Dad, 60 years apart

My stay at Seniorville

Check back starting January 9 for postings about my underground experience at a senior independent living facility. Ah, the things we do to please our aging parents . . .