assistedlivingconcerns

Is there anything more amazing than courage? Here, where I live at the Vintage Golden Gate assisted living for seniors facility, courage is common- place. No longer young, we drum up the will to carry on for another day and yet another. Shakespeare said, “Courage counteth with occasion.” How true! Many a morning I wrestled with my thoughts about getting out of bed after a night’s sleep. But each time, as do most of us, I put one foot down on the floor followed by another and meet the rising sun head on for one more day.
Being of comparatively good health, it humbles me to watch the frail members of our community come to meals, with head held high, determined to carry on in quiet dignity for one more slice of life. Plato called courage a kind of salvation. It’s as if we are being rewarded for those times long gone when we had the courage to overcome some obstacle enabling us to keep up the fight.
“There’s an old saying attributed to Napoleon, “Courage is like love, it must have hope for nourishment.” The residents at Vintage themselves are a never-ending source of hope that provides us the courage to keep going. Tall or bent, well or ailing, each member of our community paints a picture of courage, a confirmation that with hope and comradeship life is worth all of its blessings and travails. Never give up!
Let us give thanks that after a long voyage packed with experiences, both good and bad, our ship has pulled into a harbor, safe and serene, where we have debarked to spend our final days among helping hands of good will and cheer. We are where we are because of the myriad of choices that confronted us along the way. For me, I am at rest with my fate. For me, Vintage is a pleasant taste of what’s to come. My sense of gratitude has no bounds for the good fortune I’ve known. My journey has ended and the view is most pleasing.

I just read a wonderful book called The Notebook. It tells a love story that begins in a small town in North Carolina where two teenagers meet at a carnival. The boy is a local from a working-class family. The girl, the only child of a rich one, is spending the summer there on vacation. One day, the boy takes his new-found friend to see an abandoned mansion that was built in the plantation days. He vows to buy it one day, and restore it, so that the two of them can spend the rest of their lives together there. They enter the place and make love.
The following day, the girl leaves with her family to return home. The boy writes to her every day for a year, but he never hears from her. WWII breaks out and he joins the service, while the girl goes to college, majoring in art. When the boy returns home he receives an inheritance from his past employer, enabling him to restore the old mansion. Believing in miracles, he never gives up on the idea that his lost love will return, holding on to his dream with the ghost of her. He has a painting she gave him mounted over the fireplace, which helps him keep his thoughts of her alive.
Meanwhile, back in the big city, his love has become engaged to a successful lawyer. The wedding, three weeks off, promises to be the main social event of the year. By accident, she comes across an article in the paper about the wonderful restoration of an old plantation by the man she never stopped loving. She is torn apart about what to do. Her fiancé is tied up with a big trial, enabling her to cook up an excuse to get away for a few days to look for antiques out in the countryside.
She is at a loss to understand her conduct, but presses on, driving to his place to find him sitting on the porch. He is thrilled to see her. She reveals her marriage plans, which dashes his renewed hopes. They have supper together, where she learns that he had written her hundreds of letters. She realizes that her mother, who felt he was not good enough for her, must have intercepted the missives.
After dinner, she readies to leave, but agrees to return tomorrow because he promises to show her a secret place. She goes to town and checks in at a motel. Next day, they take a canoe trip up the river to a hidden lake populated by swans and geese who come there every year. They get caught in a storm, rush back to the house where they put on fresh clothes, his. They sit in front of the fireplace, under her painting, to dry out. They make love and spend the night together.
The next day, her mother arrives to warn them that the fiance is in town looking for her. She gives her daughter all the letters she had confiscated and apologizes, then leaves. En route to meet her fiancé, she stops and reads the letters. In the last scene of the story, the boy is now an old man confined to a nursing home. Each morning he visits a patient and reads to her from a notebook. The patient is his wife of 50 years who no longer knows who he is, but he believes that by continuing to read that story to her, some day she will remember. One day after he becomes deathly ill, he makes his way to her room, kisses her, which causes her to remember him and the swans. The next morning they are found together, dead, holding hands.

There are three important events in our lives: where we’ve been, where we are and where we wind up. The second one is called reality; the other two are what we decide to make of them. Looking back, we have total control over recalling what pleases us as well as the power to weed out what we wish to forget or deny. Concocting a scenario that enables us bring up visions of comfort and kindness, the time we learned about love and friendship. Those days when we were content with less and appreciated our lot. Fruits tasted better, the air was cleaner and we can still smell Momma’s cooking.
Like we envision our yesteryears, we, each, create a personal idea of what our after life will be like. In Genesis we are told Moses went there. In Exodus it’s describe as a gate. Some refer to those Gates as being pearly where you meet the keeper who decides whether or not you enter, so be good for goodness’ sake.
In our present state of life, we are the product of choices, some ours, some those of others. The extent of our share of blessings greatly vary as does the pain and regrets. There’s no going back so we find contentment and reassurance in those castles in the sky that we’ve built in our imagination about the good ole days and heaven.
Remember the movie Gigi where Maurice Chevalier sang, “Thank God I’m Not Young Anymore?” In our recollections of the good ole days the sweet days of youth and love convince us in our imagination that it was the best of times. We recall how politicians really cared about the electorate, how bankers bent over backwards to grant loans to make our dreams come true and the neighbors always minded their own business. It was time of paradise on earth. Yes, they were truly the good ole days.
Like the cowboy sitting on the bull in the pen at the rodeo who knows he will definitely be tossed sooner or later once they burst out of the gates, we too are riding the bull of life hanging on to the last breath until that fateful moment when we get sent into the arms of that gate keeper above, believing with all our heart that the loving God will accept us into the promised land, despite our faults. So, remember, hang on to those personal visions of the past and the future. It’s your choice, so make the best of it.

Among the myriad of features exhibited by humans, is its nature to be territorial. This propensity is manifested on many levels, even in the course of dining. Consider the facility that houses the aged where a family of people who judge themselves to be friendly, gracious, civil beings gather at mealtimes to dine together. One might guess that the main topic of discussion would be the menu. After the denizens are seated, servers take their orders and soon everyone is engaged in the fine art of ingesting food. The din of conversations mixed with laughter engulfs the ambience. All is well in paradise, until….
A new resident appears at the doorway, hoping to see some one she knows, or, if not that, maybe a gesture from a diner welcoming her come join them. When none of that happens, the new kid on the block gingerly enters the dining area looking for an empty seat where she hopes to meet some of the regulars. Finally, she spots a vacant chair and makes a move to occupy it. Instead of a welcome, she is accosted by a stringent cry that warns not to sit there because that space belongs to so and so.
The freshman resident had been clearly advised by the saleslady as well as by other members of the staff that “open seating” is the reigning policy of the institution. Actually, the policy is more like, “not in my neighborhood.” Each new resident undergoes something along the line of this experience when first entering the dining room. The level of sensitivity varies with each human, which is revealed in such cases as this. Some never recover from the very rude introduction afforded them when first entering the restaurant.
Eventually, most find a niche and settle in, where, overtime, come to regard a specific seat as “theirs.” And the show goes on and on. Then there are those who find a small table for two where they are able to sit by themselves to be free of the abuse they initially experienced. For those that are extremely territorial, if they arrive and find some one in “their” seat they either flip and make a scene or assault the occupant with a demand that they vacate the seat immediately, noting that they have been sitting there forever.
Occasionally, management will lecture the diners on the necessity of respecting the “open seating” policy, which once again falls on deaf ears and is met by frosty looks. Wars have been fought over territorial matters. The courts are often used to settle such disputes. But at a gathering of family members around the table, the pecking order reigns. Some well meaning sole suggested that the facility employ a maitre’ d of sorts to bring the diners to a suitable place. Getting management to hire an additional staff member is akin to asking the U.S. to return California to Mexico. Asking for budget changes is the biggest no-no, since it always involves taking something away from something else.
The long and short of it is to accept reality that man is basically a territorial animal!

DINING AT A SENIOR FACILITY
Among the myriad of features exhibited by humans, is its nature to be territorial. This propensity is manifested on many levels, even in the course of dining. Consider the facility that houses the aged where a family of people who judge themselves to be friendly, gracious, civil beings gather at mealtimes to dine together. One might guess that the main topic of discussion would be the menu. After the denizens are seated, servers take their orders and soon everyone is engaged in the fine art of ingesting food. The din of conversations mixed with laughter engulfs the ambience. All is well in paradise, until….
A new resident appears at the doorway, hoping to see some one she knows, or, if not that, maybe a gesture from a diner welcoming her come join them. When none of that happens, the new kid on the block gingerly enters the dining area looking for an empty seat where she hopes to meet some of the regulars. Finally, she spots a vacant chair and makes a move to occupy it. Instead of a welcome, she is accosted by a stringent cry that warns not to sit there because that space belongs to so and so.
The freshman resident had been clearly advised by the saleslady as well as by other members of the staff that “open seating” is the reigning policy of the institution. Actually, the policy is more like, “not in my neighborhood.” Each new resident undergoes something along the line of this experience when first entering the dining room. The level of sensitivity varies with each human, which is revealed in such cases as this. Some never recover from the very rude introduction afforded them when first entering the restaurant.
Eventually, most find a niche and settle in, where, overtime, come to regard a specific seat as “theirs.” And the show goes on and on. Then there are those who find a small table for two where they are able to sit by themselves to be free of the abuse they initially experienced. For those that are extremely territorial, if they arrive and find some one in “their” seat they either flip and make a scene or assault the occupant with a demand that they vacate the seat immediately, noting that they have been sitting there forever.
Occasionally, management will lecture the diners on the necessity of respecting the “open seating” policy, which once again falls on deaf ears and is met by frosty looks. Wars have been fought over territorial matters. The courts are often used to settle such disputes. But at a gathering of family members around the table, the pecking order reigns. Some well meaning sole suggested that the facility employ a maitre’ d of sorts to bring the diners to a suitable place. Getting management to hire an additional staff member is akin to asking the U.S. to return California to Mexico. Asking for budget changes is the biggest no-no, since it always involves taking something away from something else.
The long and short of it is to accept reality that man is basically a territorial animal!

If one steak dinner is good for you, then two steak dinners must be twice as good for you, or maybe not?
In Tuesday’s NY Times (11/30/10 issue), a front-page story appeared about the wisdom of taking more supplements than one needs. A panel of experts commissioned by the U.S. and Canada concluded after studying reports in over 1000 publications that there is no need to take calcium and vitamin D supplements.
Somewhere along the line, a scientific report was published about how patients in nursing homes that were confined to bed and rarely were subjected to the sun were low in calcium and Vitamin D. Based on that study, which recommended calcium and vitamin D supplements for those specific patients, the announcement was incorrectly interpreted as meaning that all people needed those supplements. Manufacturers jump on the report and started flooding journals with the very latest health improvement discovery – More is Better! Sales of the products then increased in one year by 82%, increasing the maker’s coffers by 430 million dollars.
The report in the Times claimed that too much calcium in older folks can cause kidney stones and too much vitamin D can lead to heart problems. As an example of how misinformation can be used to the detriment of the patient, doctors have been sending their patients to labs to test for calcium and vitamin D levels. The results show a perfectly normal level, but the lab claims the level is too low, recommending supplements. Later, the patient comes back for a follow-up test and is comforted to learn that the supplements raised the patient’s levels to the higher “proper” amount. The patient leaves with the advice to keep buying the supplements.
Good food and a walk outside have kept calcium and vitamin D levels in humans for eons, providing them with good bone structures. Most of us never question a doctor’s advice. Only recently, have my wife and I began to ingest a 1000 mg vitamin D pill daily, having done so upon the advice of our primary care physician. I plan to discuss this matter during our next visit, which fortunately is coming up soon.
History is full of examples of how misinformation has led to wars, family disputes, hard feelings, including failing health from bad medical advice. It is our nature to trust people, especially professionals. At the same time our nature has a wary side that makes us question advice, which enables us to step back and consider that the suggestion is too good to be true, or, is more better?

When some one lacks the long-held skill to identify objects, but has excellent eyesight, what do we call it? At the same time, people who are blind, can identify objects with senses other than their eyes. These two contra indicators are explained by the condition of the brain, where our memory function is located.
Some one inflicted with Alzheimer’s, may not be able to identify the food on the plate, despite having good eyesight, yet a blind person can by smell, taste, touch or by communication.
Attending a social function such as a family gathering, the one with Alzheimer’s, who can see, may not be able to identify anyone at the party despite the fact that they are blood relatives. Whereas the blind attendee, has little trouble recognizing his or her friends and relatives. This is further proof that the brain is the key to this apparent enigma.
Blind people can work wonders: type from dictation, read (from Braille), handle the phone, carry on a coherent conversation, write, teach, dance, gives orders, participate in games, have and raise children and more. A famous athlete, Jim Plunkett, who was the star quarterback for the Stanford football team, as well as a great NFL player, was brought up by blind parents.
In a sense, the brain is the quarterback of our lives calling plays every mini second to guide us along the way. Not only does the blind have all the other senses that the sight-seers have, but their senses are developed at a higher level of acuity.
Picture a blind lady attending a Xmas party at the office where she works. Members of the staff bring in their kids, none of whom are known to her. In most cases, not one of those children will know that she’s blind. They will laugh and joke together.
In the movies they always play upon the blind person’s infirmities, depicting them with a red tipped cane, staring off into the vacancy of their future. Today, here in the U. S., the blind are protected by our safety net. No longer do you see the blind begging with a cup full of pencils. Their schools are funded along with scholarships for higher education.
We’re all blind to a certain extent. Even for those that can see, they’re emotions often cause them to refuse to see facts that face them. Our brain is taught by society to close its “eyes” to truth and justice, blinded by prejudice and ignorance. For those that regard the blind as handicapped, the next time you listen to the famous blind Italian singer, Andrea Bocelli, it’s comforting to know that he’s happily married with wonderful children and respected around the world.

LOSS OF RECOGNITION
When some one lacks the long-held skill to identify objects, but has excellent eyesight, what do we call it? At the same time, people who are blind, can identify objects with senses other than their eyes. These two contra indicators are explained by the condition of the brain, where our memory function is located.
Some one inflicted with Alzheimer’s, may not be able to identify the food on the plate, despite having good eyesight, yet a blind person can by smell, taste, touch or by communication.
Attending a social function such as a family gathering, the one with Alzheimer’s, who can see, may not be able to identify anyone at the party despite the fact that they are blood relatives. Whereas the blind attendee, has little trouble recognizing his or her friends and relatives. This is further proof that the brain is the key to this apparent enigma.
Blind people can work wonders: type from dictation, read (from Braille), handle the phone, carry on a coherent conversation, write, teach, dance, gives orders, participate in games, have and raise children and more. A famous athlete, Jim Plunkett, who was the star quarterback for the Stanford football team, as well as a great NFL player, was brought up by blind parents.
In a sense, the brain is the quarterback of our lives calling plays every mini second to guide us along the way. Not only does the blind have all the other senses that the sight-seers have, but their senses are developed at a higher level of acuity.
Picture a blind lady attending a Xmas party at the office where she works. Members of the staff bring in their kids, none of whom are known to her. In most cases, not one of those children will know that she’s blind. They will laugh and joke together.
In the movies they always play upon the blind person’s infirmities, depicting them with a red tipped cane, staring off into the vacancy of their future. Today, here in the U. S., the blind are protected by our safety net. No longer do you see the blind begging with a cup full of pencils. Their schools are funded along with scholarships for higher education.
We’re all blind to a certain extent. Even for those that can see, they’re emotions often cause them to refuse to see facts that face them. Our brain is taught by society to close its “eyes” to truth and justice, blinded by prejudice and ignorance. For those that regard the blind as handicapped, the next time you listen to the famous blind Italian singer, Andrea Bocelli, it’s comforting to know that he’s happily married with wonderful children and respected around the world.

LOSS OF RECOGNITION
When some one lacks the long-held skill to identify objects, but has excellent eyesight, what do we call it? At the same time, people who are blind, can identify objects with senses other than their eyes. These two contra indicators are explained by the condition of the brain, where our memory function is located.
Some one inflicted with Alzheimer’s, may not be able to identify the food on the plate, despite having good eyesight, yet a blind person can by smell, taste, touch or by communication.
Attending a social function such as a family gathering, the one with Alzheimer’s, who can see, may not be able to identify anyone at the party despite the fact that they are blood relatives. Whereas the blind attendee, has little trouble recognizing his or her friends and relatives. This is further proof that the brain is the key to this apparent enigma.
Blind people can work wonders: type from dictation, read (from Braille), handle the phone, carry on a coherent conversation, write, teach, dance, gives orders, participate in games, have and raise children and more. A famous athlete, Jim Plunkett, who was the star quarterback for the Stanford football team, as well as a great NFL player, was brought up by blind parents.
In a sense, the brain is the quarterback of our lives calling plays every mini second to guide us along the way. Not only does the blind have all the other senses that the sight-seers have, but their senses are developed at a higher level of acuity.
Picture a blind lady attending a Xmas party at the office where she works. Members of the staff bring in their kids, none of whom are known to her. In most cases, not one of those children will know that she’s blind. They will laugh and joke together.
In the movies they always play upon the blind person’s infirmities, depicting them with a red tipped cane, staring off into the vacancy of their future. Today, here in the U. S., the blind are protected by our safety net. No longer do you see the blind begging with a cup full of pencils. Their schools are funded along with scholarships for higher education.
We’re all blind to a certain extent. Even for those that can see, they’re emotions often cause them to refuse to see facts that face them. Our brain is taught by society to close its “eyes” to truth and justice, blinded by prejudice and ignorance. For those that regard the blind as handicapped, the next time you listen to the famous blind Italian singer, Andrea Bocelli, it’s comforting to know that he’s happily married with wonderful children and respected around the world.

Why does the phone always ring when you’re in the bathroom? And for some unexplained reason, you make a most indecorous attempt to get to the phone before it stops ringing, which you never do in time. They don’t leave a message, so you wonder who could have called? Out of a sense of pique, you decide it’s one of those damned telemarketers, feeling glad that you missed the call. But in the back of your mind, you still wonder who it might have been. Perhaps an old friend that somehow had tracked you down after all these years. That would have been so nice to hear that friend’s voice again. Or, then again, it might have been some bill collector who had a wrong number but wouldn’t have believed you when you told him so, thereby ruining your day.
Then again, it could have been some worthy cause making a pitch for a donation, wanting you to sign up for some program that feeds the starving poor in some far off land, or the ASPCA that needs funds to rescue injured animals. You know, all those movie stars that are so generous helping people who are down and out, usually in a distant place. It’s so hard to say no to these salespeople who get right under your skin by touching your overworked sense of guilt. They never want a single donation anymore, they want you to sign on for a monthly program that eats into to your charge account forever. You wring your hands wondering what to say to convince them you don’t want to give, but to do so in such a way that they will think well of you anyway, in other words, by not being rude or offensive, nor leaving the impression that you’re an uncaring cheapskate.
Why don’t people mind their own business, you say to yourself, still not satisfied that the call was not important. And at the same, annoyed and disappointed that the children don’t call more often, feeling as if no one cares anymore. And when they do call, they load you up with their problems, their opinions and their advice as to what you should be doing. And if you have signed on for some so-called worthy cause, the children accuse you of giving away their inheritance or being a soft-hearted sucker, demanding to know the name of the program so they can call and cancel it. Another bit about their calls that is distressing is that after the harangue they always sign off with “I love you mom.”
When you think how much you looked forward to retirement and now that it has come, you’re full of regrets that you didn’t hang on to that job a bit longer. And after your husband died, why didn’t you marry Harry who was such a comfort during the grieving period. He would have been the perfect person to say no to all those solicitors.

Living in a place like this Vintage senior care facility produces a never-ending wave of surprises. Hushed tones among the residents reveal their concern about the fate of another. Word floats about that so and so has gone to the hospital, but why no one seems to know. Time goes by, and lo and behold, that resident shows up for dinner looking great. In a way, we’re all thinking about ourselves and what will happen to us; happy that someone has recovered, strengthening our hopes to survive a setback when it comes. While many move on, those that make it, so to speak, reinforce our own thoughts about extending our stay among the living.
From my own experience living here in the Vintage community, I have come to marvel at the level of resident bravery I’ve witnessed, which has helped me deal with my own limitations and those of my spouse. My evolved opinion is this: the fundamental graciousness of the vast majority of the residents in this community makes the journey we each are taking seem so natural and becoming. Kind thoughts and gentle comradeship abound here, creating an atmosphere of hope and inspiration.
There’s a wonderful line in a song about New York that sums up how I feel about Vintage. It goes something like this: “if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.” Just like New York, this place has its challenges, but the opportunities to grow and enjoy living abound in both places, especially at Vintage.

Life is full of surprises when you live with elders as I do here at an assisted living facility. Having breakfast one day, I was surprised to see one of my tablemates reach for salt and pepper and generously apply them both to her dish of pancakes. Then she added butter and syrup. Most of the residents put salt on their food even before they taste it. I rarely do, though I almost always put some black pepper on the serving. The food here is normally bland, but after living here a bit one gets use to it. To think that back in Roman times they paid soldiers with salt because it was relatively rare. Now it is so plentiful that food is rarely prepared without it. Marco Polo brought pepper back from the Far East and made a fortune selling it in Italy. Sugar is another favorite of our residents, who overwhelming adds it to tea or coffee. One resident has made it a rock-bound habit to carefully put 4 packets of sugar in his coffee, and then apply a hefty potion of cream and, strangely, doesn’t drink it. Delicately as possible I asked the lady why she put both salt and pepper on her hotcakes to which she replied matter-of-factly, ”It enhances the flavor and increases the appetite.”
“Of course,” I replied, realizing that it was stupid question and bit my tongue to avoid pressing the inquiry further.
“And,” she added, “the syrup helps abate the appetite enabling me to enjoy the food without eating too much of it.”
I never thought of why the order of serving food is fixed. The condiments encourage us to eat, as well as to enjoy the taste, but the sugar-laden dessert helps us to be satisfied with amount we have eaten. You can learn a lot living with elders. Believe me.

I need to apologize to my readers for failing to post their comments. I have now made it a promise to post all comments from this day forward. I’m obsessed with writing and have been remiss in acknowledging the very supportive notes from fans and those encouragements help me to press on. I try to be reasonably sure that the posts contain verifiable information, though some personal opinion does creep in at times for which I beg your forgiveness. One lady wanted me to voice my opinion on the economy and where I believe it is going. Giving financial advice is a no-no with me, even if I knew what was what, which I don’t. I will say that for me the NY Times columnist Paul Klugman makes for good reading in the field of economics. Living with seniors in an old folk’s home, as my wife and I do, we find so many stories from our neighbors in residence that we could fill a book. It’s fascinating to observe so many residents who are in there 90’s, still fully ambulatory and sharp as a tack. As a member of the Welcoming Committee, I frequently host new arrivals and get to hear about their very personal journey through life. A gracious crowd, and I am blessed to have the privilege to live among them. Now it’s up to you to comment.