Grandparenting

 

 

Grandparenting

 

 

copyright Ruth Lampert   2/22/13

 

     We call the group “W.N.” which stands, variously, for “What Next?”
“Why Now?” or whatever we happen to come up with on any given Tuesday afternoon, which is when we get together.

      Stephanie organized the group, which meets at my place as a generous concession to my – um – “impaired mobility” which includes the fact of my not driving. We don’t have an agenda (unless nibbling cookies and sipping tea can be considered an agenda); we just start chatting about whatever is on our minds.

          Last Tuesday we drifted into the subject of grandparenting  , which is sort of a sub-topic of “Aging.” 

           Most reminiscences about grandparents are about gentle folk, humorous, usually sweet, sometimes wise……..but that’s not exactly how I remember mine.  My paternal grandparents died when I was an infant. The most cogent memories of my mother’s parents are after my father died, when I was nine. We moved in with my mother’s mother into her flat, one of six comprising the apartment building she owned in the Logan Square area of Chicago.  Nowadays I realize how her taking us in (we didn’t think of it in those terms at the time) made it possible for us to continue a middle class standard of living.  Mother’s only working experience was selling dresses, an occupation which did not pay enough for the four of us to continue living on our own in the nice Albany Park neighborhood we had come to think of as home.  To me, and probably to Cine and Bob and Mother, it was just one of the sad and dismal turns that life had taken since Daddy’s death.

     Grandma was Hungarian.  She was born there, migrated to Chicago, leaving a large part of her heart in Budapest.  She may have appreciated the benefits of America (one of which was that leaving Europe freed Grandpa, who died not long after Daddy,  from serving in the Kaiser’s army between World Wars) but what we got from her was mostly disdain for the American way of life, especially its young people.

One exception to this antipathy was my best friend, Margot, who came to America with her family as Jewish refugees from Germany. Grandma liked her (something about “origins?”)  She also liked brother Bob’s friend Sid, who planned to take over his father’s plumbing business rather than go to college after high school graduation.  Grandma scorned formal education, and referred to the hours we spent working on our homework as “doing humbug.” This is one instance of how she did not conform to the stereotype of Jewish grandmothers.

           Today I realize that having a family of four, including three children ages from nine to 16,  move into her heretofore quiet and orderly life, must have been quite a pain in the ass – to borrow one of her oft-used phrases.  

          I am not proud of the way I interacted with her. But in all honesty, she was not exactly a jewel of a grandma. She disapproved of my activities, my ambitions, most of my friends, and my brother’s other friend whom eventually I would marry.  And more eventually, divorce.  O.K   grandma, I guess you weren’t so far off the mark on everything after all.

           Marriage and motherhood led to grandmotherhood for me, and I guess I didn’t take any prizes either, making my way a second time around as it were.  But I guess wasn’t too bad.  These days my beloved grown grandchildren reminisce fondly about the “toy drawer” in my various small apartments, where they liked to spend overnights. And now there are the delightful great-grandchildren. It’s amazing, having five grandchildren and five great-grandchildren, ranging from infancy to adolescence. (I’ve told you before I’m no youngster.)  Not all grandmas spend their time baking cookies and baby-sitting. Most of my progeny attended my second wedding, and they think of Tony very much as their granddad.      

          How did I meander to this point in the saga anyway?  The same way we did at the Tuesday group.  By indulging in the sweet activity of reminiscing.”  Anyone can do it, but grandparents have a special gift. 

 

 

 

Unsolicited

 

UNSOLICITED!

 

Copyright Ruth Lampert  12/14/12

 

For those of you remember when milk was delivered …and are grateful that even though we have e-mail, “regular mail” still is… 

And those of you who, like me, are “mobility impaired” and/or no longer drive, (or never did)

I want to share my appreciation of the delivery service known cheerily as “Yummy.com.”  

Yes, many of the big grocery chains offer delivery services, but usually it needs to be done on online, and may not be delivered until the following day.  

Call Yummy.Com  (or go online) and you immediately (o.k., occasionally you may be put “on hold” for up to a minute)  are connected with a pleasant and efficient clerk who will take your order, even if it is rather lengthy and/or interspersed with mumbled asides such as:  

      “I wonder if I need ‘large’ or if ‘regular’ will be enough?,might as well get ‘large,’ I can always freeze what’s leftover ….”

     “I wonder if Aunt Cine will eat the garbanzo beans or if I should get some potatoes just in case?”   

     And/or questions like:

     “which brand is on sale?”

     “are the grapes good today?”    

                     

After your final order the clerk will tell you the amount due, just like the cash register does in the supermarket; he/she will ask if that is cash or credit, take your address if you are a new customer, and say “your order will be delivered in about 30 minutes” (which in my case it always is – you may live further away). “Thank-you’s” are exchanged, you hang up; if you are like me, in a couple of minutes you call back frantically and say “I hope my order hasn’t left yet, I forgot to tell you I need _________!”  (I almost always am in time, and if not, the clerk is understanding and non-judgmental.)

     In 30 minutes or less, a pleasant delivery man appears at the door and, in our case, brings everything up to our third floor unit, waits while we unload

the bags so we can return the empties (we already  have several million of them stored) takes the payment, and is on his way with a cheerful  “have a nice day!”

     Perhaps in all the time (a year? more?) I have been a customer, an item was left out, or the wrong thing delivered; a telephone call is all it takes and the proper item is on its way.

    

     Happy Holidays Yummy!  Got to go now and place an order.

Placement for Your Gifted Geezer

Copyright Ruth Lampert 2012

Note: I can use the term “geezer” with impunity, because I am one.

You may think it premature to be concerned about which facility will be right for your aging parent.  At the moment he/she is just cute, not precocious maybe but clever in his/her own way, a beloved member of the family.   But before you know it, the time will come when competition for placement in one of the prestigious and popular senior facilities will begin. Overnight,   you will become one of those  over-achieving adult children of aging parents – something you promised yourself you would never be - who want to be sure their parents are enrolled in the BEST place, the place they, the adult children,  aspire to.

Imagine the pride you will feel when at your book club or discussion group meeting you casually note, in response to someone’s comment about an older parent:  “My Mom has been accepted into “Pricey Pines Academy for The Gifted Geriatric. They only accept 5% of the applicants you know, so we feel very lucky.”

        You might go on to mention that those who successfully complete the PPAGG program are practically guaranteed a place in the “Advanced Section of the Afterlife,” a coveted spot sought after by adult children of all races, creeds, and ethnicities.

     You will want to note, casually but earnestly, that this is not why you sought this placement for your parents.   Be clear that the choice for your forbears was made after careful consideration of the stimulating yet relaxed programs,   the interesting yet democratic mix of the residents,  and the lofty principles demanded of the caregivers (be sure not to say “caretakers.”)

        In researching settings, there are several important things to look for.  Although just “hanging out” with peers may be fun, in this day and age you need to look for institutional attributes such as:

        Adult Education classes that no one enjoys. Grades will not be given, but you will receive written “progress reports,”  describing how your elder is doing in areas such as “Dozes off well with others,”  “Is self-motivated to get second helpings,” and “Uses toilet facilities appropriately, at least most of the time.”

        There may be some New Age types (they are especially rampant among marriage, family, and child therapists) who will try to convince you otherwise, but competition and achievement is what it is all about, and that’s a fact of life forever and ever.  Your parent’s performance at this stage of development can set the stage for a future of either mediocrity or excellence.  For example, which mortuary will accept the remains?  This may not seem important now, but just wait.

       The aforementioned touchy-feely professionals will try to convince you that happiness and good adjustment are the proper goals for you to have in mind when looking into placements.  They are referring to your parents’ needs, but what about you? Isn’t your place in society important?  Did you spend all those years trying to live up to insane parental  expectations just to let it all slide now in a  pile of  phony-baloney  “as long as they are happy” goo?   Is that how they raised you?    

If you have been doing your job properly, your Mom and/or Dad should have no trouble getting into one of the top facilities. If you don’t know what you should have been doing, that strongly suggests that you have not been doing it and will have to take firm steps now.  If you have allowed your elder to simply enjoy the golden years, relaxing and hanging out with contemporaries, sharing tales of past mischief, doing the minimum status-seeking exercises, you may need to enroll him/her in an intensive remedial program designed to help him/her choose and become proficient in appropriate hobbies and classy attitudes. For example:

Book clubs are always good. Phrases such as “excellent plot development” and “readable but not profound” soon become second nature to the members and can be brought out whenever necessary (that is, when nothing appropriate comes to mind and/or when the book has not been read.)

Ongoing enrollment in self-improvement and adult

education classes is critical. (The key word here is “enrollment;”  “attendance.” won’t hurt either.

     Foreign films trump American ones every time; “cinema” is considered the classier term and “movies” is just – well, forget about it. Other useful discussion terms include “iconic’ (don’t worry if he/she doesn’t know what it means, practically no one does. )  “Luminous” is good too. Check the movie reviews in newspapers or magazines; “The New Yorker” is an excellent  source for snobs. 

Judicious references to public radio are useful. T.V. talk should be severely restricted; limit remarks to commentaries, and for God’s sake forget about sitcoms.   

Clothing and hair styles vary somewhat from place to place – check this out in advance.  Casual is fine as long as it is expensive-casual. 

 You get the idea.  It isn’t easy, but you knew that when you decided to have parents.

Good luck!

Procrastination

Copyright Ruth Lampert 2012

The following blog was written several months ago but……

          To my multitude of fans: well,  maybe not exactly “multitude;” maybe “numerous” is more like it…or…well, anyway, to my brother Bob and my nephew Bill who nag me when I fall behind  my blogdom  schedule: Thank you.   Nothing beats having “steady readers” as an incentive to greater output.  (I was about to say “regularity” but that sounded a bit too clinical, as though I were going to write about my colon problems, which I would really like to, but don’t worry, I will control the urge…oh dear…anyway: )

    

For those of you who, like Bob and Bill, notice when the expected blog does not appear, I say thanks for getting me back on track.  This is where I left off:

           “Any idiot can face a crisis; it is this day-to-day living that wears you out.”

           Anton  Chekhov


        And so it is with blogs.  And memoirs. And blogs that are precursors to memoirs. (Such as “Ruthonwry,” in case you are new to this blog/precursor.)

       

Those exciting events of the past, those memories of crises

resolved, of  traumas survived,  and so on, they too can be viewed backwards, and written about relatively easily.  But who wants to read about “day-to-day humdrum living” of the past, unless penned (or keyboarded, to be era-accurate) by someone with the talent of a Mark Twain or Frank McCourt, may they both rest in peace? 

     

I think that the motivation to write in general and to write memoirs and blogs in particular is the wish/craving to be heard.  I wonder if being the youngest in the family has anything to do with that?

And does that have anything to do with Betsy and I having the reputation of talking a lot, and even, in the opinion of some who shall remain nameless, too much?  Both of us youngest children, waiting for our turn to talk, and by God, now it is our turn. Or mine, anyway.  Heh heh heh.

          But back to writing, which Betsy has eschewed, although I think she has the talent for it. Her brother Brian, the only boy in our family of four children, does some and does it well. .  But I digress.  (It’s my blog, I can digress if I want to.)

 

Where was I? Oh yes, re “day to day humdrum living: last year’s blog “The Corn Flake Cure,” captured, (nicely, I think in all modesty -- or in all self-aggrandizement) the kind of childhood memory that evokes similar memories in the reader. Or if not similar memories, perhaps a wistful sense of nostalgia, of having been there, or somewhere like that, in some sort of way, sometime.

And fortunately for my non-terminal case of writer’s block, book reviews remain staples; even more fortunately for me, I have been invited to write one of ”Castle Burning” by Magda Denes.  Molly Rawle, co-editor of “The Gestalt Journal” recommended this beautiful book to me several years ago.  I really loved it – no mere cliché – and planned to choose it when my turn next came around in the book club I have belonged to for over 20 years.  Somehow I forgot, and the volume itself got misplaced.  I came across it recently, re-reread it, re-loved it, and Molly asked me to write a review of it. Which I will do just the very second I get fully past this current bout of procrastination. Thank you for staying with me.