TIDYING UP

Lyrics:  It’s time to see what I can do/ to test the limits and break through/ no right, no wrong, no rules for me/ I’m free.

I’m living above chaos; a basement wasteland.  Little by little I fill a bag of discards and transport it to the collection truck but at this rate I question whether I’ll live long enough to finish the job.  Before our current home, we had never lived longer than eight years in one place and every move was a process of elimination; sorting through our stuff and choosing what to keep and what to leave.  In the twenty seven years in this home very little has been discarded and much has been accumulated.  And most of the accumulation is cluttering the basement.

The #1 hardback non-fiction book today is The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo.  Originally written in Japanese, it is subtitled: the Japanese art of decluttering and organizing. I bought it.  Maybe there’s an easier way to clean out the basement; a happy shortcut other than setting fire to the mess.

It’s strangely comforting knowing that many are dealing with the same problem or this book wouldn’t be a best seller.  But what does it have to do with the Aging Adventure?  For the very reason that no matter what form of elder living is chosen down the road; independent, retirement home, adult family home, moving in with a family member, it will most likely be smaller than the space currently housing that lifetime collection of stuff.  And, unless your stuff includes materially valuable items, your heirs probably won’t be as attached to your stuff as you are.  So, it’s purge time.

My mother thought a lot about the disposition of her belongings and together we created an inventory list of items and their desired destination so that by the time she downsized to her final residence many items were already in the possession of her heirs; what was left ended up in my basement.  It should be easy for me to clean out the basement but it isn’t.  I feel like I’m giving away a bit of my mother again and again.  Letting go is hard.  Wonder if that’s in the book.

Lyrics: Let it go, let it go/ And I’ll rise like the break of dawn/ Let it go, let it go.  (Song, Let it Go, from the animated Disney film, Frozen.)

Continuing Care Continued

Lyrics: Spring is here!/ Why doesn’t my heart go dancing?/ Spring is here!/ Why isn’t the waltz entrancing?

I had the opportunity to attend a lecture by Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross back in my University days.  She said then that every nursing home should be attached to a daycare center so that the elders and children could know one another.  Prior to that I worked one summer in a nursing home.  I was assigned to the third floor where the residents were in advanced stages of dementia or Alzheimer’s.  Whenever a family came to visit with their young children or a baby, the residents rallied from their dark mental abyss with cries of delight just by hearing the voices in the hall and calling out from their rooms, “There’s a baby,” or “There’s a little one.”

On a recent tour of a continuing care facility, i.e., independent, assisted living, skilled nursing care, and memory care, I was pleased to find a daycare center.  However, the skilled nursing unit was on what I would call the basement level, without windows, and with congested hallways.  While I suspect and hope that the children were taken outside regularly (I didn’t see any swings or monkey bars), I found that level dark and depressing.  Children need natural light.  So do the ill and infirm.  So do the staff attending them.  We all need light.

The upper levels I saw were impressive, to be sure; light-filled with beautiful views.  We did not visit the Assisted Living floor.  In that particular home, when a resident needs assistance with the basics, they are moved from their apartment to another floor.  All assisted living residents then are housed in one place.  That certainly works best for staffing versus sending staff to individual rooms scattered around the home.  But does it work as well for the resident?

One of the most painful aspects of my job when I worked at a retirement home with only two tiers of care, independent and assisted, was telling residents that because of their increased needs, they would have to move to another facility.  They would have to leave their home and their treasures acquired from a lifetime of living.  The rule was that if you fell and couldn’t get up without help, you no longer met assisted living requirements.  After several falls and calls to the paramedics, it was my sad duty to inform one resident that she no longer met the requirements.  I’ll never forget the look on her face at what was my threatening presence in her apartment, and her desperate cry, “Are you going to make me leave?”

Because continued care is expensive and because we could outlive our resources, we might require Medicaid assistance.  With Medicaid beds at a premium, it’s wise to select a retirement home that offers all three tiers of continuing care because the few beds they have dedicated to Medicaid go to their residents first.

I will want to look for a continuing care home with a skilled nursing unit having windows that face, hopefully, a blossoming tree in the spring.

Lyrics:  Spring is here!/ Why doesn’t the breeze delight me?/ Stars appear, why doesn’t the night invite me?/ Maybe it’s because nobody loves me/ Spring is here I hear.  (Spring is Here: lyrics by Lorenz Hart/ music by Richard Rogers.)

Prerogative of Age

Lyrics: Everything must change/ Nothing stays the same/ Everyone must change/ No one stays the same. 

If we’re lucky the right person comes along in our evolution from young adult to adult to elder to serve as a role model, to mentor us along the way.  Then it happens: the doctor is younger than our own offspring, the new boss just graduated from college, the minister is this young whippersnapper without an ounce of experience, and we find ourselves now perceived by some as the wise one, the role model.  (Of course we are aware that wisdom jumps a generation and thus our grown children keep us humble.)  But who are our role models?  Who mentors the elders?  Or have we outgrown the need?  The following story is about one of those vibrant elders who took advantage of the opportunity to role model for world governments.

Her name is Florence Ross and her story was told in the book, From Age-ing to Sage-ing, by Rabbi Zalman Schachter and Ronald Miller.  The year is 1980 and the U.S.A. is in a cold war struggle with the Soviet Union.  Florence is 72 years old and pursuing a PhD in Conflict Resolution.  She and her husband join 250 citizen diplomats and travel to Moscow for a summit meeting aimed at improving East-West relations.  Government officials of both super powers are present and begin hurling accusations and counteraccusations at each other in adversarial fashion.  Florence had enough and commandeered the podium.  “I am taking the prerogative of my age to tell the delegates that they are behaving like little boys playing games of one-upsmanship.  You should be ashamed of yourselves.  Your leaders should fire all of you!”  Right on, Florence!  But the story doesn’t end there.

Her comments were broadcast on Soviet TV and American newspapers and TV correspondents reported on her.  “The women of Moscow referred to her as ‘the Grandmother of the World’ and displayed her photograph in department store windows.  People bowed to her and showered her with little gifts and mementos.  A few high-ranking Soviet officials told her in private that they appreciated her act of political candor and daring.

“But the best surprise of all occurred at the closing session of the conference.  In summing up the proceedings, the moderator read a specially drafted message to Mrs. Florence Ross from Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev, who ‘appreciated her advice and will consider it in his deliberations.’ ”

And you thought the Berlin Wall came down because of Ronald Reagan.

Lyrics: The young become the old/ And mysteries do unfold/ Cause that’s the way of time/ Nothing and no one goes unchanged.  (Favorite jazz piece.  Lyricist and composer Bernard Ighner.)