TMBG - You're Older Than You've Ever Been, And Now You're Even Older, Redux
Life's unexpected challenges lead this author to spend a week living at an assisted/independent living facility with no WiFi. Again. The first time, last summer, was originally written about below.
Note: though this was originally written in June 2022, it’s very relevant today. I spent the past week taking care of my 80 year old aunt with moderate dementia at her assisted living facility, 6 hours away from where I live. I got a call that she was taken to the hospital on Feb. 5 and it was discovered she had a compound fracture of the L1 vertebra. As mobility is a requirement for residency — it’s minimally assisted living — I decided to move in with her in her tiny studio room and be her caregiver until she improved enough to mostly get around on her own.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time I needed to do this. The first time is told below. This second (and hopefully last) time will get the Earworm and Song Loop treatment just as soon as I find my bearings. And about 20 hours of sleep.
Both experiences are loosely tied to a more than 3 year delay to see one of my all-time favorite bands, They Might Be Giants, in concert, playing their classic album Flood in it’s entirety. A concert that is —fingers and toes and ankles crossed— expected to finally happen April 16th, 2023.
And welcome to all new E&SL subscribers! I try not to reach into the archives for these too often but life has other ideas sometimes!
In February of 2020, I purchased tickets to see one of my favorite bands, They Might Be Giants, in concert at The Fox Theater in Oakland, California. The show was scheduled for October 9, later that year.
I probably don’t need to explain the obvious and inform you that this show did not happen.
When the U.S. shut down in mid-March of 2020, it didn’t take long for all live concerts to either be postponed or cancelled. At the time, it seemed reasonable to expect that by October, eight long-long-long months after the quarantine began, clubs and concert halls would reopen. Sadly, this would not be the case.
As we now know, the pandemic only worsened, mutating into even more deadly strains. The panacea of hope in the form of a vaccine was still many months away.
In late September 2020, I received an email from Ticketmaster announcing that the TMBG show would be postponed to 6/5/21. Surely by then things would return to normal, right? Wrong. The concert would once again be postponed, this time to 4/30/22.
I bet you’re chomping at the bit to ask me questions about that April, 2022 show.
Like, did they play “Birdhouse In Your Soul” from their amazing third album, Flood? What about “I Palindrome I” from Apollo 18?
Unfortunately, a little thing called Omicron and its highly transmissible variants put the kibosh on that date too.
But the show was postponed, not cancelled, and a new and improved date of 4/16/2023 was announced in an email festooned with promise and hope.
That’s 3 years and 2 months from the time I originally bought the tickets to the potential reality of attending the show. Sure, I’ll have aged from my early 50s to my late 50s in the interim and I’ll likely need new custom earplugs by then, BUT IT’LL BE WORTH IT!!!
Absence making the heart grow fonder and all that.
If I hadn’t already seen TMBG perform half a dozen times already, I might be taking this much harder. After all — the two Johns (Flansburgh and Linnell) didn’t cancel the tour. Unlike so many bands and artists, TMBG was clearly determined to find a way to keep the ball rolling. Surely, surely, (stop calling me Shirley) nothing would get in the way of this April 2023 show, right?
I’m not trying to minimize Mr. Flansburgh’s pain and long road to recovery, and I’m not usually one to believe in curses or bad mojo, but it’s kind of hard not to feel that some benevolent force is trying to keep me from seeing They Might Be Giants again.
Damnit, I told myself I wasn’t going to make this about me. This is not about me. Nope, not about me. I mean, I can’t complain about my own aging when John would have been in his 50s at the time of the original show date and now he’s probably gonna be in his mid 60s when it finally happens!
So I’ll focus instead on sending loving-kindness and healing vibes to John, who clearly, desperately wants to play live music again. I mean, some people heal super quick and are back on tour after a major injury in no time. I don’t see why this can’t be the case for a 62 year old rock star carrying a few extra pounds. And with the communal energy of a dedicated, world-wide TMBG fanbase, I just know John will be gracing the Fox Theater in Oakland in no time.
(update: Flansburgh has indeed recovered nicely, and, the TMBG Flood tour is now in its 3rd sold-out month! Yay!)
Last week, when I awoke with the TMBG song “Older” stuck in my head, I figured it was my dark (and darkly humorous) subconscious responding to the previous 7 days spent at my aunt’s assisted living facility in Southern California.
I’ve been my aunt Arlene’s main caretaker, durable power of attorney and advocate for the past 3 years. She’d been living alone in a mobile home park for more than 20 years, and although fiercely independent her whole life, was exhibiting increasing signs of dementia and was forgetting to take, and taking improperly, her diabetes medications. In the summer of 2020, she’d been rushed to the hospital, her blood sugars in the 300s along with a pesky urinary tract infection. The doctor said to me in no uncertain terms that my aunt could no longer live alone. So I hired a live-in caregiver.
This was during the height of the pandemic so moving her to an assisted living facility was not an option. Stories of COVID ravaging senior-citizen facilities were all over the news. Also, Arlene was not open in the slightest to having that discussion even if the pandemic didn’t exist.
Speed ahead to March of 2021. Eva, my aunt’s saintly caregiver, has been living at my aunt’s home for six months. I’d been giving Eva four-day breaks every few weeks, driving down from my home in Oakland, but my increasingly agitated and suspicious aunt was at her wits end.
“I’m ready for assisted living now,” she said to me over the phone her voice less resigned than determined. She was finally vaccinated, and senior living facilities were much safer. “It’s either that or slit my wrists.”
“Let’s try assisted living first,” I said.
On June 1, 2021, I moved my aunt into Hillcrest, where she’d have a single studio with a balcony, a kitchenette and a view of the Santa Monica mountains.
I was worried my aunt would not do well in a communal atmosphere, as she’d always been, if not anti-social, fairly intolerant of the majority of humans. But from day one at Hillcrest, Arlene fit right in. She attended chair yoga classes, went to Friday Shabbat services, and soon developed several solid friendships.
Unfortunately, due to her dementia, she was unable to utilize the free shuttle to doctor appointments as she could no longer navigate her way around buildings. So I drove down from the Bay Area a few times a year to take her to various doctor visits.
Which is what I was doing ten days ago: taking her to the dentist to get her dentures repaired, to the nephrologist to discuss her high kidney levels, and to get her second vaccine booster. Everything went smoothly. Too smoothly. One hour before heading back to Oakland, I received a call from Hillcrest. Arlene had been on a group walk and fell and hurt her knee. Could I come take her to the emergency room?
After ten hours at the Kaiser emergency it was determined nothing was broken; she’d just badly bruised her knee. But my aunt could not put weight on her right leg and so had to be transported in a wheelchair. And since Hillcrest is an ambulatory assisted living facility, they could not offer the kind of care Arlene needed. So I essentially became my aunt’s roommate/caregiver. Helping her to the dining room for meals, getting her to the bathroom, changing her clothes, you name it.
It was stressful and exhausting, but the amazing thing about my aunt is that for the most part she goes with the flow. I’d wheel her out to the garden patio after breakfast and we’d lounge in the sun along with several of the other residents. Instead of the usual one minute “hi, how are you?’ greetings on my prior visits, this time I had the great pleasure of hanging out with them several hours a day.
I got to know Lorraine, a New York Jew in her early 90s who told vivid, detailed stories about her 35 year old husband who was preparing to take her away to live her last years in Hawaii “any day now.” There was red-headed Kate, opining about how women are clearly the stronger sex because men always die first. She explained to me that of the 120 residents at Hillcrest, the reason more than 100 of them were women was because they outlive the men.
Kate is never not by Lorraine’s side (“We’re the Bobsie Twins!” Lorraine cried out proudly when I mentioned this), and she never corrects Lorraine’s constantly shifting stories.
Then there are Joanie and Len, another Hillcrest couple (though my aunt claims that they’re not sleeping together—I don’t ask how she knows this). Len always wears a blue Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap pulled down to the top of his bifocal glasses. When he sits, he slumps, his big belly propelled forward Buddha-like. He always appears to be sleeping, but if someone makes a comment about him, he’ll usually grumble something sarcastic to let people know he can hear them.
Joanie is from England and is the most world-travelled of the bunch. She’d only been in the U.S. for a couple years before coming to Hillcrest. An avid gardener, Joanie can often be found pruning the rose bushes despite the gardening staff wishing she wouldn’t.
During my week at Hillcrest talking with the residents, not once did anyone bring up the topic of getting older or of aging. At least not in a negative way. (The above video is about the only aging talk I can recall.) Though we did discuss eye-sight.
I remarked at how impressive it was that very few of the residents wore glasses. “It’s cause we don’t spend our time staring into those tiny devices,” Joanie opined. I had to agree with her. It took great effort for me to not pull my iPhone out every few minutes to check email or texts.
After a couple days at Hillcrest, I began to feel less like a visitor or a caregiver and more like a resident. I looked forward to the afternoon chats with my aunt and my new lady pals (And Len too.) No one was in a hurry. I seemed to be the only one who noticed that conversations might repeat themselves. Or maybe people were aware but just didn’t give a shit.
At dinner on the third night, Betty, one of the ladies at the table behind where my aunt sat, had “happy birthday” balloons tied to her chair. “I’m 92!” she announced proudly when one of the other folks asked. Everyone had a full glass of red wine and we cheered and sang Happy Birthday. “Last year, when I turned 100,” Lina, a petite Romanian woman seated next to me announced, “I drank an entire bottle of wine.” I think she might have been close to repeating the achievement that night.
By day four, after a few PT exercise sessions, my aunt Arlene was able to put some weight on her right leg. I worked with her to begin using her walker again independently. That was my goal before heading home: making sure my aunt could get around with her walker unassisted.
I saw how happy my aunt was at Hillcrest. She told me all the time. After a tough first year of the pandemic, living alone, her mental and physical health deteriorating, she had found her new home. She had made new friends, had activities to attend.
At the most recent Shabbat service, the topic of discussion was gratitude. People went around the room telling one or two things they were grateful for. When my aunt spoke, she said she was grateful for the opportunity to live at Hillcrest and for all the new friends she has made.
Hearing her say these words, seeing my aunt so genuinely happy, made all the nights sleeping in a recliner, all the hours spent scheduling multiple doctor appointments with Kaiser, all the times wiping her ass, feel completely worth it.
But wait, there’s more! Part two of this crazy adventure of a middle-aged man living in assisted living with his aunt will hit your inboxes and webospheres soon!
I would love to know your stories of taking care of elderly family members (or the not-so-elderly) and challenges faced. Did any music help you get through those tough times?
And what are your feelings on They Might Be Giants? Have a favorite song?
Share in the comments! I’d love to hear from you.
Cheers!
Thanks once again for another spectacular story straight from the heart. Funny, warm, inspirational, thoughtful …. Perfect!!
Awww you’re a good man for taking such amazing care of your aunt ❤️