Nutrition, Memories, and Paying Attention

By David Mosdal

Welcome to the New Year.  Depending on your point of view, we are either going to see some welcome relief provided by our Local, State and Federal governments or we're screaming straight down to the gates of hell, like those really big roller coasters at Six Flags or Cedar Point.  And like one of those terrifying amusement park rides, that pull up at the last second, just to thrash us through more scary hooptie doos, the survival rate is astonishingly high.  Should we be doing more to make this ride less traumatic?  Well... Depends.

Here's what we can do today.  Over the course of this year, we are encouraged to explore how we are meeting and getting along with the aging process.  This issue will deal with our nutrition and I assume someone will generate a report card of sorts that we can pin to the wall to keep track of our progress (or lack thereof).  There are still a few businesses that hand out calendars and even putting a check mark in the corner of each day can give us something to look back on.   “Did I eat a sit-down meal today or just snack on the fly?  Did I share a meal with spouse or friends?  Do I have some daily routines as they relate to my nutrition?  Put it on your report card, but for Pete's sake, tell the truth.

Some of you may still remember my parents, Thelmer and Grace, who died at 90 and 91 years old.  They were pleased enough with their lives that letting go was the next logical step for themselves, their family and their friends.  In the 1990's they purchased what I called “Nursing home insurance”.  They faithfully made their monthly payments like their lives depended on it and when they were ready to leave the farm and “move to town” we helped them find a suitable assisted living home and ultimately a memory care facility.  I asked them one spring day if they'd like to go for a drive and look at the crops, but they declined, saying they were happy enough to stay where they were.  (They were sometimes restless or frustrated but more often they were able to find joy and contentment in visiting and sharing stories with those around them).  We tried to visit them or speak on the phone with them at least weekly and I have to say that  nutritionally, they were better off.

During their last years on the farm, one of our sons, and his family, lived a half mile away.  Our daughter and her family were four miles down the road and we lived in Broadview, about five and a half miles from their house.  We all provided occasional meals for them and checked in on them regularly.  Every week my wife Cheryl and I would take them to the Community Center for our weekly Senior lunch. 

Somewhere in that time frame my parents stopped driving.  My Dad gave up his drivers license when he could no longer pass the vision test. (When he told the examiner that his machine didn't seem to be working correctly is when we learned more about macular degeneration).  From then on, we were their transportation service.  Dad liked a solo ride to Costco for groceries and my Mom was happy to stay home and busy herself with writing and keeping up with cards and letters and funny faxes to friends all across the Nation.

Gradually, after more trips to Costco with Grandpa, our family members started to take note of my Dad's increasing fondness for Oreo cookies.  After some casual investigation, we all concluded, evidenced by uneaten meals, left aging in the refrigerator for a “special occasion”, that things were changing.  My Mom, a tiny wisp of a woman, had basically retired from the notion of regularly preparing meals.  Her idea of a meal could put the average mouse to shame.  My Dad, not wanting to embarrass my mother, had turned Oreo cookies into a separate food group that he would supplement with a Costco sized bag of jerky.  So eventually, we had “the talk” and my parents, who only moved two times in their sixty-some years of marriage, moved one last time.  Bless 'em.

Here's one of my favorite stories about my folks.  Grandpa wasn't driving any more due to his deteriorating eyesight.  Grandma was driving and talking, as was her habit, through downtown.  There were three stoplights in a row and at the first light Grandpa thought she sailed through a red light.  He didn't say anything.  At the next intersection she zoomed through what he was pretty sure was another red light.  He still didn't say anything.  She hadn't stopped talking.  At the next intersection he knew that light was red and in exasperation he blurted out, “Grace! Do you realize you just drove through three red lights?” To which she replied, “Oh?  Was I driving?   The morale of these tales is that if you notice pronounced changes in your habits, it may warrant further study.

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