I’m currently part of what is referred to as the “Sandwich Generation”.  My father is in assisted living and I have one of my daughters unemployed living at home, a boomerang.

People think assisted living is pretty awesome, and it is for the most part.  I wasn’t truly aware of how much “assisting” I would have to do, but in the grand scheme of things it’s not that challenging.  The expense is exorbitant and increases exponentially a couple of times a year.  That is not something I was expecting although it’s what is happening with healthcare and I suppose this could be very loosely considered healthcare.  There’s a nurse on duty every day but for the most part people enter assisted living because they can no longer live alone.

I really am starting to think the “Squeeze” generation is a more appropriate term.  Every 6 months the expenses go up another 10 to 20% and we are long past what my father’s income is. Being self employed gives you the luxury (or fear) of knowing just where you stand financially.  It also allows you to see into the future a little ways.  I don’t have to worry about job security but I’m also well aware that my income will probably stay where it is for the foreseeable future.

In the back of our minds (and coming to the forefront) is the idea that Dad may have to live with me in the near future.  It’ll be more like me living with him because he will have to live in Rowe.  The logistics of this are challenging in part due to the isolation of this little town.  This is a difficult situation with someone who is limited in their mobility, it’s not like he willingly goes for rides or even leaves his house.  Everyone needs some sort of  human interaction and there just isn’t a lot available.  I’m working on a solution, but the anxiety sometimes gets the best of me.

This is when I weave, knit, hook, something.  This is what keeps me sane in an insane world, my world.  As long as my hands are busy I can think about ways to make it all work.  Or I can just lose myself in the rhythm of weaving or knitting or hooking – and feel the fiber running through my fingers.  There is nothing that calms my spirit more.