The sandwich you never ordered but you have to eat
I keep seeing this beautiful poem by Amy Kay pop up on my Instagram feed. I can picture the scene as clearly as if she had shared a photograph; four women sitting around a table at an Italian restaurant, soft lighting casting a warm glow over highlighted hair, perfectly made up faces, strands of spaghetti and glasses of red wine. There is laughter, the air is warm and inviting, the love is thick and enveloping. The women I picture are much younger than me and I remember those dinners with the rose coloured tint that passing time adds to almost any situation.
I still meet up with my friends, but now we usually meet for coffee or breakfast. Nights are, well honestly they are at the wrong time of day. We meet at places where there is easy parking, enough light and not a lot of ambient noise. The highlights in our hair no longer amplify the tone, they merely cover the grey. We drink coffee with milk alternatives that won’t bloat us or irritate our lactose intolerance. We eat foods that are ‘good for us’ and easy to digest. There is laughter but there is also moaning, the air is too warm and sometimes irritation is just below the surface - not for each other but for where we are in life. If I had the skill of Amy Kay I would write it something like this.
They’re alive but barely / they are lonely / a hip replacement has been scheduled/ she can’t use the computer / he doesn’t want to get out of bed/ her eyes are failing and so are her ears / he refuses to use a hearing aid / I’m avoiding getting into bed/ I can’t wear a jumper even in the middle of winter / I say things to my husband that I don’t mean / I’m so FUCKING angry / my skin doesn’t fit me anymore / don’t ask after the kids - they aren’t children anymore.
We are the meat in the sandwich generation, surrounded by old, needy parents on one side and grown up and far less needy children on the other.
It’s not the sandwich I ordered.
I wish my adult child needed me and my parents didn’t - although I know I wish this on a very surface level and deep inside I’m glad my child doesn’t need me like he used to - my only fear is that one day I will need him like my parents need me. And, not to take this sandwich/meat metaphor too far, we are not fresh meat - we are old and menopausal and hairy in all the wrong places. But we are not alone.
Sandwich by Catherine Newman is a book that feels like it was written just for us. It tells the story of Rocky, a woman holidaying in Cape Cod for a week with her husband, her adult children and, for part of the week, her parents. Rocky is “long married to a beautiful man who understands between twenty and sixty-five percent of everything she’s says. Her body is a wonderland. Or maybe her body is a satchel full of scars and secrets and menopause.”
It is laugh out loud funny and relatable and may be the only book where you read the words vaginal atrophy and nod your head and laugh.
It talks about how our relationships change as our children grow up and away, how we change as our bodies age and so does everything we once trusted to be true, it talks about the heartache of watching our parents age and lose capacity and it talks about all the stuff in-between. It’s a look at the week of one family that could be any of ours.
I think this quote from the book sums it up best “And this may be the only reason we were put on this earth. To say to each other, I know how you feel. To say, Same. To say, I understand how hard it is to be a parent, a kid."
It’s a great book, share it with every 50-something-year-old you know, so that they too feel seen.
LAUGHING
I saw this on Instagram the other day and spent ages in the comments just laughing out loud. I suggest you do the same. (I know I am not a millennial but this can be appreciated by gen x’ers or boomers or anyone else who once used to party and now likes to er, not party as much.)
EATING
Sticking to the sandwich theme, let me give you the best tip I know for making toasted cheese sandwiches that will change the game entirely. Spread MAYONNAISE on the outside of the bread before toasting/frying/grilling it (actually fry it in butter - you can thank me later). The mayonnaise makes the bread crispy and delicious and just ups the taste by 678%
Thanks for reading my thoughts, not balking at the words vaginal atrophy and for taking my book recommendations seriously.
Thanks for the recommendation. I finished it on audio book today. Very enjoyable … laughed out loud while out walking