Lifestyle

The time had come to make the change. Slow dial-up Internet was so 2005. Hello mobile broadband in 2007 – only slightly faster than dial-up. It was 2009 and time for me to have high speed Wi-Fi DSL at home. We started the process last November, assuming that it would be a simple installation–until we found out that our phone cable was too old and lacking the data capacity necessary for information transmittal. Kind of like me.

“They’re going to have to dig a trench and run a new phone cable up to the house,” Sam informed me, “and they may not be able to do it until spring.” My voyage on the information super-highway ended before it ever began, or so I thought. Bright orange flags appeared in the yard – a glimmer of hope for a fast-clicking online shopping spree.

A break in the weather allowed the cable installers to work their magic – and I could hear Etsy.com calling my name. The snow was falling as the two installers completed the job a few days before Christmas. If I was going to be snowed in, at least I would be able to blog about it.

Getting our laptops set up was rather challenging. That’s the word I chose to describe the process. I’ve blocked out the ugly moments and the cursing involved.

I was at the kitchen counter updating my Facebook status. I looked across the room and Mom was seated in her chair with headphones covering her ears listening to a book on my new Kindle e-book. On the counter beside me was my grandfather’s ancient Montgomery Ward transistor radio tuned to the local radio station so we could keep track of weather-related information. In that moment, my status as a member of the so-called “sandwich generation” became crystal clear:

My life is a generational, technological club sandwich.

Suddenly it seemed, every time I turned around, I’d see another “Life as a Sandwich” metaphor. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:

Some days, my routine seemed filled with meaningless tasks and unfulfilled expectations. Something was missing. I was sleep–walking through each day exerting only the bare minimum of effort.

On those days, my life was a lettuce sandwich.

Often I find myself immobilized by the fear of being exposed as a total fake – whether it be as a wife, mother, daughter, sister or friend. What others see is a mere façade – there’s nothing real about me at all.

On those days, I’m a pure bologna sandwich.

Some days I am rich in humor, dripping with sarcasm and short on patience.

On those days, I am a turkey on rye, hold the mustard.

In any given day I may be a problem-solver, writer, reader, mother, caregiver, financial adviser, business manager, toilet-bowl cleaner – a little bit of everything,

On those days, I’m a peanut butter and jelly with bacon, bananas, pickles and fried egg sandwich.

Okay, just one more: I love making people laugh – and often will push the limits of propriety, privacy and civility for a laugh.

You guessed it, I’m a ham sandwich.

But at least I’m not a French dip.

Somebody stop me. Please.