Touring Assisted Living: I Have Questions—and I’d Like to See the Menu
I’ve been scheduling visits to assisted living facilities for my mother. After two strokes and her current stay in skilled nursing, I want to help her find somewhere she feels comfortable, supported, and happy to live.
There’s a lot to ask about. A nice lobby is lovely, but my mother won’t be living next to the decorative vase by the front door.
I want to know what daily life actually looks like.
Who is available when she needs help, including overnight? How do they support her mobility and help with everyday tasks? How are medications handled? What happens if her needs change?
I also want a clear explanation of the cost. What’s included in the monthly price, and what costs extra? I’d prefer to discover the additional charges before they become a recurring surprise.
I’m also asking about activities, transportation, visitors, and how residents spend their time. Can Mom make choices about her day? Who do I contact with a concern, and how do they communicate with families?
And as I walk around, I want to pay attention to how people interact. Are staff members taking time to listen? Do residents seem comfortable asking for things? I want to picture my mother actually living there.
Then we get to the most important item on my personal tour agenda.
The food.
Yes, I have questions about staffing and care. I also have questions about the chicken.
I’d Like to Schedule a Tasting
My mother says she’s a picky eater.
Her reviews of the food at the hospitals and now the facility support that. The current place was supposed to have good food, according to the Google reviews.
Mom has apparently declined to join the consensus.
Somewhere, a glowing review of a meal is waiting for my mother to discuss with the author.
So I had a thought: people do tastings before weddings. Why wouldn’t I ask to taste the food before helping Mom choose somewhere she’ll eat every day?
A wedding dinner is one meal. This is a much longer commitment to somebody’s mashed potatoes.
As I schedule these visits, I’ve been asking whether they can have food available for me to try—and something I can take back to Mom.
I can look at the room, ask about the services, and review the costs. But I’m not volunteering to approve six months of lunches on her behalf without bringing her a sample.
I have enough responsibilities. Becoming the defendant in Mom v. The Meatloaf does not need to be another one.
Please Don’t Make Anything Special
One place asked whether there was something special they should make.
I appreciate the offer. But I’m not asking for Hell’s Kitchen. Nobody needs to summon Gordon Ramsay or explain the emotional journey behind a carrot.
I told one place: let me know what’s on the menu. If there’s a choice, I’ll choose from that. Please don’t do anything different.
I want the true experience.
If Tuesday lunch is turkey, rice, and green beans, that’s what I want to try. I want to know what Mom can expect on an ordinary day, after the tour is over and the welcome folder has been put away.
A special meal made just for my visit wouldn’t answer that question.
I’m also interested in what happens when she doesn’t like the scheduled meal. Are there alternatives? Can she choose something simple? How much flexibility is there?
Because “she’ll eat it when she gets hungry” is not a dining plan I’m looking to purchase.
Mom Gets a Vote—and a Fork
Plenty about this process feels serious, expensive, and emotionally exhausting. Food gives us something concrete to talk about—and, hopefully, something to laugh about.
It also matters to Mom. She’s told me that clearly, and I’m listening.
She’s already dealing with a lot of change. I want her to have meals she looks forward to, choices she feels good about, and a place at the table where she feels comfortable.
I’m not expecting every dish to become her new favorite. I would, however, like lunch to have a fighting chance.
So I’ll keep scheduling visits, asking questions, and looking closely at what each facility offers.
And I’ll be asking for a sample.
The brochure can tell me about the dining experience. Mom can tell me about the potatoes.
More Than a Visit: Prosthetics, Pets, and Another Conversation
This morning, on my way to see my mom in the facility gym, I passed my friend—the woman who had already given me the rundown on burgers and sweet tea.
Today, I got to learn a little more.
She told me her son had a toe amputated in 2022 and is on his fourth prosthetic. I’m on my fourth, too. His socket has a dragon on it. Mine has a New York Yankees logo.
Different approaches to intimidation.
When I first stopped to talk with her, I couldn’t have guessed we would eventually find that connection. But that’s what I’m enjoying about these conversations: I keep learning something I didn’t know about the person in front of me.
There was also a chocolate Lab named Maverick in one of the business offices. I don’t know his official job title, but I’m comfortable assuming he’s in management.
That led to learning about the cats and dogs my friend has had over the years. There were enough that I can’t remember them all for this post. I would have needed a notebook, a family tree, and possibly Maverick’s administrative assistance.
Yesterday, I wrote about making time to visit and listen. This morning, I got to continue the conversation.
I’m starting to know this woman beyond the fact that we happen to be in the same room. I know where she likes her sweet tea. I know a little about her son. I know we have something in common that I never would have discovered by simply saying hello and walking past.
And now I know she has a lifetime of pet stories.
My mother’s recovery is what brings me into that facility. Along the way, I’m getting to know other people whose lives are unfolding there, too.
I don’t remember every detail. Thankfully, I don’t think friendship comes with a quiz.
But I’m glad I stopped. I’m glad she had more to tell me. And the woman I first described as another resident is now someone I call my friend.
From Tau Epsilon Phi to Ska: My Fraternity Brother Goon Is Still Making Noise
I’ve forgotten some things from college.
Classes. Professors. What I was supposed to be studying. And probably more than a few nights that are better left in the 1980s.
But I haven’t forgotten my fraternity brothers.
Back at The City College of New York, I was a member of Tau Epsilon Phi, Phi Chi Chapter. Like any respectable fraternity, we had pledge names—and some were considerably more memorable than others.
One of my fraternity brothers received the distinguished, dignified, and undoubtedly well-deserved pledge name:
Alice the Goon.
I’ve always just called him Goon.
All these years later, Goon is still making noise—except now people actually want to hear it.
He’s part of The Phensic, a ska band.
And somehow, that seems completely appropriate.
If you had asked me back during my CCNY days what someone named Alice the Goon would be doing decades later, playing in a ska band probably would have made my Top 10.
Maybe even the Top 5.
If you’re into ska, check out The Phensic. And if you’re not familiar with ska, this might be a good excuse to discover something different.
You can listen to their music here:
One thing I appreciate more as I get older is looking back at the people I knew during those college years and seeing where life took us all.
We’re older.
Hopefully, we’re wiser.
The hair situation has definitely changed for some of us. In my case, I decided hair was apparently an unnecessary luxury.
But those fraternity memories and connections are still there.
So, from one Tau Epsilon Phi, Chi Chapter brother to another:
Keep making noise, Goon.
And if you like ska—or want to hear what one of my fraternity brothers has been up to—check out The Phensic!
The Power of Attorney Is Signed: Welcome to My Real-Life Version of The Traitors
Well, we have an update.
If you read my previous post about caring for my mother, money, control, and family boundaries, you know we’ve had some difficult conversations about what happens next.
My mother has made her wishes known. I’ve been working on making sure those wishes are heard and respected.
Now, there’s a new development:
I have a signed South Carolina Power of Attorney.
Yep.
The paperwork is signed.
The next step?
I need to give my father a copy.
And then we see what happens.
Previously, on NielFlamm.com...
In the last episode, my father and I had some very different views about my mother's money and how it should be used for her care.
When I asked about accessing information concerning money she had earned and saved, I heard:
“I’ll think about it.”
Later, I heard:
“Prove it.”
Well, I didn't exactly set out to turn this into a cliffhanger, but here we are.
The Power of Attorney is signed.
Now comes the part where I hand him a copy.
Cue dramatic music.
This Isn't 90 Day Fiancé
I've been trying to figure out exactly what kind of reality show my life has become.
It's definitely not 90 Day Fiancé.
Nobody is getting a rose, so The Bachelor is out.
I'm thinking we're getting closer to a real-life version of The Traitors.
We've got family.
We've got money.
We've got disagreements.
We've got questions about who controls what.
We've got people wondering what someone else will do next.
And we've got me standing in the middle of it thinking:
How did I get cast in this show?
Unfortunately, unlike reality television, nobody yells “CUT!” and sends everyone back to their trailers.
This is real life.
What Happens Next?
That's the interesting part.
I don't know.
I'm going to give my father Power of Attorney and see what happens next.
Maybe the document changes the conversation.
Maybe it doesn't.
Let’s move forward with figuring out my mother's finances and how her resources can support the care she wants.
Maybe we're headed for another episode.
Whatever happens, my objective remains the same: listen to my mother and advocate for what she wants.
The Power of Attorney isn't the finish line. It's another step in a much bigger process.
Stay Tuned
So that's today's update.
South Carolina Power of Attorney: signed.
Copy for Dad: next.
Dad's reaction: TBD.
And apparently, that's my teaser for the next episode.
Keep coming back to NielFlamm.com/blog because I have a feeling this story isn't finished.
Forget 90 Day Fiancé.
Forget The Bachelor.
Welcome to my real-life version of The Traitors.
Except there's no cash prize at the end.
Just family, paperwork, boundaries, and hopefully doing what's best for Mom.
Stay tuned.
They’re Back! Apparently I Paid $450 for Another Mystery Subscription
It’s been a little while, but apparently my scam social calendar is back in action.
For those who haven’t been following along, I’ve received some interesting emails over the past few months. According to my inbox, I’ve bought Bitcoin, renewed Geek Squad protection—more than once—and even had a watch repaired that I never sent anywhere.
Today, we return to an old favorite:
The Facebook Event Invitation Scam.
This time, “Brooke Alexandra” has invited me to an exciting event called:
“Your Subscription Payment of $450 was Paid. Your Order ID#663028”
Well, Brooke, thank you for the invitation.
Unfortunately, I have absolutely no idea what I supposedly subscribed to.
Going, Maybe, or Can’t Go?
My favorite part of these scams is still Facebook’s event format.
I’ve supposedly just discovered an unauthorized $450 PayPal transaction, and immediately underneath this alarming news, I’m asked:
Tell them if you can make it.
My choices?
Going.
Maybe.
Can’t Go.
Decisions, decisions.
I’m going with Can’t Go.
Not because I have another commitment. I try not to attend celebrations for fraudulent purchases.
Meet Bill, My Apparently Very Generous Alter Ego
The description gets even better.
It says:
“Bill has paid $450 for a subscription using your Pay_Pal account from an unknown seller IP.”
Who is Bill?
I have no idea.
Bill, please stop spending my imaginary money.
The message then provides a phone number and tells me to call if I don’t recognize the seller.
And then comes my favorite instruction:
“Please do not copy the number, type it manually to call.”
Oh, absolutely.
I'm not comfortable trusting a financial alert that asks me to type a phone number manually.
That’s practically the international symbol for:
“Nothing suspicious happening here!”
Meta Is Literally Warning Me
As with the previous versions, there’s an important message sitting prominently near the top:
“Warning: This event invitation was not sent by Meta. Please be cautious when clicking on links or providing personal information.”
That deserves more attention than the scary $450 headline.
The formula hasn’t changed much:
Create an alarming transaction.
Use a recognizable brand name like PayPal.
Please let me know if my account may have been compromised.
Give me a telephone number.
Please create urgency so I call before I stop to think.
And package everything inside a Facebook event invitation so the resulting notification looks more familiar.
The Scam Has One Big Problem
If my PayPal account really has a mysterious $450 transaction, I don’t need Brooke Alexandra—or Bill—to help me investigate it.
I can go directly to PayPal through its official app or website and check my account.
The same rule applies to suspicious emails claiming to come from a bank, credit card company, retailer, Geek Squad, or practically anyone else.
Don’t let the suspicious message tell you how to verify the suspicious message.
Verify it independently.
And don’t call a mystery number just because someone put “PayPal” next to it.
My Imaginary Spending Spree Continues
So let’s add another purchase to the growing list.
Bitcoin? ✔️
Mystery subscriptions? ✔️
Geek Squad? ✔️
Watch repair? ✔️
Another mystery $450 subscription? ✔️
At this point, the person living inside my spam folder has a considerably more exciting financial life than I do.
I’m just disappointed that after all this imaginary spending, nobody has emailed me to say I’ve purchased a beachfront condo in Thailand.
Scammers, if you’re reading this, at least make the next fake purchase interesting.
Have a Scam Story? Send It My Way
Now I want to hear what’s landing in your inbox.
If you’ve received a scam email, suspicious text, social media message, fake invoice, questionable refund notice, or something that made you think, “There is no way this is legitimate,” send it to me.
Please send me your screenshots and let me know what happened. I may feature some of them in future posts as we look at the creative—and sometimes hilariously bad—ways scammers try to separate people from their money.
Please remove or cover passwords, account numbers, addresses, phone numbers, or other sensitive personal information before sending screenshots.
Maybe it’s time to turn my scam collection into our scam collection.
And until then, Brooke...
Can’t Go.