A New Year and a New Blog, together on the very same day

Good New Year, Anyone who might be reading!  This is my very first post to this blog, which is likely to be weirdly idiosyncratic--I hope it will also be interesting and at least sometimes thought-provoking.  The title comes from the "sandwich generation," of which I am a member with some serious credentials.
While I propose to explore a lot of different kinds of "sandwiches" (or inconsistencies/contradictions), in the course of writing this blog, my primary sandwich has me and my husband as filling.  We are hard-working people, baby-boomers, who came of age in the late 60's, married just out of college, and have stuck together ever since.  Our "bread," at this point, consists of our daughter, who is 38, lives with us, and has some challenging disabilities, and my father. He does not live with us but he is a strong influence in our lives.  To expand this introductory post, I'll begin with him--he is my history and a huge piece of the gateway to who I am.

I'm visiting him as I write this, beginning to confront the necessity of leaving tomorrow to return home to the other parts of my sandwich (I promise not to belabor the metaphor unduly, but it is new and I am fond of it).  We were just sitting at the table and I, having finished quickly as always (piggy, piggy) was watching him eat.  He has changed in some ways since my mother died, some six years ago.  He keeps cereal boxes on the table where he eats now, something she would not have tolerated for a minute, even when she was old and a little dotty.  He spears his sausage and takes a bite, instead of cutting it with his fork and spearing the bite or lifting it properly--she would not have tolerated that too much, either.  I have nothing to say about either of these things, since this is not my house and I save any daughterly nagging for more important things.
Mainly, of course, he has gotten older--last month he turned 100.  He still lives on his own, drives to the nearby market and town, gets his mail and paper (almost) daily, and thinks in terms of next season, next summer, next year.  He still tells stories of his childhood, youth, and working life with enthusiasm and dry wit.  He still enjoys good food, although he is no longer really interested in creating it.  He is still detail-oriented at times--at other times incredibly (to me) passive about things that I know would bother him if he noticed or thought about them.  He is still kind, compassionate, easily frustrated, deeply caring, undemanding in the extreme, but now also somewhat stressed by the unknown and fearful of change.  He does NOT want to relocate and he does not really want help, but he is beginning to know he needs it.  Oh, yes--he lives 540 miles away from me in a small town in coastal Maine.
My departure will not be easy for either of us.