Mid Life Celebration

He's Really A Trusted Partner

I’m honored to be included in Jeff’s blog, and I’d like to get your help with something.

Most of us arrived at adulthood with the idea that we were in charge of our own lives, and that as adults, we could do things our own way.  We operate with this thought in mind until reality comes along and reminds us that we can’t defy the laws on nature.  It’s during these “midlife moments” that we wake up and realize that we’re not as invincible as we once thought we were, and that we can’t afford to put off the things that are really important.

Here an example of what I’m talking about.  I’ve always been very proud of my youthful appearance.  I inherited it from my two very youthful parents.  Although both of my parents are in their seventies, they are both still very active and look much younger than their years.

For a long time, I thought of this as my genetic curse.  When I was in college, people thought I still looked like a kid, and they treated me accordingly.   In the early stages of my career, I felt like I wasn’t taken seriously because I didn’t look experienced enough.  Later, however, I came to see this youthful appearance as a blessing.  I went to a 20-year class reunion and was struck by how much everyone in my class had aged.  It sounds conceited, but I left that reunion saying to myself, “Damn, I look good!”

But the good times can’t last forever.  One thing I had become accustomed to was being carded.  I don’t buy alcohol very often, but when I do, I was used to having the clerk say, “Can I see some ID?”  So I’ll never forget that moment when I was buying a bottle of wine to take to a party…and the clerk forgot to ask to see my driver’s license.  I thought to myself, “This girl is really off her game, of course I need to be carded.”  So I opened my wallet and said, “Don’t you want to see my ID?”

She smiled at me weakly, and said, “Uh…sure.”  And at that moment, it hit me:  I guess I don’t look 21 anymore.  She might as well have said, “Oh yeah, of course I want to see your ID…old man!”  Because in that moment, that’s how it felt to me.

Even though the moment was a blow to my ego, I still think I look damn good for my age.  I just don’t expect to get carded anymore.  And that’s okay by me.

What are some of your most memorable examples of “mid-life moments?”  I’d like to hear from you!  Please send your favorite midlife moments to Jeff as a comment or email and we’ll share the most intriguing ones here on Mid Life Celebration.  Want some thought-starters?  Here are a few:

*The day you went from being addressed as “Miss” to “Ma’am”
*The day someone commented on how “distinguished” you look
*The day you realized you couldn’t read the fine print anymore

Looking forward to hearing from you!

Springtime

Happy Sunday and welcome back Lorie Sheffer, our regular Guest Blogger here at Mid Life Celebration. If you missed Lorie’s post last week, it’s because she was over at Lane 8.  Take it away Lorie:

“What’s too painful to remember, we simply choose to forget.” Remember those lyrics? That is actually pretty good advice. How many of us carry around baggage from things that happened in our childhood, early twenties, or even our not so distant past? It seems like we have somehow been conditioned to think that it is good for us to dredge up old hurts. I suppose in a way it can be cathartic, but if we don’t find a way to let go and move on, we allow the past to invade the present. Spring, and midlife, is a good time to clean house. Not just our physical homes, but also our minds. If it’s not serving a purpose, if it is dragging us down, then maybe we should just let it go.

I very recently lost a person who meant a great deal to me. She was not only a family member she was also my dear friend. We always suspected that there was a reason we were never invited into either of her homes. She always came to us, and we loved her unconditionally so we never questioned her. She was kind and loving and incredibly intelligent. And she had a secret. That secret was that she had severe hoarding issues. Her death reveled to us the depth of her condition. She couldn’t let go of things. She lay alone for a week after her death, in a pile of things. Detectives found us because she had stacks of letters and cards sent to her by my children, my grandchild, and me and we were traced through the return address labels. As we stood there on a cold February day, the snow falling outside of her Manhattan apartment building, the grief was almost unbearable. The material things that she couldn’t let go of were clearly visible. We could see them. The hundreds of leftover containers, all painstakingly washed; the clothing from decades ago; the receipts from every purchase made since she was a young woman.  The things I was unable to let go of weren’t visible; I could keep my secrets hidden. When I pass from this earth, they will pass with me. But carrying around emotional junk from the past is no less incapacitating than the mountain of things that had consumed her. The things she kept represented good memories for her, while the things I hung on to caused me to have panic attacks and anxiety. So who had the mental disorder?

At least once in our lives, we are disappointed and hurt by someone we love. Parents unintentional or intentional hurts; the best friend who lets us down or isn’t there for us when we need them the most; the boyfriend or spouse who betrays us. We see it in the news every day. The misfortunes and embarrassments of the rich and famous have become a form of entertainment for us. Schadenfreude is a German word, which means happiness at the misfortune of others; taking pleasure watching someone else suffer; the “I’m glad I’m not you” syndrome.

Letting go of pain and hurt is not condoning or excusing the person who inflicted it. Forgiveness is not for the person who caused the harm; it is for the person who was hurt. If we hang on to pain and heartache, we only continue to give it power over us. We can’t change what has already transpired, we can only decide how much we will allow it to affect us at this moment. Ask yourself if knowing or remembering is going to help you or hurt you. If a dog is known to bite then remembering that is going to help you. If grandpa has been dead for twenty years and someone decides that you “need to know” that he was on the ugly side of racial tensions in 1960s, then that serves no purpose other than to give you a horrifying memory of someone who you thought was a good person.

Clean your house. Get rid of the clutter you don’t need. It can obstruct your vision of the beautiful things that deserve a special place. If it’s too painful to remember, then toss it. When we drove out of New York City that day, I decided to leave my baggage there.

Ever have days where weird things happen?  Of course, right?  What I’m really asking is, “What do you do with your weird events? Do you dismiss them, or look for some meaning in them?”

Couple weird things yesterday:

1. Moved Sunday’s Guest Blogger (Lorie Sheffer) post to Lane 8
2. Ran my first 5k as a 50-year old.

Lorie Sheffer has been a regular Guest Blogger here at Mid Life Celebration for some time. It feels weird not seeing her here today. She has a great post at the next blog.

And it was really weird to receive a plaque reading, “Male Masters Overall Winner”, at yesterday’s Run Among The Lakes 5k. Wasn’t even a goal.

Are you pushing yourself?

Feels Weird

Can't Possibly Be Gary Skiing The Alps

This is the third and final part to Lorie and Gary Sheffer’s amazing story of faith, hope, determination, indomitable will, and especially, Love.  Yes, it really sounds to me like a love story. Gary and Lorie passed the test we’d all like to pass, but wouldn’t want to take. Take it away Lorie:

One day a therapist asked the rehab group what their goals were. For one lady it was to be able to go shopping with her daughter, for another it was to make her own lunch, and for one of the men it was to be able to balance his checkbook. When Gary’s turn rolled around, he said his goal was to recover 100%. He wanted to ski, to in line skate, to run, and to return to his job as an engineer. It was around this time that I was taken aside and it was suggested to me that he might need some psychological counseling to help him come to terms with the reality of his situation. I said thank you, but I would rather work with him to reach those goals. Then they suggested counseling for me as well.

Three months after his stroke, I was running along side of Gary around a high school track. The fact that I ran for two miles still amazes us both most of all. We soon learned how insensitive and rude people can be when they see someone with a disability. I choose not to waste space discussing some of what we encountered.

After six months, Gary was able to return to his job. During his absence, they had gotten a new computer aided design system, so he had something new to learn in addition to trying to resume his old duties. Learn it he did. He got back up to speed and received a good performance review from his boss. When he was discharged from HealthSouth, he was still not satisfied with his recovery. Also, ski season was just around the corner. I made good on the promise I had made in the shock trauma unit on the day of his stroke; I got out my skies and we headed to the slopes. Less than a year after the brain hemorrhage, Gary took his first run down a beginner slope. One year to the day after, we took both of our kids out of school and spent the day skiing the slopes where the AVM had burst. Still, he was not satisfied. He went to another physical therapy facility and worked with them for another two years. They discharged him, but he was still not ready to quit. He found a neurological disorders therapy specialist at Johns Hopkins, Bayview Medical Center. She explained that neurological disorders can’t be treated the same as orthopedic injuries. Gary has been seeing her every three weeks for the last nine years, and he is still making progress. He spends time each day working on exercises, most of which are designed to encourage proper body mechanics and automatic use. His motivation is what has gotten him to this point. On our most recent visit to Hopkins, his therapist got a bit misty eyed at the leap he had taken from the previous visit. She said that his gait was perfect. We know that he is pushing her to use all of her skills, and his successes are her successes as well.

Dreams reached: Walking, biking, skiing, speaking, understanding, working, seeing both kids graduate, having a grandchild, seeing our son get married, family vacations, back yard parties, holiday celebrations. My favorites? He now shovels and uses the snow blower, mows the lawn and washes our cars. Truth be told, I love this Gary even more than the person he was before the stroke. He is more patient and worries less about little things. He knows that although we were proud of his achievements, when they were all taken from him we still loved him for who he is and not what he did.

A few years ago, I sent a note to Gary’s neurosurgeon. I wanted to tell him that Gary had skied the Swiss Alps with our son, who is now attending the same medical school as Dr. Krzeminski himself had attended years ago. I enclosed a picture and let him know that anything is possible. I know when he saw that picture, he smiled.

Gary Sheffer, Indomitable Will

Mid Life Celebration is excited to have Guest Blogger, Lorie Sheffer return for the second in a three part series.  Lorie and her husband Gary, have an amazing and challenging story to share.  We can all benefit from this inspiration. Take it away Lorie:

Imagine if your dream changed from “skiing the Swiss Alps” to “being able to use the toilet without any help”, or “learning to count to 10 without making a mistake”. That is what happened to my husband after suffering his stroke.

On day one of getting his life back, Gary’s physical therapist let out a yelp of pure joy. “Feel these quads! WOW! I have something to work with!” In Gary’s case, no matter how he had taken care if himself, the bleed in his brain was inevitable. The tangle of blood vessels that made up the AVM had been there most likely since before he was born. AVMs happen in fetal development, and usually make their appearance known sometime between the twentieth and fiftieth year of life.

Because he had quit smoking over 10 years before, had skied, ridden his bike and ran, and was at a healthy weight, Gary stood a chance of recovery. The music lessons that his father refused to pay for are another protection. It seems that anything we do to strengthen our brain, learning new things, playing music, and speaking a second language all contribute to the strength and overall plasticity of our brain.

Still, Gary was in for the fight of his life, and statistically things were not in his favor.

He had trouble understanding what he was supposed to do. The therapists would show him, and then he would imitate their movements.  I stayed with him till late at night, helping him with daily self-care. He had to be held on the toilet by me, or he would have fallen off onto the floor. I had to sweep my finger into his mouth and remove the chunks of food that he couldn’t feel, something known as “pouching” food. I flossed his teeth and helped him into the shower. I learned to transfer him from wheelchair to toilet to shower chair to bed. It was humiliating for him to have me do those things, but I wanted to be comfortable assisting him so as not to be panicked when we got home.

He slowly went from wheelchair to wide based cane, from wide based cane to straight cane. His speech was slow to return. When a doctor asked him to draw the numbers as they appear on the face of a clock, Gary drew a smile face. Because of his paralysis, he was unable to feel the drool, which often ran from his slack mouth. In addition to his own trauma, we witnessed the sudden death of his roommate. We made friends with an 18 year old who had been in contention for being named high school valedictorian before a traffic accident left him in a 3 month long coma, part of his brain missing from the impact. Sometimes I would stop by a friend’s room to offer support, only to be told they had passed away. It seemed that Gary was determined to do it not just for himself, but for all of them. Six weeks after being admitted to full time inpatient rehabilitation, Gary was discharged to day rehab. He was going home. His one wish, to walk out the same door he had been wheeled into.

I was told that as the brain heals, strange emotional things could happen. And they most certainly did.

Gary would burst into tears at the oddest times. He would explode into fits of rage, most often directed at me. And yet we kept going. Recovery is so excruciatingly slow that it is easy to see why some people just give up. There are no guarantees how much recovery will be made, if any. It’s not like rehab on a knee replacement or a broken hip or a torn rotator cuff. Strokes can cause disability to so many different areas that it’s hard to even know where to start. What is fascinating about a brain injury is that all the parts are in perfect working order, but you can’t get them to move. The electrical system isn’t working. Now Gary’s dream was to figure out how to make his brain work again. Everyone was anxious to see how far he could go.

Gary And Lorie 1996

Lorie Sheffer returns for more of her midlife wisdom.  Take it away Lorie:

When people meet my husband, they think he is polite, friendly and rather quiet. While he is all of those things, he is also the single most driven person I have ever known. Never one to announce his dreams or his goals, he just goes about quietly and methodically checking them off of his “to do” list. In the 1960s, he was one of millions of teenagers who were struck with Beatle mania. He wanted to learn to play electric bass guitar, but his father saw music lessons as a waste of money. Gary found a cheap bass and taught himself to play by ear. He got so good that he was able to supplement this income through high school and college, and even into his adult years, by playing in local bands. In high school, he played football and his team became county champions. When he decided he wanted to become an engineer, he was told by guidance counselors that his math skills were too weak, and to consider another career. Five years later he graduated from Penn State with a degree in mechanical engineering. He skied for the first time at age 21, and by the time he was 26 he was a member of the National Ski Patrol. It seemed that nothing was out of his reach if he set his mind to it. And then, at the age of 44, the unimaginable happened. Everything was taken away in a matter of minutes.

February 11, 1996 was a glorious winter day in York County, Pennsylvania. Gary had recently mastered snowboarding, and was taking a few runs while his 11-year-old son was practicing with the ski-racing club on another ski slope. While boarding on a steep but otherwise unremarkable slope, Gary fell. For him, this was unusual but not cause for alarm. What did interest him, however, was his seeming inability to hold his right glove in his hand when he removed it. He boarded to the bottom of the slope and rode the lift back to the top, only to find that it was now difficult to push his boot into his binding. Clearly something was wrong, so he headed to the ski patrol building, where it soon became obvious to his fellow patrollers that something very serious was happening. That something turned out to be a massive hemorrhagic stroke, caused by a congenital arteriovenous malformation, or AVM. Over the course of the next few hours, Gary lost all sensation in the entire right half of his body, lost the ability to speak and understand language, was partially blind in his right eye, and suffered from complete right side paralysis. I was in the shock trauma unit of the hospital when I was told by his neurosurgeon that he was “probably going to live” but would be left with “significant, permanent disability”. My first reaction? “You don’t know my husband. He won’t finish this ski season, obviously, but I’ll dust off my skis and have him back on the slopes when they open next season.”  Ignorance is bliss, and I had no idea what we were in for. Had I known then what I know now about traumatic brain injury, I would have fallen apart for sure. I had no idea at that time that his chances of ever even walking again were about 10% at best. After a week in the intensive care unit, Gary was moved to a rehabilitation facility. He was one of the worst cases they had ever seen for a person his age. When I was asked by a group of his therapists about his interests and goals, one of them laughed and said, “Doesn’t this man ever do anything easy?” At that point, they knew they were working with a fighter. They considered it “game on!”

This story is one that can’t be told in one single blog.  Patience is something I never had. Patience is something that every survivor of traumatic brain injury has to learn. Patience is what it will take for you to find out how this story ends, or if it has indeed ended. I promise I will let you know what happened, and how it happened. Have patience.

Guest Blogger, Miss America

Please welcome back to Mid Life Celebration, Miss America Lorie Sheffer, from Central Pennsylvania.  Lorie has been here before and her wit, wisdom and candor are refreshing, and inspiring.  Take it away Lorie:

It comes as a surprise to some of my friends when they discover my dream of a crown. Doesn’t really fit the personality of a woman who is politically active, has taken part in a massive march on Washington and who doesn’t put much importance on outward appearances. But ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been besotted. I’ve never missed a Miss America pageant. I get misty when high schools crown their homecoming queen, and I won’t even try to explain how I felt about Princess Diana. Show me a crown and I turn into a star struck six year old. I think when I was younger, it came out of a desire to be “the best”.

I was the girl who sat home dateless almost every weekend. I had boy friends, but not boyfriends. I tried out for cheerleading a total of six times and only made the squad once, for 8^th grade wrestling. We had to sit in the bleachers the whole time, wearing home sewn uniforms, as the “good squads” got the good uniforms. Clearly, we were not “the best”. Every year, I would sit in front of the TV and see Miss America walk down the runway, crown on her head, and think how it must feel to be told you are a winner. I always envisioned her as a benevolent queen who was adored by everyone. In my eyes she was kind and gracious and empathetic.

Part of the scoring for Miss America is based on talent, and back in the day when I was eligible that amounted to 40% of the total score. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, fall if my feet leave the ground, and cannot play an instrument. I took baton lessons once, but my mom made me quit after I kept catching those high throws with my face. I tried ballet, and that ended about as well as the baton lessons.  If pie baking was an acceptable talent I may have had a shot.

Years passed and as luck would have it, the same people who ran my daughter’s ballet company were also the directors of our local Miss America preliminary. (My daughter’s natural grace is one of life’s greatest mysteries to me.) I once heard “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.” All of those years of pageant obsession paid off!  I volunteered my time, became very active in the organization. Over the years I helped to prepare dozens of young women to compete on the local and state level, as well as helping two of them to prepare for Miss America. Last year alone, the Miss America Organization awarded over 45 million dollars in scholarship money to more than 12,000 young women.

I met one young woman whose parents had set aside money for her education, but instead had to spend it on nursing home care for her grandmother. The scholarships she won paid for her final semesters of college. Another young woman paid for her master’s degree entirely with pageant winnings. Where else but in the pageant world would I become good friends with a young lady who holds a Masters in neurobiology from Johns Hopkins and a PhD in neuroscience from UCLA?  It felt good to be able to volunteer my time to help make the dreams of those remarkable young women come true.

Over the years, I realized that I didn’t need someone else to tell me I was good enough.  When our pageant board discovered that one of the crowns we had ordered was missing a stone, I bought it instead of having our director send it back. I didn’t care if it was one rhinestone short of perfection. I cleared a spot in my grandmother’s antique breakfront, where I can see my crown every day.  I don’t need a panel of judges to tell me I’m good enough. I may have “aged out” of the pageant over 25 years ago, but I earned every rhinestone in that crown, and don’t even notice its imperfection.

Heavenly Dreams

Lorie Sheffer provides us with much “food for thought” today as we journey through our Mid Life Celebration.  Ladies and gentlemen, Lorie Sheffer:

What time frame do we put on reaching our dreams? How high do we aim? It’s fine if your dream is more of a whim, and it’s fine if you don’t have complete success. Sometimes getting there is half the fun. But sometimes we hit highs that we never imagined. For the following two ladies, life didn’t begin at 40; life began after 50.

Julia Child was not one to be rushed. She stood 6 feet 2 inches tall, came from a privileged background, was college educated and had jobs as an editor, as well as working for the Office of Strategic Forces during WWII. She married at age 34, which was unheard of in the 1940s, when most young women married right out of high school. Julia loved food, and she wanted something fun to do while living in Paris with her husband, so she took classes at Le Cordon Bleu. She wanted to teach American housewives how to cook the amazing foods she had mastered, and decided to translate recipes from French into English. It took her and her collaborators a decade to write Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and they were dismayed when their first manuscript was rejected. The legendary cookbook was finally published when Child was 49 years old. Julia’s television show, The French Chef, aired its first episode in 1963, when Julia was 51 years old.

Paula Hiers was a 4 year old growing up in Albany Georgia when Julia’s show aired. While Julia was teaching American cooks to “be fearless” in preparing dishes such as Boeuf a la Bourguignonne, Paula was learning how to make her Grandma Paul’s fried chicken. Paula grew up in much more humble surroundings. She married at a young age, lost both of her parents by the time she was 19, and raised her younger brother as well as her own two sons. Her husband, Jimmy Deen, drank heavily and Paula cracked under the stress. She started having severe panic attacks, which soon developed into agoraphobia. She would, at times, be unable to leave her home without having an incapacitating attack of severe anxiety.

Paula would find solace in cooking those wonderful comfort foods from her childhood. She later found the strength to take a job as a teller at a bank near her home, and save enough money to leave her abusive husband. To supplement her income, she made bag lunches for her young sons to sell to area business people. Out of that was born her catering business, The Bag Lady. From there, Paula opened her first restaurant, The Lady, in a tiny rented space at a local Best Western Hotel. Paula put in so much time at The Lady that some nights she slept in a booth for a few hours before starting a new day. She was not making much money, and she longed for a day when she could open a bigger restaurant for herself and her sons. After receiving a loan from her aunt, Paula opened The Lady and Sons in downtown Savannah Georgia. A food critic, who was passing through town, stopped on the suggestion of an innkeeper, and the rest is history.

Gordon Elliott got wind of Paula and featured her on Door Knock Dinners and Ready Set Cook.  Paula’s warm presence and down home personality did the rest. Paula’s Home Cooking made its Food Network debut in 2002, when Paula was 55 years old. A star was born. Paula has since written numerous best selling cookbooks, she has a total of three shows on Food Network and sells her own line of cookware. In 2004, she married her best friend, Michael Groover. Unlike Julia, Paula never set foot in a cooking school.

Don’t count yourself out of the game just because of age. Think what these ladies, and the rest of us, would have missed had Julia and Paula thought they were too old to dream.

Spring Grove, Pennsylvania

Mid Life Celebration readers, I am pleased to introduce our Guest Blogger, Lorie Sheffer, from York, Pennsylvania. Lorie and I graduated from Spring Grove Area High School in 1997 1977. Lorie has a spin on midlife that will entertain and enlighten you. You are in for a treat. Take it away Lorie….

My email box usually contains at least one “Stupid, clueless men” joke a week, sent by my gal pals. The most recent: Q: What is gross stupidity?  A: 144 men in one room.

This is one of the kinder jokes. Most involve man parts and the use/misuse of said parts. I’m not so politically correct or dishonest as to say some of this stuff isn’t pretty darned funny. But underneath it all there is this undercurrent of a battle of the sexes as to who has it rougher, especially when it comes to aging. As a woman who has always had male friends, I seem to find myself defending men more and more often these days.

I was out shopping with my grandson a few years ago and the check out girl at the grocery store, when speaking to him, referred to me as “Mom”. “She’s my grandmother”, Carter corrected her. I actually looked into that sweet little face of his and asked him to “Shut it!”  Actually, since I am trying to be honest, it was more of a hiss. Was I becoming so age obsessed that I had hoped if some kid who had an after school job checking groceries mistook grandma for mom that magically made it so?  As if “Grandmother” is a dirty word.  No wonder my grandson looked puzzled. To a small child, Grandma equals magic!

This was about the time the realization hit me. We women are so obsessed with our changing hormones and expanding waist, our hot flashes and our mood swings, we seem to forget that aging is no picnic for the men, either. We tend to talk about it, while men seem to remain quiet for fear of appearing weak. Notice what the overwhelming theme of the commercials are when “guy shows” are on TV. They usually involve a 50-something couple in claw foot bathtubs (I still don’t understand the tubs), baby boomers giving one another “that look” before dancing down the hallway toward the bedroom, or my personal favorite, the teenaged girls advising newly divorced Dad he would be dateable if he used some man-color on that gray hair of his. (Maybe someone should tell Mr. Clooney and Mr. Gere they would be attractive to women if only they hit the Grecian Formula.)

I honest to God have a male friend who colors his chest hair to cover the gray.  If men aren’t lucky enough to have hair TO color, then surely they can send for some Rogain. Because, grand sense of humor that God seems to have, men start to lose hair where they want it around the same time women sprout hair in places that send them running to the waxing salons in droves.

Our age group is being bombarded by an industry that is literally making billions of dollars by playing to our insecurities, when in fact most times all you need is some dim light and a little patience. Most men would be thrilled to have their wives call them sexy or hot of whatever words we use to describe the above-mentioned George and Richard. I would be willing to bet most men are so concerned with their own age related issues that they don’t notice if our legs (or chins) are freshly shaved.

Test it out; say something nice to your significant other. Give a genuine compliment once a day, and let them know you appreciate them. Really, I think that’s all any of us wants. Maybe if we all just stepped outside of ourselves and tried to see through the eyes of the opposite sex, we would realize that we all have our issues. We’re in this together.

A friend sent me an email forward photo of a pretty teenaged girl, circa 1968; below the photo was the question, “Where are the cute hippie girls from the 60s?”

I scrolled down to another photo, this of a totally naked, very overweight, out shape, gray haired woman in her 60s. She was covered with stretched out and faded tattoos of Woodstock era images. She wore only flip-flops as she walked down the street, head held high.  Amazingly, she looked happy.

Humor goes a long way, so long as the object of the joke is laughing WITH us.  As Robert Browning wrote over a century ago, “Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.”

Rethink, Reprioritize, Recommit

Happy Monday everyone.  Hope you had a great weekend. I actually worked Saturday at my “real job” – yes, I’m a career employee at a large company.

This whole five daily blogs thing is like a hobby, like growing a garden or something. And as any avid gardener will tell you, “It’s a labor of love.”

Quite literally, a labor of love – for a child.

Anyway, back to the updates:

1.  Erika Liodice’s Mid Life Celebration Guest Blogger post yesterday was a first here. Please check out her site, Beyond The Gray, if you want a midlife perspective from a not yet 30-year old.  Erika gave me “my first big break” as a Guest Blogger.

2.  The numbers thing the other day. (gulp) Well, that was sort of like a time capsule to look back on later.

3.  February is about Peace. Peace to me means –  tranquility, balance, solace, contentment, harmony, simplicity, acceptance.

Don't Drop It

“The Juggling Act of Life”

By Erika Liodice

As we get older, life, it seems, becomes increasingly filled with commitments and responsibilities. Most days I find myself running from one task to the next: eating lunch in my car as I frantically run errands over my lunch break, squeezing in phone calls to family and friends during my ten minute drive to work, and agonizing over work assignments and deadlines while I sleep. My car is my virtual office, my Facebook page is my only connection to my loved ones and I tend to think of life in key strokes, wishing I could CTRL + Z (undo) my error in judgement the other night when I added too much detergent to the laundry and found myself swimming in a sea of bubbles. Sometimes it feels like my mind and body never truly rest. And I’m not even 30.

Former CEO of Coca Cola Enterprises, Brian G. Dyson, describes it best, “Imagine life as a game in which you are juggling five balls in the air. You name them – work, family, health, friends and spirit – and you’re keeping all of these in the air. You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. But the other four balls – family, health, friends and spirit – are made of glass. If you drop one of these, they will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damaged or even shattered. They will never be the same. You must understand that and strive for balance in your life.”

So how can we all do a better job of maintaining balance in our lives? Here are a five simple rules I try to live by:

1. Decide what’s most important in your life and don’t take those things for granted.
2. Learn the beauty and the power of the word “no.”
3. Respect your time; don’t waste it on things that don’t matter to you.
4. Do your best and learn to accept when that’s just not enough.
5. Don’t take anything personally.

Erika Liodice is the author of Beyond the Gray, a motivational blog for anyone chasing a dream, and a regular contributor to travel e-zines Lehigh Valley Insite and The Savvy Explorer.

Guest Blogger

Am I a 50-year old mid life Guest Blogger virgin?

Not any more.

Beyond The Gray posted an interveiw with me last week. What joy! How cool is that?  Pretty cool.

Click here to go directly to the Mid Life Celebration Guest Blogger interview.

Few things are more joyful than doing something positive for others. This is simply a starting point. Expect more of these as time marches on and don’t be surprised if I ask you to be a Guest Blogger.

Seriously.  It could happen.  Will you be ready?  Do you have something important or funny (or both) to say?

I guarantee you do. No, seriously.  You have talents and gifts that no one else has. And if you’ve never realized this before, may I humbly ask you to give some consideration to this thought?  Carpe diem.