Guest Bloggers – Page 19 – Disney Leadership Keynote Speaker

Guest blogger Lorie Sheffer: A treasure trove of faces

Young child standing next to 1965 Television — Lorie Sheffer, Christmas 1965 (photo: Mom or Dad?)

What baby-boomer doesn’t have memories of sitting down in front of the family television on a Sunday evening, eager to watch The Wonderful World of Disney and Bonanza? Tinker Bell flew around that castle and with one tap of her wand, turned it into a world of Technicolor. Ben Cartwright and his three handsome sons would ride across the Ponderosa, the map of the ranch burning to reveal their arrival on gorgeous horses.

This past Thursday, I was reminded of another thing our televisions brought into our living rooms. April 4 marked the 45th anniversary of the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. Growing up in the 60s, his was not the only assassination we were witness to. We also lost President John F. Kennedy, his brother Bobby, Malcolm X, Medgar Evers, and Freedom Riders Goodman, Schwerner and Chaney to assassins’ bullets. Chet Huntley and David Brinkley were the bearers of tragic news via NBC’s Huntley/Brinkley Report. Edwin Newman delivered events, as did, perhaps most famously, CBS’s Walter Cronkite. Added to the horror of losing our leaders on a regular basis, we also were dealing with nightly footage of the war in Vietnam. US deployment started in 1965, and the war went on until 1975.

My first clear, detailed memory is the afternoon of Friday, November 22, 1963. Thanksgiving was coming, and after that, Santa. My mom was doing whatever it is that moms do, and I was sitting on the floor with a coloring book- my favorite, a bride and her wedding party. As the World Turns was on the television. There were lots of silly commercials for Niagara Spray Starch. A man broke in with a Special Bulletin; President Kennedy had been shot. My mom got our coats and we ran next door to my grandmother’s house. Gram was crying. I was 4 years old.

Now, with our 24-hour news cycles and high definition flat screen TVs, I wonder what the effect will be on my grandson’s generation. The assassinations have evolved into mass murders of ordinary citizens in movie theaters and shopping malls. What began as shootings in Universities and high schools has now moved to elementary schools. Single shots fired have escalated into hundreds of rounds in a matter of minutes. And all the while, our children are watching.

Guest blogger Lorie Sheffer: I don’t want to be here

Bethany Beach, Delaware (photo: Lorie Sheffer)

A few years ago I broke off the cusp of a molar. Apparently teeth that were filled when we were kids tend to crack when we hit midlife. I’m not gonna lie, when the old filling was ground out and replaced with the newer white type, it hurt. A lot. It involved a nerve that was none too happy to be toyed with after being cocooned in there, undisturbed, for 40 years. So this week, when I bit into a carrot and felt that familiar sudden, sharp pain, I knew I had cracked off the repair work. I was far from looking forward to a replay of the nerve pain.

Sitting in my dentist’s chair, waiting for him to enter the room and begin the repair work, I felt a wave of anxiety. Having given birth to both of my children without the aid of any medication, and having had an upper endoscopy sans sedation, I’m not a total wimp when it comes to pain. But the thought of that drill, that high-pitched drill, and the hot smell of burred molar that comes with it was sending me toward panic. My foot began tapping and I was having some pretty strong heart palpitations. Too late for an emergency Xanax, I was starting to feel overwhelming claustrophobia. Time to try a technique that I was sure was NOT going to work. But at that point, my only other option was to get up and walk out. I didn’t want to be there, so I went somewhere else.

Step one is to take oneself out of the room mentally. Conjure up an image of the single most relaxing, non-threatening place you’ve ever been. I closed my eyes and transported myself to 9 S. Pennsylvania Avenue, Bethany Beach, Delaware. A summer rental cottage with the best out door shower ever. I imagined walking out the back screen door, the feel of the wooden floor under my feet. Down the steps and across the corner of the gravel driveway. The sun shining, humidity low, a cloudless, azure sky. There’s the sound of a lifeguard’s whistle from the beach, the obnoxious cry of a gull. Across the grass back yard, the soil turns spongy beneath my feet as I near the shower stall. I can hear the sound of one of the small planes that fly up the coast, dragging a banner that advertises crab balls and $2.00 beer on tap. I can hear the rustle of the ornamental grass in the neighboring yard as a warm breeze blows by, and the sound of someone peddling by on their bike. The shower door makes that familiar sound of a rusty spring groaning open and it slams when I let go of the thin metal handle. I can smell the milk and honey body wash in the closed-in space. I feel sand in my hair, and can taste salt on my lips from the ocean. The faucet and knobs are metal and rusty, and they feel rough. They screech on and the water comes out in a sputter, the sun shining through into the roofless stall makes it sparkle. The skin on my shoulders feels tight from the hours in the sun and salt water.

When my dentist walked into the room, not only was I calm, I was about 30 seconds away from actually dozing off in the chair. While the procedure that followed wasn’t my idea of a fun way to spend my time, it was much easier and less involved than the time before. My tooth is now repaired, and I can say for certain that mind over matter really can and does work! In the wake of an especially stressful day, you don’t have to be someone who suffers from a full-blown anxiety disorder to reap the benefits of a mental vacation.

Guest blogger Lorie Sheffer, Earning a free pass

A feast by any measure (Photo: Lorie Sheffer)

Not too long ago, I read an interview with Betty White. She was telling a story about a recent lunch with her Hot in Cleveland costars. Miss White had ordered her favorite, a bacon cheeseburger, fries with gravy and a vodka martini. Her much younger friends had ordered things like salads and fruit plates. Staging what was an intervention of sorts, they told her they were concerned for her health, and that perhaps she should consider healthier options. Her response? “Who at this table is 90?”

Just this past week, my 80-year-old father had one of his regular medical checkups. Mom told me that he has gained 25 pounds since his last surgery. That’s quite a bit of weight on his rather small frame. “What did the doctor say?” was my first question. The answer? “Nothing.” About three years ago, Dad was in a coma for a month, resulting in his inability to swallow for months after. He had a nasal feeding tube, followed by a PEG, and was finally able to eat normally after many sessions with a speech therapist. A few more years of digestive issues and surgeries had left him looking rather thin and worn. Now, his appetite is not only back, it’s back with a vengeance. He loves fast food, he loves chocolate and he loves potato chips. My advice? Buy him some bigger pants and let him eat what he wants.

At what point in life are we finally allowed a free pass? If we take pains to preserve our health so that we can live into old age, and our efforts actually pay off, THEN may we have seconds on dessert? THEN may we have that vodka martini with lunch and/or that after dinner smoke? Then is it OK to ask, “Who at this table is 90?”

Guest blogger Lorie Sheffer: Rage

A murder trial is happening in my hometown. It happened one beautiful summer Sunday morning, when a neighbor shot and killed another neighbor in the middle of the street not more than two miles from where I live. There was a history of them arguing about woodpiles, barking dogs and unkempt yards. Emails the deceased had sent to friends describing how he was going to bully the shooter into submission. The deceased had made it his mission to make sure all of the yards and homes in the neighborhood were maintained to his standards, sometimes to the extent of mowing lawns he felt were overgrown. Imagine his rage at the person who belligerently refused to comply. Imagine the rage of the shooter, constantly being badgered and publicly taunted.

Anger can be a natural, healthy emotion. It is a response to actual or perceived emotional or physical pain. It can be used to express frustration and vent pent up feelings. But it can easily become destructive. Anger temporarily distracts us from the pain that is behind it. It makes us feel less vulnerable to be angry, because anger shows aggression. Someone has wronged us, and by God they should be held accountable. The greater the underlying pain or feeling of having been wronged, the more explosive the anger can become.

We can’t control the behavior of those around us. We can, however, control how we respond. The more controlling we try to be, the more we set ourselves up for anger. Sometimes being in control means not being controlling. There will always be jerks in this world. There will always be people who drive too fast, cut ahead of us in line, don’t care about their property as much as we care about ours, dress in ways we find silly or inappropriate. There will always be those who disagree with our religious or political views, who cheer for an opposing team, who like to listen to loud music or behave in ways that are rude or insulting. Sometimes it helps to realize that they most likely are not behaving that way just to irritate us, personally. If we depersonalize their behavior, it’s easier to walk away. Always, always we need to ask ourselves, “Is this really worth it?”

Guest blogger Lorie Sheffer: Confession

Lorie Sheffer's backyard pool (photo: Lorie Sheffer) — Lorie Sheffer’s backyard pool (photo: Lorie Sheffer)

Confession: I don’t care if I excel. I don’t care if I’m “the best”, win an award or upsize my house. I’ve never had a career, just assorted jobs. I hate multitasking. I have zero desire to get ahead. Average is fine with me.

I know these things are not what today’s world expects. I am supposed to strive for “more”. The thing is, I don’t want to work harder. The end result just doesn’t mean enough for me to put forth the effort. Sure, I want to be able to pay the bills, but the bills really aren’t that much to begin with. My tastes haven’t racked up all that much debt. I love having time to meander through a farmers market and buy what I need to bake a pie from scratch, and I like to eat the pie after I’ve baked it.

When I was in my twenties and thirties I felt embarrassed about my lack of a college degree, especially because folks with graduate degrees surrounded me. While I still appreciate their formal educations and achievements, I no longer feel inferior. I suppose I could have taken some classes, as we do have a wonderful private college in our small city, plus a branch of our state university. Doing so would have meant giving up things that meant more to me, like being full time caregiver for children and later for my grandson. I remember running into a neighbor one day, who told me he was “sorry” I was caring for my grandson full time. According to him, this should finally be the time I could spend doing what I wanted. “Me time”, I think he called it. He seemed stunned when I told him I couldn’t think of a better way to spend “me time” than watching Blues Clues and playing Candy Land. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and an afternoon nap are hard to top. He inferred that I must be a slacker.

My dear, late friend and I once had a discussion about our different lives. I live this ordinary life in my hometown, playing traditional wife and mom. She went off to the big city and lived as a single career woman in the heart of Manhattan. As teenagers, I thought I’d live a life much like hers, and she thought she’d live a life more like mine. Yet we were both satisfied with where we were. She concluded that when you come to that fork in the road, you have got to choose one and then commit to your choice. Enjoy what that path has to offer and not constantly think about the scenery along the other route. That, I feel, is the real key to contentment.