Guest Bloggers – Page 46 – Disney Leadership Keynote Speaker

What Security Blankets Provide

First time visitors, Sunday posts are brought to you courtesy of Lorie Sheffer, our good friend from Central Pennsylvania. Enjoy:

When my children were small, like most children, they had security items. My daughter had the satin edge from a blanket, which would twist in her hand, stick up her nose and tickle her ear. On her first day of kindergarten it was tucked in her pocket, safely out of sight of the other kids. One time she accidentally dropped it into a public toilet, and in an act of desperation that only a parent can understand, I fished it out and took it home for disinfecting. My son had a small stuffed rabbit that he named Bonnie B. He would sneak it into my husband’s suitcase if he had to go out of town. We have photos of Bonnie on hotel beds in Portugal and Arizona. I suppose my son felt that if Bonnie comforted him, she would also comfort his dad while he was away from home. Thankfully Bonnie never took a swim in the john. That I know of.

As we get older, most of us have that favorite pair of well-worn jeans, or that soft old T-shirt that is full of holes, or maybe a favorite pair of slippers that we just can’t seem to part with. Many of us have photos of our kids and grandkids in our wallets or on our desktops. We love those little items from home.

My dad has now been in the ICU for a month. He is finally alert and can speak, and he is asking for things from home. Much to my amusement, he dictated a list for me, including his favorite shirt. He wanted me to leave right then and there to go retrieve the items he requested. Most of those things are not allowed at this point, but I am going to pack a bag for him. Mom and I will take in his pillow and some photos. At night when we leave and the ICU is dim and foreign, he will have something of home to focus on. I ride the elevators every day with people carrying pillows and blankets and stuffed animals, and not all of them are headed to pediatrics.

When you get home from a vacation, no matter how wonderful, are you happy to crawl into your own bed? If you get sick, is there a food that you just have to have? Do you take your own pillow when you travel? How about, like Archie Bunker, a comfortable chair that you sit on the watch TV? It seems we all have them; those comfort items. We all have those special things that make us feel better, that soothe us and make us feel secure.

What is on your list? If you were away from home or sick, what would you ask for to make you feel more at home? My children are now adults and they no longer live with my husband and me, but when my daughter gets sick I automatically go get ingredients for my homemade beef noodle soup. My son was upset when I got a new fluffy pillow to replace the flat old pancake on his bed in his old room. I know I will always be on the losing end of the battle to throw away my husband’s old ratty T-shirts. As for me, if I’m feeling sick or sad, I just want to curl up with a bowl of vegetable fried rice and a fountain Coke, wrapped in my nap sized, down filled comforter with the snowman print. And if Leave it to Beaver happens to be playing on TV Land, well that’s just an added bonus.

A Grateful Mess?

Lorie Sheffer, take it away:

Last winter my dear friend died suddenly, leaving us with an enormous mountain of legal work and two residences filled with stuff. Grief had knocked the wind out of us, and the magnitude of the cleanup was almost incomprehensible. As soon as people realized that she had been a hoarder, I began to hear the comments of how sorry everyone was that we were left with such a “mess”. Yet we almost immediately realized that what looked like a mess to others was to be a gift to us. We didn’t know exactly how that gift would be uncovered, but uncover it we did. We are still uncovering it, layer by layer.

It is fascinating to sift through the years of a family’s life. Beautiful dresses from the 1930s. Ladies’ hats, not worn since the 1940s and 1950s, meticulously packed in boxes. Toddlers’ lovely woolen coats with little hand crocheted lace trimmed collars; hand knit sweaters and caps that belonged to her, the only child, the cherished daughter. Photographs of my husband’s family, smiling up from holiday dinners, sitting near beautifully decorated Christmas trees. Summers at Hershey Park when my husband was just a small boy, standing with her, his cousin, protectively holding his hand. Most heartbreaking were the photographs of my son and the thank-you notes and post cards from both of my children, lying on the tops of the heaps, where she could see them always. These were clearly the most cherished of all her possessions.

I slowly developed this need to rescue things from being sold or donated. It wasn’t the monetary value that interested me. I wanted to clean and restore these things and cherish them out of respect for the lives of the small family out of whose home they came. I saw a photograph of my friend as a teenager, lying on her bed reading a book; I am now preparing to remove, clean and restore the beautiful art deco furniture from that bedroom. The racks of vintage clothing that I discovered in the attic now have a place of honor in a lovely vintage clothing store. It comforts me to know that someone will come into that store and walk out with what they consider to be a treasure. I have stripped and sanded and refinished small tables, and I have cleaned and restored old clocks. I found lovely framed botanical prints that now grace the walls of my dining room, the same room where we had our last party with her. She sat with us and had dinner and laughed and knew that we were so very honored to have her with us for that evening. We had our annual special Christmas party just for her.

Now my father is seriously ill and is beginning what will be a long recovery. Every day I come home from the hospital exhausted, in desperate need of diversion. I turn to another gift she left to me, my beautiful chest filled with antique linens. I take them out one by one and soak them, beginning a process that can take as long as a week. A large tub of water sits on my porch, and every night I pour it onto my thirsty flowers and refill it, until the water runs clear. This has to be repeated for days. Then I begin the soak in oxygen bleach, which takes several more days. Finally, a few days in detergent, and then a final few days in clean water. Each day I change the water and each day more stain is lifted and beautiful fabric is revealed. It is cleaned and renewed. It is restored. It is cleansing and it is healing. I look toward the summer sky as the stars begin to appear, and I know she is there. I know that she is somehow helping me through this. I smile and I am grateful for the mess she has left for me.

Smile, You’re On Candid…

Sometimes, Life's A Beach — Sometimes, Life's A...

Not sure I have to tell you it’s Sunday, and every Sunday, Central Pennsylvania’s Lorie Sheffer is our featured Guest Blogger. Take it away Lorie:

Last Friday was one of those days that was just so bad I sort of got the idea that I may be on Candid Camera. I spent the day visiting my Dad in the ICU. On the way home I saw a woman in a car hit a man on a motorcycle. When I got home my six-year-old fantail fish was dead, and then while I sat on my deck to relax my right eye turned bright red and swelled shut for no apparent reason. I told myself that things could have been worse, and that tomorrow would hopefully be better.

Saturday morning there was a public auction being held next door, and it was distracting and sort of fun. My doorbell rang around 10 AM, and I answered it wearing my leopard print pajamas, a horrific case of bed head and a still slightly wonky eye. A lady who was about the same age as my mother was standing on my doorstep. Shaking and near tears, she told me that she had just run over my mailbox. I laughed. I told her about the lady who hit the man on the motorcycle the day before, and said that the mailbox was just a thing that could be repaired or replaced. She offered to give me her name and pay for the damages, but my husband and I told her to just go to the auction and have a good time. It was then that she told us her circumstances. She never put a dent in her car in her life, but her husband was admitted to the ICU over five weeks before, and she had decided that maybe a beautiful summer day at an auction would take her mind off of her situation for a few hours. Her nerves were shot and she just wasn’t functioning normally. Her husband was in a room just across the hall from my dad.

The economy isn’t great and we get to see millions of gallons of oil pumping out into the Gulf every day, with no end in sight. We have troops in dangerous places. With all the big deals going on, it would be easy to feel pushed over the edge by the small stuff. But maybe this is the perfect time when we need to recognize those minor irritations exactly for what they are: no big deal. In the grand scheme of things, who cares? Perhaps we need to think before we lash out. Sure, that guy who cuts you off in traffic may be a giant jerk. But maybe you would feel a bit less anger if you heard his story. I remember a day last winter when a man screamed at me at the top of his lungs in line at the grocery store. My crime? I was in the “12 items or less only” line. I apologized to him, telling him that I very honestly didn’t see the sign, and that my mind wasn’t focused because I had just come from being with my seriously ill brother. He continued to scream at me, and I stood there in full view of the now very attentive crowd and started to sob. His tirade continued while I was loading my groceries into my trunk. Now that I think about it, I worry for him. I wonder what his issues were. People who handle stress by acting out in anger over what amounts to nothing must certainly be putting themselves at risk for heart attacks, strokes and God knows what else.

We all have those candid camera days. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if, when someone does something that irritates us, we would react with some compassion? Even if their life is going incredibly well and they are just an obnoxious jerk, I’m sure they will be taken aback by the more Zen reaction. Added bonus? We didn’t allow them to cause us more stress. I wonder what would have happened had the man, who was so enraged by my grocery store faux pas, pulled into traffic in anger and a motorcycle had been in his path?

He Has A Chance

Today’s Father’s Day post brought to you by Guest Blogger, Lorie Sheffer:

Once again, one of the men in my life is fighting for his life. Different men, different medical emergencies, with one underlying thread: “He has a chance because he was in good health before this happened.”

Lesson learned: Taking reasonable care of yourself and getting regular checkups is like contributing to a health account; you bank an extra reserve that could very well save your life. There is no guarantee for any of us that we will never get a serious illness. However, if one system has a problem and all of the other systems are strong, you tend to stand a better chance of recovery. Even the little healthy changes are like putting points in that health reserve.

Sometimes when we get to a certain age we think that it’s too late for us to get into shape. No so. Every healthy change we make counts. Save your loose change in a jar for a month, then count it and see how much you have. Those pennies and the nickels add up. So do healthy habits. Eat an extra serving of fruit and vegetables every day, park at the far end of the parking lot for so you can walk those extra steps. Take the stairs. Don’t be afraid to schedule a checkup with your doctor. Avoidance of a screening will not magically protect you from whatever disease the screening is for. You check the oil in your car, you make home repairs, you don’t allow your toilet to remained clogged and you clean out your dryer vents. If you maintain your car and your home, don’t you owe it to yourself to at least give your body some maintenance?

“He’s alive and has a chance because his overall health is otherwise so good.” How many times do you hear that before it sinks in? I’ve heard it for three different critically ill men.

Words from a neurosurgeon: “Had he been a smoker or had even one other cardiovascular risk factor, like obesity, the stroke could have killed him.”

Words from an oncologist: “His overall excellent physical condition will make his treatments much more tolerable and his recovery much faster.”

Words from a surgeon and nephrologist: “The fact that he has no other underlying medical problems is going to go a long way toward his chances for survival and recovery.” And from an ICU nurse, “The fact that he isn’t a smoker really does make a difference as far as being on a ventilator.”

It’s not too late to start that savings account. Please don’t think that if you don’t spend hours at the gym or eat a perfect diet that you may as well not bother. That’s like saying it’s not worth having a savings account unless you have a million dollars to deposit. Start small if you need to. Make changes that are doable for you. You don’t want to ever find yourself in need of an emergency account and realize that you are bankrupt.

New Guest Blogger?

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!