Tag: Guest Bloggers

A Little Rain Must Fall, By Guest Blogger, Lorie Sheffer

Photo: Lorie Sheffer

Chronic complainers don’t really want solutions to their problems. They seem to feel that life handed them lemons and they bask in their victim status. Make lemonade? Have you seen the price of sugar? And where would they find a pitcher? None of their knives are sharp enough to cut all of those lemons, and even if they were, their carpal tunnel/arthritis/chapped skin would make it impossible. Besides, they couldn’t drink lemonade anyway, as it would certainly give them heartburn; or worse yet, diarrhea.  The chronic complainer can’t take those lemons and make anything out of them, because if they do then they are left with nothing to complain about.

Chronic complainers don’t KNOW they are chronic complainers. They truly feel that they are victims. Nobody has it worse than they do. If you try to make them see that there are others worse off than they are, they will just rattle off a longer list of woes they have to deal with every day. Clearly you must not have all the information. If you really understood how bad they had it, you wouldn’t try to convince them that there could possibly be someone who has a tougher life.

What can you do when you encounter these people? What if you have to work with them, or worse yet what if they are family? Rule #1 is, do NOT fix their problem. Do NOT try to give them advice, no matter how well intentioned. To do so would only enable them to continue to spin their wheels until someone pulls them out of their latest ditch.

This sounds harsh. It goes against our desire to help people. There really ARE people out there who need our help. There are folks who are overwhelmed, who may have hit bad times, or who just need a hand up. We’ve all been there. There ARE people who have been dealt a horribly bad hand.

Your neighbor just broke his leg. His wife is recovering from surgery. Their yard is full of leaves. You decide to get a few other neighbors to pitch in for an afternoon of raking. You never know when you may be the one who needs help. Then you go to your brother’s house. His yard is also full of leaves. He is sitting on his porch, clearly distressed by the situation.

“I hate these trees”, he says. “Well, they sure are nice in the summertime, when you want shade from the sun,” you reply.
“They keep the breeze from blowing through.”
“Have you considered having at least some of them cut down?”
“Do you know what those tree companies charge?!”
“Why don’t you mulch the leaves with your mower?”
“There are too many for that! It would kill the grass.”
“Guess you’ll have to rake them, then.”
“That should be great for my back! I can’t sleep at night from back pain so as it is.”
“Maybe you need to move to a house with less yard…..”
“In this market I wouldn’t be able to get what the house is worth. Besides, I hate those condos.”
“Well, what about hiring a few neighbor kids to rake it for you?”
“KIDS! Kids don’t want to work these days.”

At the end of the conversation, you are worn out and your brother can’t understand how you could be so selfish. After all, he’s tried everything to solve his problem.

Oh For The Love Of Gilles, By Guest Blogger, Lorie Sheffer

Photo: Lorie Sheffer

Nothing screams “You’re middle aged!” like the week I’ve had.  As I type these words, I do so with an ice pack on my lower back. Why? Because I lifted a few boxes and carried them to the trunk of my car. My two friends, women who are almost my exact same age and who helped me in my endeavor, are popping ibuprofen and taking it easy for a few days. One of us is awaiting hip replacement surgery. Yes, kids, we’re There now. Our fun day out was cleaning out my deceased friends house in preparation for a public auction.

As a woman, pathetic as it sounds- as shallow and pre-feminism as the idea is- I used to appreciate the occasional glance from the males of the species. Nothing gross or crude, but just that lingering glance that meant I was still somewhat attractive to the opposite sex. Well, my friends and I got just that as we walked into a Hardees for what we now refer to as a “pee break”. It seems that I am not the only woman of a certain age who knows the location of every single public restroom with a 100-mile radius of her home. On this day, it had been raining. Not a soft drizzle mind you, but a cloud-draining downpour. Because the terms “brain fart” and “menopause” seem to be one in the same, SOMEONE forgot to close the car windows. We realized this after all sitting, simultaneously, on the saturated car seats. We walked into the fast food joint, hands to our lower backs, bent at the waist and grimacing in pain from lifting such heavy objects as old magazines and winter coats. Our hair had either flattened horribly or frizzed from the rain, and our wet behinds made it looks as if we were about 5 minutes too late for that pee break. We decided that while we were there, we might as well get a cold drink. And maybe split an order of fries. And perhaps some chicken fingers, because when you work that hard protein is important. And then IT happened. The confirmation of our eternal youth awaited us! There was a man sitting alone in a booth, eating a cheeseburger. He was at least 85 years old, and bless his heart he had apparently left his teeth in the glass by his bed. He stopped mid chew and pivoted in his seat to get a better view of us. Then he smiled. “Well, Hell-OOOOOO, ladies!” he said, looking us up and down. So much for our dreams of Cougardom with a man like Gilles Marini, for now it’s official:  the only men who appreciate our aged-like-fine-wine appeal are men who can no longer drive after dark.

When I got home I took a long hot shower. Didn’t even bother to shave my legs. Does it really matter anymore? I was going to blow dry my hair, but I decided not to bother wasting the electricity. I wasn’t going anywhere but to the couch. As my husband and I sat down to the dinner I had made, he told me that he loves my cooking. He poured me a glass of wine and gave me a smile. I noticed how much I love the silver that is taking over his dark brown hair. Later that night I sat down to watch my favorite TV show, and sure enough the guest star was none other than Gilles Marini. Sure, he’s impossibly handsome, but there’s not a single silver hair on his head. Personally, I think he’ll look even better in about 25 years. If I happen to run into him at Hardees, I’ll be sure to let him know.

I Love A Parade, By Lorie Sheffer, Guest Blogger

Photo: Lorie Sheffer

A few weeks ago I read one of Jeff’s posts about a young man with disabilities who was a member of a marching band. It reminded me of a story I read about in our local paper a number of years ago.

A young man of high school age had cerebral palsy. He wanted to be a member of his school’s marching band. This didn’t seem to be a problem, as he had someone who pushed his wheelchair in parades. Then the band began to include some intricate moves in order for a chance to win in field competition, and now this young man could possibly hold them back from their ultimate goal of collecting a trophy. They wanted him to sit on the sidelines and play from there.

A neighbor and I got into a discussion about this issue as it was being played out in the papers. She asked me, wouldn’t I be upset if my kids had worked really hard and were being held back from a possible trophy because of a person with a disability? I answered that I was pretty certain that my kids wouldn’t want to participate unless this young man could part of the group.

To this day, I don’t know who eventually won that trophy. I know that the band in question was not from the school district in which I live, but I cannot remember which district it was. I’m not even sure if the young man got to participate or not. Still, it leaves me with questions. At what point is winning not the most important thing? Are there greater lessons to be learned than perfect formations and hitting all the right notes? Is it better to be remembered for what we won, or how we treated our friends along the way? Should we reach out to those for whom life may not be so easy, or should we reach out for a chance at that brass ring, no matter whom we have to knock out of the way to get it?

Get Busy Living, By Lorie Sheffer, Guest Blogger

Lorie Sheffer's Daughter graduating May 2011

It’s wonderful to be able to live in the moment and appreciate what is happening right now, at this very second. Sometimes, though, this very moment isn’t so great.  That is when having something to look forward to can make all the difference.

My dad has been in and out of the hospital for the past year and a half.  My parents graduated from the same high school in the same year. They still maintain close friendships with many of their classmates. They never miss their reunions. While visiting my parents on Thursday, Dad told me that he really wanted to go. He said that he hadn’t been out of the house for a year and a half, which isn’t entirely true. But getting out of the house to go to doctor appointments and hospital stays isn’t really getting out at all. He said that he wanted to go to this one because “everybody’ll be dead for the next one. Our class is dropping like flies.” He was joking, but they DID lose quite a few friends over the past couple of years. My mother said she didn’t want to go. I think that is because she just didn’t trust being able to handle Dad should his arthritis decide to kick in full force.

On the drive across town to our house, I made up my mind. My husband knew what I was going to say before I said it.  I turned to him and before the words were out of my mouth, he handed me my cell phone. My mother called me back later that night to tell me that Dad was acting like a kid getting ready for his first prom. He had already chosen what to wear and had her iron his shirt. There was a time when I had my dad wrapped. Oh, how the tables have turned!

Last night was The Big Night. I walked in to find my dad in clothes I haven’t seen him wear since before he got sick. He had a look on his face that I haven’t seen in quite some time. At the car, I turned to fold his walker and when I turned back to help him into the car he was already seated and trying to fasten his seatbelt. He walked in to the hotel lobby and was swarmed by friends who hugged and kissed and shook his hand. They were all thrilled to see him and commented on how good he looks. Mom was off with her group of girlfriends, chatting and laughing. I got Dad seated and left to go have dinner with my husband. I told Mom to use her cell phone to call me if they needed to leave early. After dinner my husband and I ran out of things to do, so we decided to just wait in the hotel parking lot, in the car, and talk for an hour. The sound of my cell phone woke us both.  My parent’s classmates were getting into their cars. It was 11:00 and the party was over. Past our bedtime, but apparently still early for this group!

I went in to help get Dad to the car, and found him sitting at the table with a group of his friends, talking and laughing. Had I not been to witness the past year and a half I would have refused to believe he had ever been sick.

Be it a reunion, graduation, wedding, new baby, visit from an old friend, we need things to look forward to.  For ourselves as well as for our loved ones, the anticipation of something we are excited about means the difference between existing and really living.

Caught In The Act, By Lorie Sheffer

"Caught In The Act" (Photo: Lorie Sheffer)

This evening I got a good dose of food for thought along with my carry-out order of sushi.

I didn’t call ahead, so I had to spend a few minutes on a sofa by the front register. There was a little girl sitting at a table not too far from me. She was one of those adorable kids who you just want to run over and hug. A wild mass of blonde curls, wire rimmed glasses and a red tint to her nose that makes it seem she had spent this, one of the final days of summer, swimming in the afternoon sun. She seemed tired and restless. When her mother walked her back to the ladies room, she commented on the kimono that hung near the hallway as a decorative dividing curtain. Her mother told her that yes, it was pretty, but NOT to touch it. On the way back out she just couldn’t help herself, and as soon as her mother’s gaze drifted for a second, one of her little hands reached up and tugged at the sleeve. It immediately hit the floor. Her eyes got wide as her mother took her by the hand to the front of the restaurant to confess to the owner and offer an apology for what she had done. The owner, a Japanese lady who was probably near my own age, wasted no time in hunkering down to the little girls’ level and scooping her up in a warm hug. “I’m so sorry”, the lady offered. “No….. you don’t have to apologize to her. She grabbed it and it fell….” said the mother. “Oh, I understand. I saw the whole thing.” The owner now smiled to the little girl and went back to the register to answer the phone and take an order.

I watched this little girl, who was maybe all of 5 years old. She looked a bit confused, but she quietly went back to her seat, where she displayed her best manners for the remaining time I was there. She also kept glancing, and shyly smiling, at the lady who had shown her such mercy.