Disney Leadership Keynote Speaker
Five daily blogs about life's 5 big choices on five interconnected sites.
Our good friend and regular MidLife Celebration Sunday Guest Blogger, Lorie Sheffer, thought I might enjoy this 61-second video, recorded by this young child with big dreams. Lorie was right:
Will one of your big dreams involve getting healthy, or staying healthy?
I instantly get gratified each week when I see Lorie’s email with her “blog attachment”. Take it away Lorie:
She finished her dinner of grilled steak, loaded baked potato and deep-fried onion with gooey dipping sauce. Just as she folded her napkin, a waiter walked by carrying a tray on which stood a hot fudge sundae. “I’ll have one of those!” she said, feeling instant gratification. The next day she went for her regular medical checkup and was told that her cholesterol was still above reasonable limits and that she had to begin taking medication. She also had type 2 diabetes. Her impulsive decisions and need to be instantly gratified have now affected her long-term health and happiness.
My friend called me in tears. Her husband had cheated on her. He swore that it “meant nothing”. Their family has been hurt and they are now headed toward divorce. His need for instant gratification has ruined his long-term happiness.
Our financial advisor told us of the clients he has who, after only a year into a new Presidency, were angry that we were not out of the recession. They thought we should be back on track and the economy should be stronger than ever. He tried to explain that it takes time, and that things are moving slowly in the right direction. There is no magic wand solution to a global economic crisis, and yet the public doesn’t want to hear that it takes time. They want to be able to receive loans for larger homes and spend money on vacations and newer more expensive cars, not understanding that lack of impulse control helped lead us into this mess. They want to buy now and pay the bill later, if ever.
Hopefully as of next week I will be spending my days in a rehabilitation hospital instead of an acute care hospital. I am preparing my father for the long road he faces. I have told him that some other patients will have an even longer recovery than he will have. There is not a quick fix. There is no other way to becoming functional than to work hard every day. It takes time. We all want him home NOW. We all want him to get out of bed and walk, to be able to swallow his food and to get in his truck and drive off to work. But we cannot snap our fingers and have those things happen. It is going to take months of hard work and patience and determination. He understands all too well. Our family has been down this road before, after my husband’s stroke. It is not fast and it is not easy.
We used to have to wait until evening, when we heard the voice Walter Cronkite or Chet Huntley and David Brinkley, to hear the news of the day. Now, we can turn on one of many 24-hour news shows, or head to our computer, or even get instant updates via our blackberry. We don’t have to wait. In many respects this is good. Sometimes having instant access is even lifesaving. But what happens when we become so accustomed to getting what we want when we want it that we no longer have the ability to wait? If we aren’t used to ever having to exercise impulse control, how do we learn patience? How do we learn patience when we are used to instant gratification?
There are times in life when not being able to delay our instant gratification will undermine our long-term happiness. There are times when, no matter what technology is at hand, there is no fast and easy way to an end result that we need or want. What then? Sometimes we cannot have what we want when we want it. Sometimes we must wait, and understand, in the words of The Most Trusted Man in America, the late Walter Cronkite, “that’s the way it is.”
Our Sunday regular Guest Blogger, Lorie Sheffer, returns to entertain and enlighten us:
I thought that after some time had passed I would learn to ignore it, but it’s been several years now and it still irks me whenever I see it. It is especially annoying when the parking lot is full and I am having an especially rough day. There it sits, mocking me. It is the dreaded Stork Parking sign at my local Food Lion. “Stork Parking” in bold letters, with a character of a bird that belongs on a Vlasic pickle jar. The smaller print beneath the bird gives details for those who may question it; “For new and expectant mothers”.
I have a vague recollection of being pregnant. It wasn’t that bad. People threw parties for me and gave me gifts. I got to buy new clothes. When you are pregnant, you can take a nap when you want or prop up your swollen feet and nobody questions it. You’re “doing it for the baby.” Now I am 51 years old and nobody cares. Google the “35 symptoms of menopause” and see how much fun that sounds like. I’ve paid my dues and I want a special parking space, preferably in a shady area away from noonday sun. It would really be nice to have shuttle service to and from the entrance of the store. While they’re at it, how about a parking space reserved for Mothers of Teenagers? Now there’s a group of women who deserve some special treatment. Maybe menopausal women can get a sign with a vulture on it, for days when we feel especially discarded.
This morning I had to make a run to Food Lion. I forgot to get Gary’s orange juice when I got groceries yesterday. (see menopausal symptom #13, Disturbing memory lapses) The parking lot was nearly empty. The Stork Parking sign was taunting me. I glanced at my reflection in the rear view mirror. I looked like a character from a Tim Burton movie. I was up all night having hot flashes. I pulled into the coveted parking spot. What were they going to do, come out and make me pee on a stick? Tell me to my face that I am too old to reproduce? While I was in getting Gary’s juice, I thought I may as well get myself some Estroven, Nair Facial Hair Remover, Clinical Strength Secret Antiperspirant and a jumbo sized box of Twin Pops. I forced myself to walk past a gorgeous display of the most beautiful glazed doughnuts I had ever laid eyes on. It’s been SO LONG since I’ve had a doughnut! I also saw a shelf of Extra Large Muffin Tops. “No thanks, I’ve already got one of those.”
As I stood in the check out line, I glanced at the magazines. There on the cover of one of them was Jim Bob and Michelle Dugger, holding what I think is their twentieth child. They say they are ready to have another one. Wow. The things some women will do for a good parking spot!
(scroll down for yesterday’s post or go to Lane 8 )
“Sandwiches”, by Lorie Sheffer.
“When we were kids, did you ever think we would grow up to become sandwiches, because that’s what we are,” my friend told me.
The Sandwich Generation is the term used to describe us. There are several types on the menu, too.
The Traditional: Those of us who are caring for aging parents as well as our own children who are still living at home.
The Club: Those in their 50s and 60s who are caring for aging parents, their own adult children and their grandchildren. Or people in their 30s and 40s who are caring for their own young children, parents and grandparents.
Open Faced: Anyone involved in elder care.
According to a Pew Research Poll, 1 in 8 American’s aged 40 – 60 is involved in elder-care.
I thought of this when I sat in at my father’s bedside and my daughter brought my grandson in for a visit. Up until June of this year Dad was very independent. It was sometimes difficult to get in touch with my parents because they were always out doing something. Since the day he was born, I cared for my grandson while his parents worked and I drove to his house every day to get him off of the school bus when he started school. He’s 10 now and he is used to seeing me almost every day. “I miss you. When can we have a sleepover?” he asked me. My daughter has a more flexible work schedule now, so I am trying to spend as much time with Dad as I can. I miss my grandson horribly. While neither my father nor grandson lives with me, I spend tremendous amounts of time with them. I miss my adult son, who lives 2 hours away and is a 4th year medical student. Needless to say, he doesn’t have much extra time to come home, though he and his wife do try to squeeze in a trip as often as possible. I want to go to Philadelphia for the day and visit them and see their new house. We text one another and chat on the phone regularly, but those things don’t replace a hug. I hate to miss a day of visiting Dad, so my husband and I have not left the area this summer.
And so it goes. The Life of a Sandwich. It’s a familiar story. The characters differ, the setting and circumstances are not quite the same, but the core of the story remains. It is stressful and it is demanding and it is draining. But at the heart of it, there are people in our lives for whom we feel a deep love and sense of commitment.
(Lane 8 blog)
Lorie Sheffer has been a Guest Blogger here at Mid Life Celebration for so many weeks in a row, I can’t imagine Sunday’s here without her. Take it away Lorie:
“I never had friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?” That line is from one of my favorite movies, Stand By Me, which was based on the novella The Body, by Stephen King.
How often do you think of your childhood friends? Are you still in contact with them? My parents are both in their late seventies and they are still friends with many of the same people they grew up with. One of my dad’s best friends from high school is now a hospital volunteer. One night as I was leaving at the end of visiting hours, I ran into Fred as he was coming in. “Just thought I’d sit with him for awhile. I know how bad it gets in here at night.” Although the two of them had run into one another at class reunions over the years they weren’t in constant contact, yet their bond remains.
Even though I now live only a half hour drive from the same house I grew up in, I lost touch with all of my childhood friends. I think that my desire to reconnect was dampened when I contacted one of them and was horribly disappointed. What can you do when someone sits across the table from you and spews bigoted hatred and disgust toward groups of people who you hold close to your heart? Clearly she would not want to be a part of my world any more than I would have the desire to allow her into it. I felt a wave of sadness for the lovely childhood memories that had just been destroyed. Sometimes it is best to leave the past exactly there, in the past.
Several years had gone by since that unfortunate encounter, when I saw a very familiar name on Facebook. I had remembered Jeff since first grade. He had always been The Adorable Nice Guy. Sometimes handsome high school star athletes have a problem dealing with their attractiveness. He never did. In fact, he didn’t even seem to notice. How heartbreaking it would be if he had now become a creep. I took a deep breath and contacted him. I could tell by his reply that he was still the nice kid I remembered, married to his college sweetheart and the father of a little boy just as adorable as I remember him to be. YAY! My faith was restored.
Next week I am planning to have dinner with an old friend. We met in first grade and I have not seen her since we both attended the funeral of a dear mutual friend twenty-one years ago. She was as silly as I was, and because we lived such a short distance from one another we were together quite a bit. We had sleepovers in the summer and went to the same community pool. We cried over boys and shopped and went to movies. We confided our deepest secrets and laughed till we cried. We sang a duet of Midnight Train to Georgia every time it played over the car radio. I ran into her sister last week and she gave me contact information. Via a series of emails, I told my old friend to choose the time and place. I told her that I hope when we both get to the restaurant we recognize one another. For some reason, I have a feeling that we will pick up right about where we left off. You never have friends later on like the ones you had when you were twelve.
(next blog)