Guest Bloggers – Page 24 – Disney Leadership Keynote Speaker

What Determines Who You Are?

We all wait patiently for Sunday, to see what our Guest Blogger, Lorie Sheffer has to say. Here she is, enjoy:

I was watching a litter of stray kittens that live in my parents’ back yard, and it struck me how even in the animal world, personality is evident from a very early age. Among those kittens there is the shy one, the daredevil, the social one, and the aggressor. I am hoping to get them all tame enough to find homes. As I watched them interact, I thought how much they are like humans. We all have family dynamics, and our roles change little, if at all, through the years. Nothing brings those dynamics to the surface like group stress.

“You can’t see the forest for the trees.” Sometimes when we are part of the group or family on a daily basis, it is difficult for us to see what our role is. We are too close to get a good view. If we step back and are no longer part of that group, then return, the dynamics are as clear as day.

My mother just turned 77 years old. Her eldest sister is 88 and her middle sister passed away two years ago at the age of 82. When the three of them were in a room together it was clear what their roles had always been. They still knew what buttons to push. Apparently it never ends. “She was always such a spoiled brat!” “You were always a goody-goody suck up!” “No wonder you always got into trouble.”

My husband has clearly always been The Rebel. By that, I mean that he is able to set boundaries and to be the voice of reason. It is clear he is almost shunned within his family because of his ability to do so. I seem to be The Mediator. I hate conflict. I am hypersensitive to tension. I can spot an argument before the first voice is raised. It can be exhausting. I’ve discovered that some of my lifelong anxiety comes from my anticipation of an argument or conflict. I wasn’t raised in an abusive family, but I was raised within a big extended family where conflict was inevitable. I want everyone to be kind. I don’t care for labels, but it really does seem that some of them exist for a reason. I don’t know if we behave the way we do because we are trying to fit the label we were given or if the label was given to us because of the consistent behavior we have shown.

I believe that people do have the ability to change, but that our core personalities, just like the personalities of that litter of stray kittens, is set at a very early age. Anyone who has more than one of their own children will tell you, even though two children have the same set of parents and are raised in the same home, they can be total opposites. What is your role within your family? Think back to when you were a child, and then take a look at what your role is now. Have you really changed all that much? When you visit with family, do you see everyone falling back into those old dynamics? There is a reason that shows like Roseanne and Everybody Loves Raymond, as well as movies like Christmas Vacation and Home for the Holidays are such hits. We can all relate.

Scroll down for bonus post.

Midlife, What’s To Celebrate?

Midlife, what’s to celebrate, by Blogger Lorie Sheffer:

Midlife Celebration. Sometimes we wonder what there is to feel celebratory about. Life can seem so hectic we find it hard to find the time to sit for a few minutes and enjoy some quiet time. We may wait for a reason to go out for dinner or take that day off. We wait for a real reason to celebrate. We wait for an occasion.

If you woke up today and were able to sit up in bed, swing your feet to the floor and walk across the room, you have a reason to celebrate. If you didn’t need help showering, brushing your teeth or using the toilet, you have a reason to celebrate. If you could reach down and pick up the morning paper from your doorstep, look at the sky and then go inside to brew yourself a pot of coffee, you have a reason to celebrate. If you could smell your breakfast and feed yourself, if you were able to chew and swallow, you have a reason to celebrate. If you can breathe without a ventilator, you have a reason to celebrate.

Sometimes we take for granted those little things we do every day, so easily and without a thought, until we are no longer able to do them.

I am on week six of spending an average of six hours a day, at least five days a week, with people who can’t do some of those things we take for granted. Sometimes I feel tired and stressed. When I leave for the day, I walk through those hospital doors into the sun or the rain. I look at the gorgeous crepe myrtle that is planted around the perimeter of the parking garage, and then I see the coneflowers and ornamental grasses and small trees that fill the landscaped areas. I breathe in the summer air. I hear birds and cars and people talking. I hear and see life outside. I think of the people in the hospital behind me. My thighs may be larger than I would like, my rear end wider, but I am walking. I am leaving. I get in my car and I drive away, putting more and more miles between me and Them. I drive into the real world, a world where people are pissed off because they can’t find a parking place that is close to the entrance. People who think it a hardship to have to run to their car in the rain. I now see those things as a privilege. When I walk in to my house and see the sink full of dirty dishes that I left I actually feel blessed to be able to stand at the sink and wash them.

Take time today to celebrate. If you had a boring, uneventful day, then you have a reason to celebrate. If you had to mow your lawn, clean your house, wash your car, or do laundry, and you did so without assistance, you have a reason to celebrate. You have a reason to feel filled with joy and to feel blessed. You have reason to thank God for the glorious day, and you have reason to celebrate.

(next blog)

Who Cursed Us?

Guest Blogger Lorie Sheffer:

My mother and I were leaving the hospital a few days ago, and she wondered out loud who put a curse on our family. I knew what she meant, but I asked her to explain anyway. Within the past two years, her sister died from Alzheimer’s, my brother was diagnosed with colon cancer and had to go through two surgeries and six months of chemo, my mother in law died, a beloved family friend died, my husband’s cousin (my good friend whom I have blogged about) died, and now my father has been in the ICU for four weeks and a regular room for one (so far). Believe it or not, that is only a partial list.

“What do you mean, who cursed us? I think we’re blessed.” She looked at me as though I were slightly out of my mind. Then I gave her my take.

She had her sister as her best friend for 76 years. My brother recovered and has been given really good odds that he is cured. My mother in law lived to see her grandchildren grow to adulthood and she died at home as she had wished. Our family friend was a robust 85 years old and died suddenly without pain or suffering in the exact same spot where her husband had died years before her. I feel fortunate that I got to know my husband’s cousin and share such fun times with her; she taught us things about life we otherwise would never have known.

As for my dad, we just spent the day with a man whose surgeon said had a less than 50% chance of surviving only 5 weeks before.

We were told to gather the family and call in anyone from out of town who may want to be with us; now we call one another to see who was going in to visit him and when. I told Mom we can’t lose sight of the positive. My husband can’t run since he had his stroke 14 years ago. He misses it. But if he dwells on having a hitch in his gait then he misses the blessing of being able to walk and to ride his bike. He can’t run, but he can ski. His arm is stiff, but it is functional. He lived to see everything that has happened in the last 14 years with his family. He is blessed. We are blessed.

Bad things happen. That’s life. I’m not saying I haven’t had my share of tears and days when I don’t feel like I can manage to put one foot in front of the other. I’ve had to dig deep lately, that’s for sure. I also know that things are what they are. One day, while driving to Baltimore for my husband’s physical therapy, I saw a billboard with an advertisement that has stuck with me. Wisdom from unexpected places, I suppose. It said, “You cannot change the direction of the wind, but you can adjust your sails.”

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.