Lorie Sheffer – Page 17 – Disney Leadership Keynote Speaker

Guest Blogger Lorie Sheffer: Artifacts

White House tour ticket 1976

I was flattered when my 13-year-old grandson asked if he might interview me for an end of school year project. He had to ask questions to someone over the age of 50. Ugh…. I apparently fit into some sort of AARP age requirement. Still, his questions were thoughtful and it soon became fun for me. Questions such as “What’s your first memory?” “What events in your childhood do you remember most and what affect do they have on your views today?” There were a few fluffier questions like “What was your favorite song?”

And then we got to meat of the project. He asked me if I had any artifacts. ARTIFACTS! In case you fellow midlife celebrants weren’t aware of it, any mementos we have hung onto from our teen years are now Smithsonian worthy. Apparently a vintage 1976 Foghat concert ticket is right up there with Tommy Dorsey or Glenn Miller memorabilia. Those puka shell chokers the guys and gals wore may as well go into the costume box for Downton Abbey. Platform shoes? Remember that infamous biker bar scene from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, when Pee Wee did the Big Shoe Dance while Tequila played on the jukebox? Yeah, that. Those photos of us before belly fat and turkey necks, the ones in which we think we look spectacular? They will be met with giggles and snorts, followed by comments like, “What’s with your HAIR?” and “Did people really WEAR that stuff?” If we’re lucky, they may be compared to the characters on That 70’s Show.

Perhaps my favorite reaction was when I answered the question “What was your first job?” When I said that I was a lifeguard, the look of shock, followed by giggles, was followed up by phone calls to various relatives who were asked to verify the information.

My thoughts went back to a hot summer night, watching old home movies on my in-laws back porch. My kids sat wide-eyed and unbelieving when my mother in law appeared on screen clad in a bathing suit, jumping in the surf. “What are you two so surprised about? I wasn’t ALWAYS a Nana!” My sentiments exactly, Molly. My sentiments exactly.

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Guest Blogger Lorie Sheffer: Does the noise in my head bother you?

Blue car — In the blink of an eye, the car is totaled and no one got hurt. Photo: Lorie Sheffer

The title of Steven Tyler’s book made me think long and hard about the distractions we all seem to live with, conjured up in our own heads.

Multitasking seems to be regarded as a virtue. Yet studies have shown that, in reality, multitasking leads to a 40% reduction in productivity.

Years ago a young woman in my yoga class was having trouble. Her trouble wasn’t with flexibility or strength. She said her problem came at the end of class, during the shavasana. This is at the end of class, the part where you clear your mind and concentrate on your breathing. She said she kept going all the things she needed to do when she got home. She couldn’t silence her inner chatter even for that brief period of time.

Sometimes the inner noise can lead to minor mishaps. A few weeks ago I was baking blueberry muffins while mentally going over my last minute “to do list” for my yard sale. The result was one of the very few baking screw-ups I’ve ever had, and I’m still not sure what I did that caused the gluey, tough muffins that ended up in the trash. Other times our inner chatter causes us to forget something that later turns out to be funny. Like the time my friend woke up to discover she had left her car sitting in the driveway all night with the engine running. Then there are the tragedies and near tragedies. We have all read the nightmare of an overworked, over-scheduled parent forgetting their baby is in the backseat of the car on a brutally hot day. We hear news accounts of someone who lost their home in a fire because they forgot they had something on the stove. Distraction. Thinking about what’s next on that endless list.

Does the noise in my head bother you? The answer can be “yes”. The noise in our heads and resulting inability to focus on the task at hand can not only be bothersome and stressful to us, it can be downright dangerous to those around us.

Guest Blogger Lorie Sheffer: In the eye of the beholder

Field of Pennsylvania wildflowers — In the eye of the beholder (photo: Lorie Sheffer)

If weeds were a cash crop, I’d be a millionaire. Along with the gorgeous days of spring, filled with blooming bulbs and flowering trees, comes the chore of weeding. It seems every home has a pile of mulch in the driveway, ready to be hauled around by the wheelbarrow full. Heat wraps, Ben Gay and Aleeve are flying off drugstore shelves, scooped up by weekend gardeners with low back spasms.

Just a few days ago, as I was admiring the planned and planted blooms in my back yard, I was also cursing the dreaded weeds that had come in to join them, uninvited. Wild mustard, with its bright yellow blooms, stands tall over unidentifiable purple blossoms, and beneath them all there is a groundcover of chickweed. Unable to face the chore ahead of me, I decided to get some pictures off of the camera card my brother had dropped off for me. He said there were some shots of the pretty wild flowers in the orchard behind our parent’s house. I loved picking flowers in the orchard when I was a child, gathering up big bunches and sticking them in jars and glasses all over the house.

The fruit trees are old and many of them no longer bloom. But the ‘wild flowers’ are still there. I had to smile when I saw the pictures of them. I suppose it’s all about perspective. I am now quite sure that when I was a little girl, I would think of my current back yard as a flower filled wonderland.

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Guest Blogger Lorie Sheffer: The “kid’s” stuff

Old toys and children's things — The “kid’s” stuff (photo: Lorie Sheffer)

For any of you mid-lifers out there who still have kids at home or in college, let me clue you in on a secret. They never come get their “stuff”. If it’s in your basement now, it will always be in your basement. If it’s stuffed in a closet, there it shall remain.

Our basement flooded last year. I frantically ran down the steps and toward a stand mixer box that was sitting in four inches of water. I ended up throwing it over my head and into the water behind me, not realizing the box was empty. Yes, my son had stored empty boxes that I thought were filled. There are also full cartons, bags and items sitting out in the open. A megaphone from my daughter’s high school cheerleading days sits in the corner. She is going to be 34 years old in June. There’s a Big Wheel down there, along with a rusty tricycle. There are cartons and cartons of now obsolete college textbooks.

Last year I suggested to my husband that we have quite a bit of storage potential in the basement for seasonal things like pool supplies and deck furniture. It was going to be his project to clean and organize the space. He got part of it done and then gave up. Where to go with it all?

I read a Dear Abby column in which a young woman told of her and her 5 siblings going home for Christmas. They were concerned that their retired parents had gone overboard on the obscene number of gifts under the tree. On Christmas morning they began unwrapping and howled with laughter when they realized their parents had gift-wrapped all of the things the kids had left behind as they moved into adulthood.

My kids don’t want me to throw things away, and I refuse to store them for another decade. Our solution is a yard sale. Cash is such a wonderful incentive. This morning as I was getting ready to start yet another day of pricing, a knock came to my door. It was a neighbor telling me that she and three other families on the next street are having yard sales this weekend, too. They are trying to unload their kid’s hoard.

Guest blogger Lorie Sheffer: Simple Solutions

Child's bedroom converted to vintage sitting room — Time for tea surrounded by vintage treasures (photo: Lorie Sheffer)

One day my friend, who happens to be a psychiatrist, and I were discussing stresses in everyday life. He shared with me that on more than one occasion he has heard the complaint how every time we turn on the television, we are bombarded with bad news and horrible images. His suggestion? “Turn off the television.” For only $175 an hour, that is some pretty simple advice. Why, then, can we not seem to figure out the obvious? Why do we feel increasingly unable to disengage?

I absolutely feel it is necessary to educate ourselves as to what is happening in the world around us and to form our own opinions and views based upon facts and not hearsay. With the information we all have at our disposal, it is inexcusable not to do so. But where do we draw the line? At what point do we stop and realize that we have the story and all we are doing is bombarding our emotions with the details? If we can in some way help, then we need to continue gathering information. If simply drawn to events in some strange voyeuristic way, then maybe it would be best to take a break. At the very least, we may need to step back and take a breath.

Ridiculous as it may sound, afternoon tea is a wonderful way to refresh our mind and recharge our soul. It’s quite different from guzzling a grande coffee with a triple shot of espresso from a paper cup. It’s totally unlike sipping from a stained old mug, tea bag tag hanging from the side. What I’m talking about is brewing a pot of real tea and then drinking it from an old vintage cup or at the very least a clean, unstained mug. Savoring it with a small sweet treat only adds to the joy of it. If the weather is hot, iced tea or lemonade, not the instant kind but the fresh made variety, seems almost decadent when it’s sipped from a tall frosty glass. Sit by a window and watch the snow fall, or the birds fly or the rain splash on the pane…… but sit and look outside, away from the television, computer and iPad. In the good old days, this was known as break. It was thought to help relieve stress, give some fresh perspective and allow us to mentally escape for a few moments. And the last time I checked an afternoon break cost quite a bit less than $175 an hour.