Lorie Sheffer – Page 29 – Disney Leadership Keynote Speaker

They’re magically delicious, by Lorie Sheffer, guest blogger

Irish dinners — traditional Irish St. Paddy's Day dinner. (photo: Lorie Sheffer)

“Maybe you can make us a traditional Irish dinner for Saint Patrick’s Day.”

My husband and I are going to have our grandson overnight. I was thinking carryout, but Gary was going by what usually happens in our house when there is a major or minor holiday, special TV show, event in someone’s life, or time when I am feeling creative; we have some kind of ridiculous theme dinner. Back in the years before I became bored with American Idol, I hosted a finale party that was both over the top and greatly anticipated by my guests. I’ve made Halloween food that included cheese goblins, stromboli snakes and shrunken apple heads floating in hot mulled cider. This past December I threw a Hanukkah party; we’re not Jewish. My latest project was baking 90 black and white cookies, 4 inches in diameter each, to save my daughter $135 had she ordered them from the bakery. Doing these things can be tiring, but it is something that is fun for me.

That being said, sometimes when we hit midlife, we woman tend to become ever so slightly unpredictable. I’ve discussed this phenomenon with my same age friends, and we came up with a few possible theories. Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep from the all-too-common complaint of insomnia. Maybe we’re just burned out from years of doing it all. Could it be that we are now too smart not to know that we can just go get ready-made food or let someone else take care of the work? We’re pretty sure that Hilary Clinton has better things to do than make baked brie en croute in the shape of a football, or fret over the blueberries being in a straight line on her July 4^th flag cake. Yet we wonder, does she sometimes board the plane and sit there in her seat, exhausted, and wonder, “OMG! Do I have to do EVERYTHING around here?”

And so what was an innocent suggestion, “Maybe you can make us a traditional Irish dinner for Saint Patrick’s Day”, ended with me slamming a box of Lucky Charms and a bottle of Guinness onto the counter. Sure I dug out my recipe for shepherd’s pie and homemade dinner rolls. But what is served will greatly depend on which Me wakes up on Saturday morning.

Day trippin’, by guest blogger Lorie Sheffer

pretzels — pretzel capitol of the world? (photo: Lorie Sheffer)

Mid Life should be a time when we are finally able to carve out a little “me time”. Yet statistics show that it is a time when we are often struggling with multiple responsibilities. We may still have children at home. Sometimes those children are, in fact, children. Sometimes they are adult children who for whatever reasons have had to move back in to our homes. Or maybe we don’t see our kids as much as we wished we were able to. That empty nest can be a lonely place. Our parents are aging and perhaps need our assistance. Retirement plans may have collapsed along with Wall Street, forcing us to use that traveling money for everyday expenses. At the point in life that some time away would do wonders for our mental health, we find that our disposable income has to be used for the necessities.

Last week I found myself in desperate need of a change of scenery. Even though our retirement accounts have been recovering rather nicely, we are still being careful of our savings. I am responsible for my father’s nursing care four days a week, and even though he has been rapidly regaining his independence and my duties don’t take up much time, I still have to commit to being there. The answer? Day trips! It’s amazing what a day trip can do to relieve stress and give you a fresh perspective.

Living in South Central Pennsylvania has its advantages. Just over an hour west of my home is Gettysburg and the beautiful surrounding mountains. About an hour to the south is Baltimore Maryland, with its lovely harbor and wonderful neighborhoods, each with their own distinct personality. We have Hershey to the north, and Amish country to the East. This day I decided to head across the Susquehanna River to Lititz. My husband was unaware of where I was taking him. The drive was lovely, and the town itself was charming. Interestingly, though we had driven through we had never stopped and looked around. We ended up going to the historic pretzel factory. It’s really no longer a factory, but a gorgeous old house that is now more the museum for the original factory. The working factory has been modernized and is currently producing pretzels in Reading. We acted like kids on a school field trip, taking the tour and learning to roll our own dough. We sat outside on a bench, in the unseasonably warm March sun, and ate fresh from the oven pretzels. Then we drove a few blocks to the Wilbur Chocolate Factory. The smell was enough to send me into a state of nirvana. Our little trip only lasted a few hours and cost us under $100, including bags of take home pretzels and chocolates, but the benefits were much greater than I expected. We’ve decided to take turns planning mini surprise trips, destinations unknown until arrival. The planning of said trips and their itinerary is in itself a way to mentally escape stress.

While it’s good to “think big”, maybe sometimes we get so stuck on that all or nothing idea that we miss the little things. I’ll admit that I would love to go on a long weekend escape, but until life allows for that to happen, it seems a shame not to take advantage of all the little treasures that are well within a few hours drive from home.

Catalogue crazy, by guest blogger Lorie Sheffer

York PA — photo: Lorie Sheffer, York, PA

I just realized that a woman can tell the stage of life she is in by the catalogues she receives in the mail. Somehow, when you hit the 50-year-mark, the “fashion catalogues” that fill the mailbox begin to change.

I did a quick look at the online versions of catalogues I used to buy from; catalogues that have mysteriously stopped coming to my address. Then I looked at the online versions of what I now receive on a regular basis. Not only do the styles differ, so do the descriptions. Quite frankly, it’s depressing.

My first search was for a dress. I wanted to compare as similar a style as possible. From the old catalogue of my pre-midlife years I found this: “Scene stealing, show stopping silhouette. Flirty hemline, this dress is made for dancing and romancing.” The older woman version was described as follows: “Fun yet elegant. Will flatter straight, apple, pear or full bust figure. Great style for the season.” Seriously? This sounds more like a fruit salad than a dress!

On to the swimsuits! I use the term “swimsuit” loosely. The younger styles look like slingshots. Sure, I wore them back in the day, but wow……. These tiny bits of fabric are described as “extra hot! SO sexy!” The specifications on their elderly counterparts are “ Skirted hem for a slimming effect, with a power net lining for added tummy control.” And, “Takes inches off your waist, midriff, tummy and hips, while helping to lift buttocks.” (OK… I may order a few of those.) By the photos, I think if we want to be literal here, the tiny bikinis don’t look nearly as “hot” as the super constructed swim dresses. Those things look more like scuba gear! No wonder middle-aged women have hot flashes!

Every woman loves shoes! The younger gals can choose from such wonders as “Strappy, street chic – strut from day to night!” and “Ultimate party heel, perfect for mingling all night!” We middle aged fashionistas are treated to “Breathable, allover comfort, traction and durability.” While we are on the subject of shoes, let me share this from my own life. My back bothers me. I love really high heels, but my hatred of pain overrides my love of a gorgeous stiletto. With that in mind, I recently went shopping for a shoe that wouldn’t send me hobbling for a chiropractic adjustment. I found a gorgeous pair of leopard print pumps with a red, four-inch heel. While my heart said, “YES!” my back said “NOOOO!” I came home with what felt like pillows on my feet. My husband took one look and said, “When did you get those? Your feet look like goat hooves.”

As any self-respecting woman knows, foundation garments are key. The younger crowd gets to choose from such lacy treats as “the hipster panty, naughty knickers” or the ever-popular “Rio thong”. The choices of bras include “sexy lace push up creates amazing cleavage! Available in apple red, passion purple, hot pink, ocean blue and sexy black.” The over 50 ladies get “built up straps to prevent shoulder strain and dig-in. Full coverage with underwire construction for maximum lift and separation. Colors: Beige, white and black.”

So now I have learned the answer to that burning question: Just what IS Victoria’s secret? Well kids, her secret is that some day, right around the time you hit The Big Five Oh, Vicky is going to save her advertising dollars. She is going to send your catalogues to your daughter and pass your name off to someone who can better deal with your aches, pains, rolls and bulges. Don’t blame the mailman, for he is only the messenger.

The weight has been lifted, by Guest blogger Lorie Sheffer

butterflies — photo: Lorie Sheffer, York, PA

“Forgiveness is letting go of the hope that the past can be changed.” – Oprah Winfrey

Those words grabbed my attention. I was watching an Oscar themed interview between Oprah and Viola Davis, who is up for a best actress award for her role in The Help. Davis said those words, for which she credited Oprah, were life changing for her. They are powerful words. Think about it: When we can let go of what we wish the past had been, when we truly understand that the past can never be changed, we can finally move on. We can certainly learn from our past, but it cannot be undone. Davis went on to say that, no matter what that past is, it helped to shape who we are now. If we embrace it, if we forgive the things that were painful, then we are free to step into our future unencumbered.

Life’s soundtrack, by guest blogger Lorie Sheffer

classic rock concerts — Valentine's Day 1976 - Foghat concert (ticket), photo: Lorie Sheffer

Why do we grieve for pop stars as if we knew them personally? Why do they deserve the attention? What makes them worthy? Since the death of Whitney Houston, I am hearing many of these questions asked, much like the questions that were asked following the death of Michael Jackson. Why glorify addiction? Why is our focus not on the more honorable deaths of our military?

Maybe the answer is that we allow these people into the very fabric of our lives. They become a part of our history through their music. They provide our soundtrack. I know exactly what song was playing for my first slow dance when I was in 8^th grade. If “Dance to the Music” comes on the radio, I am transported back to summers at the pool; I can almost smell the chlorine. There are dating songs and breakup songs, wedding songs and songs that I sang to my children. My son was rocked to sleep to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, my daughter to Dream On. I listened to my first Aerosmith song when I was 14 years old, and I sang their “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” to my grandson when he was a toddler. I can’t listen to “Fire and Rain” without thinking of my now deceased best friend. Go to any wedding and watch the reaction from the females in the room when the song “I Will Survive” is played; solidarity on the dance floor.

Maybe the very fact that those famous people have problems is one of the reasons we connect with them. They have it all, and yet they have the same frailties as the rest of us. Women connected to Oprah in her weight struggles. We cheer Robert Downey Jr. and his overcoming of addiction and return of his career. Whose heart didn’t break for Jennifer Hudson following the murder of her mother, brother and young nephew? Their problems make them human, more relatable. Imagine every embarrassing or painful thing in your life being played out in the tabloids, on the news, on TMZ. Imagine the lowest point in your life being the subject of jokes for every late night comedian. We laugh and judge when they fall, and yet when they inevitably die from the pressure, we grant them Sainthood.

I think that Roberta Flack’s hit, “Killing Me Softly” sums it up well. In it she tells of walking into a club where a total stranger seems to be telling the story of her life while she sits and listens, sure that everyone in the room must know that the song is about her. She feels exposed. We all have songs like that; songs that seems to speak about us and to us. No wonder then, that when one of the artists who has become such a part of our lives passes, from whatever cause, we feel as though we have lost someone we know; someone who knows us and who was a part of our life. Because really, didn’t they provide the background for every special moment we hold dear to our heart?