Ever have someone do really nice things for you, and then you thank them a decent amount?
But they don’t stop doing nice things for you. They keep at it and continue to be nice, without letting up, without asking for anything, they just keep giving.
And after some amount of time, you suddenly have a panic attack that you haven’t kept up with your gratefulness for their niceness?
Lorie Sheffer, THANK YOU for being a faithful, insightful, and humorous Guest Blogger here at Mid Life Celebration.
If there’s someone in your life that could use a “reminder” thank you, today might be a good day to do it.
Central Pennsylvania’s Lorie Sheffer returns for her regular Sunday Guest Blog Post. Are we lucky or what? Take it away Lorie:
The Things We Do For Love. 10cc sang that one back in 1977. We’ve all done some pretty crazy things in the name of love.
I have cared for a few loved ones suffering from a serious illness, doing the really gross, not-so-pleasant tasks that entails. I’ve raised two kids and have been the primary caregiver for my grandson when his parents have to work. I’ve done my share of things for love. I’m not squeamish.
There is one thing, however, that turns me into a screaming, hyperventilating girly girl. Rodents. I cannot even walk past them in the pet store. Which, by the way, is one of life’s biggest oxymorons; pet mouse. So wouldn’t you know…
One Saturday afternoon, I was digging through the pantry when I saw them: mouse droppings. I ran screaming from my kitchen and into Gary’s arms. I was so hysterical that he couldn’t understand what I was saying, save for “kill it, kill it, KILL IT!” Strong words for a vegetarian who carries insects from the house in a paper cup and releases them back into the wild.
I was horrified to think that one of those disease-ridden little harbingers of death was attempting to reside in my house! I proceeded to throw away anything the mouse could have looked at. Sure you can sterilize glass jars and cans and whatnot, but that mouse had touched them. EUW! I blasted through at least a gallon of bleach in an attempt to disinfect my shelves. I also had Gary set a trap. And then I waited.
The next day, the trap was gone. The mouse had been caught but not killed. In what was surely an attempt to win the war, it had dragged the trap between the cupboard and the wall, where it died. I called in a professional exterminator, who thought that A: it was hysterical that I had called him in for one mouse, and B: the mouse would “dry up in a few days.”
The next few days were a nightmare. The smell in the house was something out of a Stephen King novel. I couldn’t take it. I was ready to get a circular saw and buzz my way through the kitchen cabinet. I would have agreed to put the house up for sale and live in a hotel rather than stay in my house. Gary came home to find me sitting on the bench in front of the house, sobbing, refusing to set foot inside. I asked him to please go pack some things for me, as I was going to go live with my parents.
Then something wonderful happened. He steeled his spine, puffed out his chest, and took long, deliberate strides toward the house. He came back out dressed for battle. He had on a long sleeved shirt, rubber gloves rubber-banded at the wrists, a mask and goggles. He was carrying a small mirror duct-taped to an old broom handle and a black trash bag. He was headed for the Shop Vac. “I’m going to get that mouse out of there for you.”
The theme song from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly began playing in my mind. About a half hour later, he emerged from the hot zone, gagging, bag in hand. He plopped it into the dumpster, then looked at me and said, “Got it. I’ll open some windows, spray some Oust and take a shower. Then I’ll come back out for you.”
I can honestly say he has never looked hotter in all the years I have known him. George Clooney would play Gary in the movie version. My heart pounded and I felt like I did the first time I laid eyes on him over twenty years before. My GOD, man! “You may want to hurry up with that shower!” I said to him in a throaty voice.
Let’s just not tell him that you can buy mice at the pet store! He may try to stock my pantry with a few of them.
Lorie recently asked me if I want “my Sunday’s” back at Mid Life Celebration. I said something to this effect, “Are you out of your mind!” Take it away Lorie:
Sometimes change is good, sometimes change is bad and sometimes change is just, well, different. My husband got laid off about a year and a half ago. My older female friends, the ones with husbands who are long retired, ask me how I like having him home all day, every day. And then they laugh. To be honest, we really do get along. For the most part. But there were some adjustments to be made, for sure. He was used to working at least 40 hours a week, and I was used to my time being my own.
Before the forced retirement, we had finally gotten to the point of taking long weekends at the beach, just the two of us. We had some extra cash to throw around after both kids left the nest. After the job loss we scratched many of the extras, like the vacations and the massages and the dining out. Not that I am complaining; we’re in better shape in this rough economy than lots of folks, and for that I am grateful. Reworking the budget wasn’t the biggest challenge.
The first time we ventured out to Home Depot on a weekday, Gary stood at the entrance with his eyes wide. “Where is everybody?” he asked. I was sort of giddy welcoming him into my world of midweek shopping. Suddenly he understood why I’ve always detested weekend errands. He leisurely strolled the aisles, delighted to have a sales associate all to himself. He also marveled at the thrill of Going Out to Breakfast. At first, he couldn’t understand why the diner was full of elderly people. Then he realized that everyone else was at work. Household chores could be done whenever he wanted, leaving weekends free, and snowstorms meant sleeping in and not caring when or if the plow came to our street. He now knows who Bo and Hope are, as well as doctors Oz and Phil. I will admit that I felt more than a little pang of jealously when I saw him out in the front yard chatting it up with our 81-year-old neighbor. Allen was MY front yard friend for years and years, and now Gary was stealing him!
Gary has taken it upon himself to show me all of the ways that I can do things more efficiently. According to him. God bless his stereotypical engineer’s personality. To think that all these years I have been driving in the wrong lane, braking too hard, and taking the wrong routes. He has educated me on how to pull weeds, wash my car and groom the cats. I strongly suspect that he lies awake at night, horrified at the thought of how, for almost 30 years, I had been left unattended all day, every day. He most likely cannot even begin to fathom the thought of me being in charge of our children while he was away at work. He probably feels as though we really dodged a bullet.
In the years when he worked, I was accustomed to getting up every morning at 6:00 to make Gary’s breakfast and pack his lunch. I know how that sounds, but we really are more Ozzy and Sharon than Ozzie and Harriet. Once he was out the door I had my day to myself. I had a routine. I would have one cup of coffee while I read the paper, and a second cup while checking my email and reading online news. Now, since he has discovered that he enjoys watching Letterman every night, we sleep in a bit later in the morning. If I want to plan a day, I have another person to consider. I’m not too proud to admit that one day I bribed him with a trip for ice cream if he would just, and I quote myself, “Shut your mouth, keep it shut, don’t ask me any questions and for God’s sake, do NOT offer me any more advice!” He decided on a large plate of coconut and almond fudge swirl.
If you are not yet fully familiar to Lorie Sheffer’s storytelling, and are deciding whether or not to read this one, may I assure you, that this one will take you back to your childhood and a “simpler time”. Treat yourself. And get ready for a great summer. Take it away Lorie:
As Memorial Day weekend approaches, marking the official start of summer, I think back to last year at this time. My mother in law was in her final months of Alzheimer’s and I couldn’t help but remember some happier times with her. One memory that stood out in my mind was a summer night many years ago, sitting on her patio watching old home movies. My kids, then about five and ten years old, were amazed to see grainy black and white imagines of their Nana as a young woman, swimsuit clad and body surfing in the waves at Ocean City Maryland. “Is that REALLY you?” they asked her. “Well, I wasn’t always a Nana!” she shot back. As her illness progressed, I thought of that night and of how she really did sum it up for all of us. That elderly woman, physically ill and consumed by dementia, had once been a carefree young girl enjoying summer at the beach.
As I walked through our neighborhood one warm night, more to get out of the house and the stressfulness of what lay ahead more than for any other reason, I couldn’t help but notice that my house was the only one with open windows. I listened for the sounds of baseball games on the radios and televisions, kids playing flashlight tag or catching fireflies, but the only sound was the low drone of central air. When did we decide we couldn’t live outside of a hermetically sealed, climate-controlled world?
What comes to mind when you think of the summers of your childhood? I grew up in a home without air conditioning. My brother, cousins and I would fill galvanized metal tubs with water and sit in them, or we would walk through the fields until we came to the tiny stream that runs through the edge of the woods. There we would take off our sneakers and wade in the water, in the shade of the big old oaks and maples. We laid on the cool cement porches in the evenings, tuning in the transistor radio to the Orioles games. I still remember the excitement of waking up in the middle of the night and piling into our car, windows open, to leave for our yearly summer vacation. Dad would have the Apache camper hooked onto the trailer hitch, and we would head 500 miles south to camp for a week in Myrtle Beach.
When I returned from my walk later that evening and had taken a cool shower, my husband and I laid in bed under our ceiling fan listening to the crickets and the frogs that were croaking in the pond at our nearby park. I decided then and there to put some childhood back into summer. Bring on the nostalgia! We committed ourselves to a summer without central air. We bought a few tower fans and found they did a surprisingly good job of cooling the house to a tolerable temperature. I cooked most meals on the grill or we had cold dinners of salads and fruits. Best of all, we spent more time playing in our pool with our grandson than we had in all previous years combined. I must admit, that first cannonball into the water was a real awakening. Not only did I displace more water than I ever imagined I was capable of, but my butt did quite a bounce off of the bottom of the pool. We reacquainted ourselves with the amazing flavors of freeze pops; we listened for the sound of the snowball man’s bell every afternoon, and I got muddy wading in the creek. I learned that ice cream is so a food group, super soakers are way better than the little water pistols I had grown up with and nobody cares if you eat dinner in a wet swimsuit. My husband discovered the pleasure of eating his dinner while floating in a giant inflatable pool chair. After all, he wasn’t always a Grampy! Our grandson loved hanging out with the big old kids.
This weekend we will uncover the pool, scrub down the deck furniture and prepare another childish summer. We can hardly wait! What a reason to celebrate.
Happy Sunday, and as you’ve come to expect on Sunday’s, Lorie Sheffer is here to share her midlife wit and wisdom. Take it away Lorie:
Gray Divorce. That’s what it’s called. The new trend for middle aged couples. Statistics show that more and more couples are deciding that after the kids are raised and out of the house, it’s time to pull the plug on the marriage. I’ve witnessed this trend in my own circle of friends. I’ve heard the same story about a half a dozen times over the past few years. I’ve chatted with my female friends about their ventures back into the dating world. Sometimes it’s sad; sometimes it’s hilarious, and sometimes it kind of exciting. It motivated me to do some sleuthing to find the facts behind this recent rash of midlife divorce.
It seems that women initiate 66% of midlife divorces. The reasons the ladies give are emotional and/or physical abuse, infidelity and drug or alcohol abuse. The reasons the 34% of men who initiate divorce proceedings give are “fell out of love” and “different values and lifestyle”. Come on, guys! That’s a little vague, don’t you think?
Into this mix, let’s not forget that Gloria Alred is now referred to as The Mistress Lawyer, because of her representation of the mistresses of famous men who cheat. Wow. I really don’t know what to say. These women have sex with a married man and then sue him? For what? When one of my friends told me that she was divorcing her husband because he “pulled a Tiger” I wasn’t about to even try to change her mind. In fact, I was totally supportive of her decision. As for the boredom excuse, I find that rather funny. I wonder if these guys should have hired a cruise director instead of getting married. It’s terribly hard for me to imagine cashing in your chips after spending most of your life with someone because you ran out of stuff to do. I absolutely feel that nobody should stay in an abusive relationship or be expected to share his or her spouse with anyone else. But to leave because you’re bored? Excitement rarely just happens on it’s own.
What interests me is that the kids seem to handle their parents’ divorcing better when they are younger than when they are older. As one of my twenty something friends said to me a few years ago, “You get to a point where you just count on your parents being together, and the thought of them ever divorcing is something you no longer worry about. The when it happens, it feels like your whole childhood was a lie.” It seems so tragic that a couple can get through the diaper changes and the arguments over the in laws, the years of tight budgets and exhaustion from parenting, and then one day have the house to themselves and decide they just don’t want to be there. What broke my heart was when, after learning his other grandparents were divorcing, my grandson informed me “nobody stays together.” What can you say to a child when the majority of adults in his life are ending their relationships? I suppose as midlifers, we are going to have to figure this out for ourselves, as we go. It’s not something our grandparents ever taught us how to deal with. Maybe, like bellbottoms and leisure suits, Gray Divorce is just a fad.
