Lorie Sheffer pre-2012

01.07.12  For Lorie Sheffer’s 2012 Guest Posts, I’ve created a new page. Thanks for visiting and best wishes for an amazing 2012. Go!

12.31.11 Adapting

The holiday season afforded me the chance to visit with two very special members of my family. The first visit was with Aunt Ruth, who will turn 101 in a few weeks. My second visit was with Aunt Betty. She will celebrate her 90^th birthday in March.

Both of these amazing ladies live at home, and both are almost shockingly fit, mentally and physically. What I most wanted to try to see was if there was some common link the two of them shared. Being from different sides of my family I knew there was no genetic link, so I reasoned there had to be something they were doing that was contributing to their longevity.

A sense of humor was one of the first things that jumped out when I spoke to my aunts. They also both like to get out of the house and remain active. Granted, Ruth’s exercise is going to watch her daughter’s aquatics therapy, but still; at 100 years old, getting out of the house, into the car, into the pool area and back requires some maneuvering. She enjoys going out to dinner, too. Ruth was stunned when an anonymous person paid for her and her daughter’s dinner. “We must have looked pathetic, her with her cane and me with my walker”, she chuckled. Aunt Betty, being almost 10 years Ruth’s junior, still drives her car and attends quite a few social functions. Her arthritic knees seem to be the only thing that slows her down. As a retired registered nurse, she takes great pride in the fact that she keeps up with medical news and reads monthly newsletters from several institutions of higher learning. She has never lost the desire to learn and to remain interested.

Perhaps what stands out the most about both of them is their ability not only to adapt to change, but the fact that they almost seem to thrive on it. Instead of moaning about what they can no longer do, they almost brag about figuring out new ways to do things. For example, Aunt Betty told me that while she can’t carry her laundry basket down the basement steps to the washer and dryer, she has figured out a new way. She puts her laundry into a pillow case and tosses it down, then goes down holding onto the railing. When it’s done, she carries the basket up a step at a time, placing the basket onto the steps in front of her as she goes. Aunt Ruth, who is tiny and can’t reach into her kitchen cupboards without the now-forbidden step stool, has also found a solution to her problem. She no longer uses the cupboards, and instead keeps the dishes and cups she needs on the counter where she can easily reach them. Neither of the ladies seems to be concerned about what they can no longer do the old way, and instead seem pretty darned happy with their ingenuity.

I suppose what these women have taught me is that there really is a sort of evolution to aging, and those who learn to accept and adapt will thrive and be happier than those who get stuck and refuse to change. Recently, they were sitting in a waiting room, someone asked Ruth’s daughter, “Are you sisters?” Ruth said to me, “I know it hurt Phyllis’s feelings, but I LOVED it! And hey…. I feel great. I don’t feel a day over 85 and I must not look it, either!” Then she laughed and slapped her thigh.

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12.25.11  Good Will To All

My grandson is a perfect example of why this country is called a melting pot. His genetic makeup includes Hispanic, German, Italian and Austrian. He’s got a Jewish branch of the family a Methodist branch and a Pentecostal branch. There are family members who are very conservative right wing, and those of us who are hard-core liberals. He seems, as most children do, blissfully unaware of any differences. He just loves his family and friends.

Last week I thought it would be nice for him to learn a bit more about his Jewish ancestors by celebrating Hanukkah. I have some memories of celebrating Hanukkah many years ago, in New York City. I also found that you can Google anything, including recipes for brisket! AOL has a radio station that plays a stream of Hanukkah songs. Ironically, the commercials were for Christmas deals at major retailers. I asked Carter if he had ever heard any of the songs (Adam Sandler’s “classic” doesn’t count!), and he said he had not. When I asked him if he’s sure he’s never heard them when he turns on the radio or TV or walks into a store any day between Halloween and New Year’s Day, a look of understanding showed on his face.

When I sat the hot, crispy latkes on the table Carter, true to his Puerto Rican lineage, asked for the Goya hot sauce. He also hot sauced the brisket. He decided that he loves Hannukah food, with a slight Hispanic flavor.

We discussed how people who celebrate differently do not covet our holidays, nor do they wish to stop our celebrations. They have their own beliefs and their own traditions, which they hold as dear to them as we do ours. Most of all, we talked about the common link. That is the spirit of this season. My daughter invited an old friend of hers, who is Jewish. He gave his perspective of what it was like to grow up in a predominantly Christian area. Very different than when I went to New York and as someone who was raised in a Christian home, found myself to be the minority. Mostly I found that the beauty of another religion fascinated me.  I saw much of the same of what I experienced at home, which was family and friends coming together. They didn’t long for a Christmas tree any more than my family wished to be spinning dreidels. This should be a time when we put aside our differences and join in the wish for peace on Earth and goodwill to all. No matter how we choose to say it or what language we are speaking, all that matters is that we somehow find the willingness to be kind and respectful to one another.

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12.17.11  Mary Linda Night

This is the time of year when we celebrate traditions. Some of us may have lavish Christmas celebrations, including parties, family gatherings and religious services. Others of us may spend the season more quietly, with understated observance. There are also people who celebrate non-Christian holidays, while others don’t celebrate at all. Even with all the variations of the season, it’s hard to find anyone who doesn’t have some type of traditional way to spend time during the month of December.

My family started a favorite tradition over ten years ago. We would always set aside a night between Christmas and New Year’s for a special night of celebration. We would have dinner, the menu running the culinary gamut from Italian to Chinese. We’d have the always anticipated gift exchange. This was our special not-on-actual-Christmas-Eve Christmas, to be celebrated when and how we chose, with one of our very favorite relatives. Her eccentricity always made things memorable. There was the year of Y2K, when she poked fun at the Chicken Littles of the world. I got a space blanket, a basket of tinned meats and bottled water, candles and a wind up flashlight, as well as a copy of the book “How to Survive Anything, Anywhere”. There was the year of the stress-relief gifts, the year of the bath gifts, the year of the vanilla themed gifts. The gifts, always a theme, were purchased on the streets of Manhattan and toted by subway, taxi and a four hour bus ride to our home. They were wrapped with care, often with hand made decorations, usually packed into recycled frozen soft pretzel or Saltine boxes.

Last year my son and his wife had to head back to their home early to avoid the forecasted snowstorm. While I missed having those extra days with them, it made the fact that this would be the first year we would not be sharing our special Not on Actual Christmas night slightly more bearable. This year, his hospital night shift will once again mean that our Christmas week is going to be way off schedule. Still, I know that we would have somehow made our night happen. She would have extended her stay to make sure of it. But now there is a huge empty space to fill.

Every family has traditions. Sometimes we have to change them. This year, I know that my family will be thinking back to those special celebrations. It’s still too soon to think back on them and smile. Instead, I decided to fill that night with something totally different. It can never be the same, and trying to tweak it into something similar wouldn’t work at all. Instead, I have decided to celebrate the first night of Hanukkah. It will be a way to teach my grandson about part of his family tree. It will be a toned down, yet celebratory night; new foods, new music, new friends. Yet while I was shopping in preparation, I could almost hear her voice. “Hey! Don’t forget the dreidles! I know a place over on Second St that carries really nice ones! Geeze….. you have a menorah, right?” It will be different, and yet it will be the same.

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12.10.11  M.I.L.

Nothing in this world, save for snakes on a plane, will set some of us into a fit of anxiety more than these words: “Your mother in law is coming to visit.”

Mothers in law have long provided laughs for sitcoms, and if they aren’t YOUR mother in law, their antics and unfiltered opinions can be hilarious. From Mrs. McGillicuddy’s constant references to her daughter Lucy Ricardo’s husband “Mickey Richardson”, to the passive aggressive behavior of Raymond’s mother Marie Barone, to Modern Family’s modern day mother in law DeDe Prichett, mothers in law are a staple of family comedy.

Personally, I feel that if there were a contest for the most hilariously inappropriate mother in law, mine would win hands down. At the time, she drove me batty. Now that she is gone I find that I sort of miss her.  Some of her greatest hits: Telling me that my 4-year old son had gotten chicken pox from his sister because I didn’t feed him enough green vegetables. Informing me that she had never gotten over the fact that my husband hadn’t married his high school sweetheart, who was “like a daughter’ to her. Sending gifts to her out of state relatives and signing my husband and my names, after I had already sent them gifts. She wanted to be sure they got things they REALLY wanted. And, after my husband had specifically requested me to make his favorite meal for him, she told me “Gary doesn’t even like that. Why don’t you ever make him something he can eat?”

When my son got married, my number one priority was to make sure that his wife and I got along. Lucky for me, it’s not that hard. I very honestly think she is the best thing that ever happened to him. My son also adores his mother in law, and I am happy that he has her as his other mother.  I think the main thing that determines a mother in law/daughter in law relationship is a pretty simple rule. As a mother, you need to realize that your son’s wife is first in his life. She is not your competition. She is not the other woman. If you can understand and respect that, everything else will fall into place. So many times I hear women say they don’t like their mother in law because she is intrusive and won’t cut the apron strings. And yet these women act the same way towards their daughters in law.

A few years ago, I met a young woman from the U.K. She was telling me how much she missed her mother. She said something that I will never forget. She told me that her mom confided something to her. Mum said. “Of my three daughters in law, I adore one, I tolerate one and I can barely stand to be in the same room with one.”  My friend was stunned, and said that nobody would ever guess that Mum didn’t love all three of her son’s wives equally. “Well,” Mum replied, “I love your three BROTHERS equally, and that is why nobody will ever know which wife I love and whose name makes me cringe when I hear it. And I’ll never tell you who’s who, either.” All I could think of was how much love that mother had for her sons.

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12.03.11  Our Aging Parents

Perhaps one of the most stressful things we confront at midlife is caring for our aging parents.  It’s difficult to face the fact that they need help, both for us and for them.

I spoke with my friend about her decision to place her mother in an Alzheimer’s care facility. She lived out of state and would worry about her mom during the workweek, traveling home for the weekends to check in. She ended up losing her job because of having to take so much time off. As an only child, there was nobody with whom she could share the responsibilities. The neighbors were calling her a neglectful daughter for not packing up and moving back to the area in which she grew up. She knew that her mother’s care was becoming more than she could handle. She finally said to me, “It’s one of those situations where, no matter what decision you make, you don’t feel good about it.” She was trying to juggle this situation at the same time she was trying to oversee the care of her elderly aunt, who lived over a thousand miles away. She loved both of these women dearly, and she had to put their safety and well being ahead of her own needs or her own sense of pride. And yet she felt as if she were letting them down.

An elderly woman I am friends with wants to stay in her home, which includes several acres of land. She is angry that her son, who is in his sixties, doesn’t help her to maintain the property. He has explained to her that he needs to think of his own health issues. He has offered to help her search for a more manageable property in which she can live, but she refuses, saying she is not willing to give up her home. He’s being viewed as a neglectful son who is being selfish for not helping his mother, when in fact she is refusing the help and advice he is trying to give.

My own father was always fiercely independent. He kept up his large yard and worked part time until well into his seventies. His plan was to retire at the age of eighty, and he came darned close to reaching that goal. He is used to having things perfectly maintained, and while he is grateful for the help my brother and I are able to provide, he is not happy that he has to depend on us so much. It hurts me to see him sitting in the house while his grass is being mowed and his leaves are being raked, knowing how helpless it makes him feel. As a man of his generation, he’s not bothered that my mother cooks his meals and does his laundry, but he is saddened when he sees her taking the trashcans to the end of the driveway or do something he considers to be mans’ work.

It seems that for those of us who live out of town or out of state from our parents, there is often a sense of guilt. That guilt is mixed with a sense of relief.  On the flip side, those of us who live in close proximity often feel guilty when we find ourselves wishing that we had moved away. It reminds me of the moms I used to chat with when my kids were younger. The working moms felt guilty for not being stay at home moms; the stay at home moms felt guilty for the moments when their children got on their nerves and they craved adult conversation.

Maybe the best we can do is accept the fact that we are not perfect. It’s normal to feel what we feel. It’s not being a “bad child” to want a life of our own or to need time for ourselves. In fact, we need to take care of ourselves if we want to take care of someone else. Most importantly we need to understand that we may not resent the person so much as the situation; that the other person doesn’t want things to be the way they are any more than we do.  As my friend said, sometimes no matter what decision we make, we aren’t going to feel good about it.

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11.26.11 Nothing

A day dedicated to doing nothing. That is what I proclaimed the day after Thanksgiving to be. After spending time grocery shopping, cooking and cleaning up after The Big Day, I wanted to have a day devoted to absolutely nothing. Then I found out that my daughter was scheduled to work on Black Friday and she wanted to know if my grandson could spend the night and the day. Sure, I would be happy to have him, but I was not going to have the energy to entertain.

When Carter found out we would be spending the day together, he was thrilled. He was even MORE thrilled when I told him my Day of Nothing plans. In fact, all he kept talking about on Thanksgiving Day was how he looked forward to tomorrow, the REAL holiday! I hadn’t realized that with school, homework, three nights a week of karate class, trumpet lessons and everything else that makes up his schedule, he was actually looking forward to doing nothing. No plans, no schedule.

It’s great to have goals in life. It’s necessary to be responsible. But it’s also necessary to recharge. We don’t make rest, or sleep for that matter, much of a priority. It’s almost noon, and as I type this, I do so in my pajamas. I’ve been awake for a grand total of an hour, and my kitchen floor shows signs of the apple crumb pie I baked on Wednesday evening. It can wait. It will still be there tomorrow. As for today, I have a grandson, a DVD and a plate of leftovers waiting for me on the couch.

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11.19.11  Let The Rat Race Begin

Let the rat race begin! Yes, folks, it’s that time of year. Officially known as “The Holidays”. No sooner do you have your jack-o-lantern carved than you have to start thinking about your Thanksgiving menu, while listening to Christmas carols and thinking about your New Years resolutions.  It’s time to think of spending time with family, some of whom we don’t get along with that well. It’s the stuff that movies like Christmas Vacation and Home for the Holidays are made of. It’s funny when we see it on the big screen, but not so pleasant should cousin Ed’s dilapidated RV pull into our own driveway.

We are fed mixed messages this time of year. On one hand we are told that the over-commercialization of the season is largely responsible for us feeling overwhelmed, and that we should step back and try for quiet time that reflects on the true meaning of the day. Then we start hearing angry stories and receive chain emails filled with accusations of plots to take the Christ out of Christmas or take Christmas away entirely, based on people giving one another the wrong holiday- excuse me- CHRISTMAS greetings. There is ranting about stores having the audacity not to decorate properly or to recognize non-traditional beliefs or to sell more cards featuring Santa or pinecones than Mary and her newborn. There is hateful vitriol aimed at anyone who is not doing Christmas the way Christmas should be done.

Did you know that Colonial Americans considered Christmas trees a pagan mockery of Christmas? In fact, in 1851 a pastor decorated a tree in his church and had his life threatened by parishioners? It wasn’t until Victorian times that Christmas trees became widely accepted in this country. Now, if we don’t have a tree we are considered to be a Scrooge of sorts. My daughter, who has asthma attacks from pine, had a few nasty comments thrown her way about “ruining Christmas” for my grandson due to her lack of a tree. Maybe watching his mother gasping for breath would have upset him more than the lack of said tree?

With the economy recovering at a slow pace, many of us are stressed out about the financial impact the holidays will have on our already strained budgets. Try this little experiment: Ask your family to tell you what they received from you for Christmas last year. You may be surprised to learn they don’t remember. I was stunned the year I decided not to spend days polishing my grandmother’s antique silverware and setting the table with her heirloom china. Instead I used biodegradable paper plates. And NOBODY CARED! We still had fun. Christmas still happened! It was like a page straight from Dr Suess: “Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small, was singing- without any presents at all! He hadn’t stopped Christmas from coming, it came! Somehow or other…. it came just the same.

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11.12.11  Lost Boys

I live in Pennsylvania. This week the newspapers, Internet, television and radio have been discussing one topic. It is horrifying and it is embarrassing. It also offers us an opportunity, as human beings, to ask ourselves some hard questions.

When does image become secondary to real integrity?

If we see a child being harmed, do we step in or do we leave the scene and tell someone about it after the fact? If we don’t immediately intervene, does that make us an accomplice of sorts?

Is a hero someone who is talented in a sport; a gifted musician; a beautiful or handsome actor? Or is a hero someone who, in spite of the cost to his or her own well-being, does what is morally right?

I can never forget about those faceless, nameless young children who seem to be secondary to football in this whole sordid mess. For them, my heart breaks. I can’t waste a tear on the consequences that are now being faced by the adults who were supposed to protect them. My son is now grown, but my grandson is the same age as these lost boys. I look at him and see their little faces; I cannot wrap my brain around the fact that someone intentionally harmed them, while people knew of the monster but kept quiet and allowed it to continue.

In the words of Nelson Mandella, “Safety and security don’t just happen, they are the result of collective consensus and public investment. We owe our children, the most vulnerable citizens in our society, a life free of violence and fear.”
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11.05.11 Break On Through To The Other Side

Sometimes all you can do is just stay in your lane, watch your speed and go through the tunnel to what lies on the other side. After speaking to my same age female friends, I am realizing that midlife for women can be just like leaving Manhattan en route to New Jersey. We’re entering The Holland Tunnel and there’s no turning back.

My friends and I used to have boundless energy. We would stay out until the city closed down, then go out for breakfast, and then sleep until well into the next day. Now we stay up all night, too. Only difference is we are home in our well-worn PJs, listening to our men snore the night away while we suffer yet another bout of hormone induced insomnia. Sleep deprivation does strange things to people. I wouldn’t say we are having mood swings, but just because I wouldn’t say it doesn’t mean there isn’t evidence to the contrary. One of my friends told of how she sobbed her heart out watching a documentary about salmon. Oh, how those fish struggle to spawn. Knowing just how she felt, I shared with her how I cried my eyes out because Dust finally found true love when the Swiffer Duster came by and swept her up into its fluffy, flexible fibers. I have also cried over Sandals Resorts commercials, SPCA ads featuring unwanted and abused animals and most recently commercial where, right before her father’s eyes, a little girl suddenly morphs into a teenager while sitting behind the wheel of a car.

Sometimes my husband looks at me with a mixture of amusement, worry and pure, raw fear. (Google Dr Oz: 4 signs of perimenopausal rage). Bless his heart, some nights he gets a four course gourmet meal and the next night he has to sort through the pile of take out menus that are thrown in his general direction. Easy for him to judge; he sleeps through the night and he doesn’t sweat profusely in the middle of a blizzard. My advice for him is to just stay in his own damned lane, not even think about hitting the horn, and keep looking straight ahead until he sees sunlight on the other side of the tunnel.

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10.29.11  A Little Rain Must Fall

Chronic complainers don’t really want solutions to their problems. They seem to feel that life handed them lemons and they bask in their victim status. Make lemonade? Have you seen the price of sugar? And where would they find a pitcher? None of their knives are sharp enough to cut all of those lemons, and even if they were, their carpal tunnel/arthritis/chapped skin would make it impossible. Besides, they couldn’t drink lemonade anyway, as it would certainly give them heartburn; or worse yet, diarrhea.  The chronic complainer can’t take those lemons and make anything out of them, because if they do then they are left with nothing to complain about.

Chronic complainers don’t KNOW they are chronic complainers. They truly feel that they are victims. Nobody has it worse than they do. If you try to make them see that there are others worse off than they are, they will just rattle off a longer list of woes they have to deal with every day. Clearly you must not have all the information. If you really understood how bad they had it, you wouldn’t try to convince them that there could possibly be someone who has a tougher life.

What can you do when you encounter these people? What if you have to work with them, or worse yet what if they are family? Rule #1 is, do NOT fix their problem. Do NOT try to give them advice, no matter how well intentioned. To do so would only enable them to continue to spin their wheels until someone pulls them out of their latest ditch.

This sounds harsh. It goes against our desire to help people. There really ARE people out there who need our help. There are folks who are overwhelmed, who may have hit bad times, or who just need a hand up. We’ve all been there. There ARE people who have been dealt a horribly bad hand.

Your neighbor just broke his leg. His wife is recovering from surgery. Their yard is full of leaves. You decide to get a few other neighbors to pitch in for an afternoon of raking. You never know when you may be the one who needs help. Then you go to your brother’s house. His yard is also full of leaves. He is sitting on his porch, clearly distressed by the situation.

“I hate these trees”, he says. “Well, they sure are nice in the summertime, when you want shade from the sun,” you reply.
“They keep the breeze from blowing through.”
“Have you considered having at least some of them cut down?”
“Do you know what those tree companies charge?!”
“Why don’t you mulch the leaves with your mower?”
“There are too many for that! It would kill the grass.”
“Guess you’ll have to rake them, then.”
“That should be great for my back! I can’t sleep at night from back pain so as it is.”
“Maybe you need to move to a house with less yard…..”
“In this market I wouldn’t be able to get what the house is worth. Besides, I hate those condos.”
“Well, what about hiring a few neighbor kids to rake it for you?”
“KIDS! Kids don’t want to work these days.”

At the end of the conversation, you are worn out and your brother can’t understand how you could be so selfish. After all, he’s tried everything to solve his problem.

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10.22.11   Oh For The Love Of Gilles

Nothing screams “You’re middle aged!” like the week I’ve had.  As I type these words, I do so with an ice pack on my lower back. Why? Because I lifted a few boxes and carried them to the trunk of my car. My two friends, women who are almost my exact same age and who helped me in my endeavor, are popping ibuprofen and taking it easy for a few days. One of us is awaiting hip replacement surgery. Yes, kids, we’re There now. Our fun day out was cleaning out my deceased friends house in preparation for a public auction.

As a woman, pathetic as it sounds- as shallow and pre-feminism as the idea is- I used to appreciate the occasional glance from the males of the species. Nothing gross or crude, but just that lingering glance that meant I was still somewhat attractive to the opposite sex. Well, my friends and I got just that as we walked into a Hardees for what we now refer to as a “pee break”. It seems that I am not the only woman of a certain age who knows the location of every single public restroom with a 100-mile radius of her home. On this day, it had been raining. Not a soft drizzle mind you, but a cloud-draining downpour. Because the terms “brain fart” and “menopause” seem to be one in the same, SOMEONE forgot to close the car windows. We realized this after all sitting, simultaneously, on the saturated car seats. We walked into the fast food joint, hands to our lower backs, bent at the waist and grimacing in pain from lifting such heavy objects as old magazines and winter coats. Our hair had either flattened horribly or frizzed from the rain, and our wet behinds made it looks as if we were about 5 minutes too late for that pee break. We decided that while we were there, we might as well get a cold drink. And maybe split an order of fries. And perhaps some chicken fingers, because when you work that hard protein is important. And then IT happened. The confirmation of our eternal youth awaited us! There was a man sitting alone in a booth, eating a cheeseburger. He was at least 85 years old, and bless his heart he had apparently left his teeth in the glass by his bed. He stopped mid chew and pivoted in his seat to get a better view of us. Then he smiled. “Well, Hell-OOOOOO, ladies!” he said, looking us up and down. So much for our dreams of Cougardom with a man like Gilles Marini, for now it’s official:  the only men who appreciate our aged-like-fine-wine appeal are men who can no longer drive after dark.

When I got home I took a long hot shower. Didn’t even bother to shave my legs. Does it really matter anymore? I was going to blow dry my hair, but I decided not to bother wasting the electricity. I wasn’t going anywhere but to the couch. As my husband and I sat down to the dinner I had made, he told me that he loves my cooking. He poured me a glass of wine and gave me a smile. I noticed how much I love the silver that is taking over his dark brown hair. Later that night I sat down to watch my favorite TV show, and sure enough the guest star was none other than Gilles Marini. Sure, he’s impossibly handsome, but there’s not a single silver hair on his head. Personally, I think he’ll look even better in about 25 years. If I happen to run into him at Hardees, I’ll be sure to let him know.

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10.15.11  I Love A Parade

A few weeks ago I read one of Jeff’s posts about a young man with disabilities who was a member of a marching band. It reminded me of a story I read about in our local paper a number of years ago.

A young man of high school age had cerebral palsy. He wanted to be a member of his school’s marching band. This didn’t seem to be a problem, as he had someone who pushed his wheelchair in parades. Then the band began to include some intricate moves in order for a chance to win in field competition, and now this young man could possibly hold them back from their ultimate goal of collecting a trophy. They wanted him to sit on the sidelines and play from there.

A neighbor and I got into a discussion about this issue as it was being played out in the papers. She asked me, wouldn’t I be upset if my kids had worked really hard and were being held back from a possible trophy because of a person with a disability? I answered that I was pretty certain that my kids wouldn’t want to participate unless this young man could part of the group.

To this day, I don’t know who eventually won that trophy. I know that the band in question was not from the school district in which I live, but I cannot remember which district it was. I’m not even sure if the young man got to participate or not. Still, it leaves me with questions. At what point is winning not the most important thing? Are there greater lessons to be learned than perfect formations and hitting all the right notes? Is it better to be remembered for what we won, or how we treated our friends along the way? Should we reach out to those for whom life may not be so easy, or should we reach out for a chance at that brass ring, no matter whom we have to knock out of the way to get it?

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10.08.11  Get Busy Living

It’s wonderful to be able to live in the moment and appreciate what is happening right now, at this very second. Sometimes, though, this very moment isn’t so great.  That is when having something to look forward to can make all the difference.

My dad has been in and out of the hospital for the past year and a half.  My parents graduated from the same high school in the same year. They still maintain close friendships with many of their classmates. They never miss their reunions. While visiting my parents on Thursday, Dad told me that he really wanted to go. He said that he hadn’t been out of the house for a year and a half, which isn’t entirely true. But getting out of the house to go to doctor appointments and hospital stays isn’t really getting out at all. He said that he wanted to go to this one because “everybody’ll be dead for the next one. Our class is dropping like flies.” He was joking, but they DID lose quite a few friends over the past couple of years. My mother said she didn’t want to go. I think that is because she just didn’t trust being able to handle Dad should his arthritis decide to kick in full force.

On the drive across town to our house, I made up my mind. My husband knew what I was going to say before I said it.  I turned to him and before the words were out of my mouth, he handed me my cell phone. My mother called me back later that night to tell me that Dad was acting like a kid getting ready for his first prom. He had already chosen what to wear and had her iron his shirt. There was a time when I had my dad wrapped. Oh, how the tables have turned!

Last night was The Big Night. I walked in to find my dad in clothes I haven’t seen him wear since before he got sick. He had a look on his face that I haven’t seen in quite some time. At the car, I turned to fold his walker and when I turned back to help him into the car he was already seated and trying to fasten his seatbelt. He walked in to the hotel lobby and was swarmed by friends who hugged and kissed and shook his hand. They were all thrilled to see him and commented on how good he looks. Mom was off with her group of girlfriends, chatting and laughing. I got Dad seated and left to go have dinner with my husband. I told Mom to use her cell phone to call me if they needed to leave early. After dinner my husband and I ran out of things to do, so we decided to just wait in the hotel parking lot, in the car, and talk for an hour. The sound of my cell phone woke us both.  My parent’s classmates were getting into their cars. It was 11:00 and the party was over. Past our bedtime, but apparently still early for this group!

I went in to help get Dad to the car, and found him sitting at the table with a group of his friends, talking and laughing. Had I not been to witness the past year and a half I would have refused to believe he had ever been sick.

Be it a reunion, graduation, wedding, new baby, visit from an old friend, we need things to look forward to.  For ourselves as well as for our loved ones, the anticipation of something we are excited about means the difference between existing and really living.

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10.01.11  Rise Above It

“Quarreling is like cutting water with a sword”.

We add to our own stress by acting out in anger or getting into pointless arguments just to try to win at a situation that has no meaning. If we practice using restraint, it will eventually become automatic. It really does take greater strength to show restraint than it does to show aggression.

Just this past week, I had to show restraint. I was sitting under a portico at 8AM, waiting in the car with my dad while Mom went inside to get a wheelchair to transport him. We were chatting and I didn’t see a car pull up behind us. What got my attention was a woman pounding the trunk of my parents’ car with her fist while screaming a tirade of obscenities. I calmly got out and apologized to her, even though her behavior was inexcusable. I told her that had her driver asked us to move, or even tapped his horn to signal me, I would have been more than happy to get out of their way. Then I asked her if she needed me to help her get inside. She was rather confused by my reaction, and it was very obvious she was embarrassed by her own outburst. Her driver used this time to head for the parking lot, and the look on his faced told me that he was mortified. She apologized profusely. I smiled and told her that I hoped she would be feeling better soon. My calmness put me in control of the situation and actually gave me the upper hand.

When I got back into the car and told my dad what had happened he shook his head and laughed. My mother, however, was furious. I had to explain to her that we have been stressed by my dad’s illness and that I was not going to allow someone we didn’t even know to add to that stress. Sure, I would have been justified in giving that woman a piece of my mind, but to what end? She was the one who acted out, and she was the one who walked away feeling remorseful for her outburst. Why should I allow her to make me feel bad? My anger would surely have affected both of my parents as well as myself. In most cases, it really is better to rise above it. Not so much for the sake of the person who has offended you as for yourself and for the people who really do matter.

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09.24.11 You CAN Teach An Old Dog New Tricks

At some point around the time I hit the half-century mark I developed this sudden fear of becoming a fogy. As in “old fogy”. We all know a few – those crabby old people who refuse to budge in their ideas or give an inch when it comes to anything even slightly resembling change. They live in a rut, doing things the same way day in and day out.

Learning something new or trying something different need not be exotic. Stepping outside of your comfort zone doesn’t have to involve parachutes or grappling hooks. It doesn’t need to be done with the risk of public humiliation, ala Dancing With the Stars.

Today, I finished a project that I am very happy about. I have a sense of satisfaction that only comes with accomplishing something you weren’t sure about.  It all began with a vision of fabric for new kitchen curtains. After endless searching I realized that although my dream curtains didn’t exist, the dream fabric did. I found it one day while randomly searching a vintage fabric website. I thought of the sewing machine sitting in the spare bedroom. In a moment of self assured weakness I ordered six yards, quite certain I could not only make the curtains, but also pillows for my window seat. Not long after placing the order I was filled with self-doubt. I had flashbacks to the day in high school home ec. class when I  ran a sewing machine needle straight through my finger.

What was the worst that could happen? I would end up having wasted money on fabric. But that’s not what happened. Tired but satisfied, I hung the curtains this afternoon and placed the first pillow on the window seat. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?

This experience makes me want to try something that I have not had the courage to do: Enter a Christmas cookie contest. I know, it sounds ridiculous. Considering some of the things I have done in life without ever batting an eye, a cookie contest seems pretty tame. The irony of the things I am doing in order not to be an old fogy isn’t lost on me. I mean really; sewing and baking? But then I think of Project Runway and Ace of Cakes, and I realize that everything old is new again!

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09.17.11  Self Serving

Sometimes we must think of ourselves. It’s hard to do when our main concern is to help others. We are taught early on that putting the needs of others before our own needs is virtuous. We learn that “selfish” is a bad thing to be. And yet if we don’t care for ourselves we really can’t take care of anyone else.

Incredibly, in the last few weeks I have been through a hurricane, an earthquake, a flood and a medical emergency. In fact the flood was the same day as the medical emergency. Days were spent cleaning up our flooded basement and then driving to the hospital. Some days I forgot to eat. Last night I noticed that my hands were shaking and I felt lightheaded. I had been going on too little sleep, too much stress and very little food. I also found the order for my yearly mammogram tucked into the rungs of the stair rails. I didn’t schedule it because I didn’t want it to interfere with my father’s outpatient treatments that required me for transportation.

How stupid to allow ourselves to become rundown and tired, the result of trying to put the needs of another before our own. If we really want to care for someone else, we have to care for ourselves. We have to remember to eat even more healthily, try to get extra sleep, and keep up with our own medications and appointments. Even when stress is high and our appetite is low, foods like hard boiled eggs, cereal bars, peanut butter on whole grain bread or small cans of vegetable juice are easy to grab on the way out the door and can be eaten in the car or stashed in a purse or backpack. When sleep is hard to come by, even a 30-minute nap can be a huge help. I type these words while my eyes are heavy, but a nap awaits me. If I get sick, who is going to step in to take over? Not caring for myself would, in fact, be selfish.

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09.10.11  Rhetoric vs Reality

“Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them.” -Eeyore

When it comes to life expectancy, Japan takes the top spot, with Switzerland  #4, France #10, Canada #11 and the UK at #20. All of these countries have Universal Healthcare, with a few of them also having privatized insurance as an option. The United States, “the greatest nation in the world”, ranks #36 in the world in life expectancy.

The #1 reason for bankruptcy in America is inability to pay medical bills. As of September 2010, there were over 59 million Americans who were uninsured. Roughly 22% of children in Texas have no health care coverage. This is a real problem in the United States, and politics aside, it has to be addressed. It seems more a moral issue than a political issue.

I’ve been hearing quite a bit of rhetoric about the “typical” person who is uninsured. It seems that there are folks who either really do believe, or who for some reason are trying to convince their listeners, that the majority of the uninsured are lazy and/or irresponsible and/or trying to milk the system. They want a handout.

My son is a physician at the hospital in Philadelphia that has the highest number of uninsured patients in the state. I asked him if his patients are lazy people who just want to have the rest of us pay for their care. That is what we hear from politicos and talking heads alike. I wanted to hear the real low down from someone who is actually treating these patients, as opposed to someone who is sitting in a radio station or standing behind a podium. I wanted the word from the front line, so to speak.

The reality that my son faces every day is quite different from the picture that is being painted by those who oppose equal access to healthcare. Yes, there are a few people who would love to grab at any handout they could get. But that is the very small minority. What I hear are stories of people who lost their jobs. People who are trying to work two part time jobs to support their families. People who are doing jobs the rest of us wouldn’t want. They are the folks responsible for us having our dinner brought to our table, for us having clean public restrooms; people who clean up after we leave a concert or a sporting event. They are the person who takes our drive thru order, who carries our new appliances into our homes, who mows our lawn and who delivers pizza to our door. They are the people who can’t afford private health insurance. Blue Cross/Blue Shield runs about $900 a month for two adults. These people cannot pay those premiums, but they earn slightly more than the cut off point for Medicaid. They are the working poor. Some have been laid off from jobs, sometimes after having been employed for years by the same company. Some of them choose putting food on the table for their children over medications to treat their own chronic health conditions. They can’t pay for screening tests like colonoscopies and pap tests and blood sugar screenings and mammograms.

This country has mandatory, universal education. We have public schools, which are funded with a combination of local, state and federal tax dollars.  Private schools are available for those who choose them and can afford them. Really, is public healthcare that different a concept?

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09.03.11  Caught In The Act

This evening I got a good dose of food for thought along with my carry-out order of sushi.

I didn’t call ahead, so I had to spend a few minutes on a sofa by the front register. There was a little girl sitting at a table not too far from me. She was one of those adorable kids who you just want to run over and hug. A wild mass of blonde curls, wire rimmed glasses and a red tint to her nose that makes it seem she had spent this, one of the final days of summer, swimming in the afternoon sun. She seemed tired and restless. When her mother walked her back to the ladies room, she commented on the kimono that hung near the hallway as a decorative dividing curtain. Her mother told her that yes, it was pretty, but NOT to touch it. On the way back out she just couldn’t help herself, and as soon as her mother’s gaze drifted for a second, one of her little hands reached up and tugged at the sleeve. It immediately hit the floor. Her eyes got wide as her mother took her by the hand to the front of the restaurant to confess to the owner and offer an apology for what she had done. The owner, a Japanese lady who was probably near my own age, wasted no time in hunkering down to the little girls’ level and scooping her up in a warm hug. “I’m so sorry”, the lady offered. “No….. you don’t have to apologize to her. She grabbed it and it fell….” said the mother. “Oh, I understand. I saw the whole thing.” The owner now smiled to the little girl and went back to the register to answer the phone and take an order.

I watched this little girl, who was maybe all of 5 years old. She looked a bit confused, but she quietly went back to her seat, where she displayed her best manners for the remaining time I was there. She also kept glancing, and shyly smiling, at the lady who had shown her such mercy.

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08.27.11  Zen

“Did you know I’m 100 now? I think since I made it this far I’m going to try for 105.”

My brother was sitting in his regular restaurant/bar last Friday night when he saw two familiar faces. Our dad’s aunt and cousin were getting up from their booth, having just finished their dinner. Dad’s aunt turned 100 years old in January. Although she never smoked and never drank that I know of, she also has some of the characteristics that we are being told do not lead to longevity. She is an “apple” shape, carrying most of her weight in her midsection. She never ran or swam or joined a gym. She eats pretty much whatever she wants, which is mostly Pennsylvania Dutch home cooking. Her mother died at a young age from cancer, and her sister-my grandmother- also died of cancer. Not fantastic genes on that. And yet…… here she is. Not only has she made it to the century point, but also she has a pretty darned good quality of life.

What I’ve always noticed about Aunt Ruth is that she seems to be sort of laid back. I’ve not spent a tremendous amount of time with her, but the times we have spent in one another’s company she always seemed to be calm. She hits me as someone who just takes life for what it is and kind of rolls with it. She enjoys things and doesn’t seem to dwell on the negative. Maybe there is a lesson to be learned here. There is no question that there is pretty conclusive medical evidence as to the benefits of exercise and a healthy diet. Perhaps we need to add to that the benefits of stress reduction. And the optimism of a 100-year-old lady deciding there is no good reason she shouldn’t shoot for 105.  I’m betting she reaches her goal.

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Creating and Sharing 08.20.11

If you love to cook, would it still give you pleasure if there was no one to eat the food you prepared? If you love to sing, would you still sing if no one ever listened? If you love to write, what if you were the only person who read your written word? Would an artist still paint even though his or her canvases could only hang in total darkness? What if there was a play that was performed every evening to a totally empty theater?

How much of what we love is done for the simple act of creating something, and how much of it is because we can share it with others? If we love doing something does it matter if anyone knows or cares or shares it with us? Or is the simple act enough for us to continue?

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New and Improved  08.13.11

Have you ever wondered what happened to your favorite summer hangouts or vacation spots? One day I decided to look for information on a campground where my family and I spent several summer vacations. I wondered if others remember it as fondly as I do. It was the place where my older cousin saw the ocean for the very first time. It is the one place from our childhood that has no equal.

Enter a combination of Google and Facebook. I am now one of a growing group (48 members at last count!) of baby boomers who gather Online to reminisce about the shared experience of this old campground. Best of all, they share PHOTOS!  My family wasn’t big on picture taking and my memories were becoming faded. Reading the posts by the other members made something very clear very early on: this place holds an almost transcendent nostalgia for all of us. There is almost a reverence in talking about it.

Some of us have made the mistake of trying to find out what happened to our old campground. I was tempted a few years back, when my son was in college about an hour north of it. Knowing me as well as he does he advised me to keep my old memories and not go look at the area as it is now. Curious, I looked it up a few weeks ago. I should have listened to my son. What I discovered left me sobbing. The beautiful beach is now home of several high-rise hotels and condos. The wooded area is now a gated community of townhouses and a conference center. The website for the area describes it as beautiful and full of amenities. And yet those of us who spent those magical summers in tents and campers, showering in the bathhouses and using the public toilets, do not see the new and improved version as an improvement at all. One man said that he drove by a few years ago and was shocked at the emotional reaction he had when he saw the area. He longed for the old Trading Post, the rickety wooden footbridges, miniature golf and rowboat rentals. Our pristine, once almost wild beach now resembles a small city.

I know that the South had some ugly things happening in the 1960s and 1970s. Some of those things were shocking for me to see, and even at such a young age I felt anger at the inequality that was almost proudly on display. I had never seen a “Whites Only” sign until I went to eat dinner in that town. This was a time when many of our leaders who had the audacity to speak out in favor of equality for all of our citizens were gunned down. We were at war in Southeast Asia and we saw black and white imagines on the nightly news of soldiers returning home in body bags. Maybe that is what added to the innocence of those wooded acres of solitude and natural beauty. Maybe the contrast of the beauty of the unspoiled beach and the smell of the pine that hung so heavily was what soothed us.

I watched man’s first steps on the moon from a tiny, snowy black and white TV that my uncle plugged into the campsite’s lone electrical outlet. Reception wasn’t great, but the crowd that gathered round to watch with us hardly seemed to care. It was July 21, 1969 and I was 10 years old. In my heart I know that had I been on the 15 floor of one of those climate controlled luxury towers on that same South Carolina beach, watching a giant plasma TV when Neil Armstrong’s boot touched the surface of the moon, it would not have been as magical.
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Back To Black  08.06.11

“Guess she shoulda’ said “Yes, yes, yes, to rehab!”  “Why all the fuss over some drug addicted singer when decent people were executed in Norway? They’re the ones who deserve our sympathy!”

The comments went on and on while all I could think was that this talented, troubled young woman was the same age as my son. Her family was grieving for her the same as the families of the shooting victims in Norway or the soldiers who died in wars or any other family who loses a loved one.

Why do we blame the victims of some illnesses? Lung cancer: That’s what you get for smoking. Addiction: Why don’t they just stop? Eating disorders: EAT already! Depression, anxiety and other mental disorders: They’re nuts! AIDS patients have been treated with scorn because surely they must have “asked for it” through their promiscuous homosexual behavior or IV drug use. HIV/AIDS was labeled “that gay man’s disease” early on, which was a very dangerous thing, as heterosexual transmission is the most common transmission worldwide.

My son and I had a discussion about the blame game not too long ago. Many of his patients are those who “asked for it”. He said that perhaps thinking that someone “asked for it” is a way for people to feel protected from such a fate.

Why do we give the person on a list for a heart transplant more sympathy than the person who is struggling with addiction in rehab? Perhaps it is because addiction causes behavioral changes in people who suffer from it? I noticed that, following my husband’s stroke 15 years ago, people were sympathetic to the fact that his brain had hemorrhaged and caused him physical disability. What they were unable to deal with were the changes in his personality. Sometimes he would burst into tears or fits of anger, which is expected when a person suffers from a traumatic brain injury. And yet comments were made to me about him “acting out”.  Sympathy could be felt for the wheelchair but not for the tears. He should have been able to control the emotions, I suppose, even though the brain injury was as responsible for them as for his physical disability. Certainly the behavior issues were not to be ignored. Physical rehabilitation and emotional rehabilitation have to go hand in hand. And yet, if someone says they are seeking treatment for a physical illness they will generally get a much different reaction than if they say they are in treatment for a mental illness. I recently read an article that said that most of us won’t think twice about holding the door for someone with a physical disability, but not many doors are held open for someone who is hallucinating on the street. In fact, those doors are usually slammed shut.

“Compassion is not weakness and concern for others is not socialism.” – Hubert H. Humphrey

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07.30.11  Compromise

When did compromise become a dirty word? When did it become something that is seen as a sign of weakness? What has become of our sense of fairness to everyone?

It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the idea of give and take being something that should be avoided at all costs.  I suppose the idea of compromise, as a sign of fairness to everyone, is just too ingrained in me. I am not an only child. I grew up with an older brother. We get along fairly well, but always have had very different interests. I have memories of wasting a good beach day by touring a stupid, boring battle ship when we were on family vacations. We had one television set and sometimes I had to give it up so that he could watch a football game. If one of my friends was at the house for a sleepover, my brother had to listen to the baseball game on the radio because we were watching a movie on TV.

As an adult, I have used the ability to compromise on an almost daily basis. One time an unmarried female friend of mine asked me why, if I love English floral patterns so much, there aren’t more of them in my house. Why do I have a pair of antique wooden skis on my wall in the family room when I detest skiing? The answer is simple; I do not live alone. My husband lives here, too. I have a few Dale Gallon civil war prints (Yuck!) on the walls of the living room, and there are antique botanical prints (YAY!) in the dining room. I will not have the Shaker style kitchen cabinets that were my first choice for our new kitchen, nor will my husband have his first choice of cabinet style. We compromised on a style that we both like.

When we get so entrenched in having to have our own way no matter the cost, it seems to me that we end up as miserable as the person with whom we are doing battle. Sometimes it all boils down to this: Do you want to win at all costs, or do you want to find a way to peacefully coexist in a world where you just cannot always expect to get your own way?

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07.23.11  May I Have Your Attention Please?

One of the best gifts we can give to someone is listening to what they have to say. Really listening with our full and undivided attention.

Look around you. Take notice of how distracted most people are. We are so busy that we multitask while talking to our children and grandchildren, text while sitting down for a meal, and keep that cell phone turned on “just in case”. Distraction is everywhere. It almost seems as if the art of conversation, of being fully engaged in a verbal exchange with another human being, is becoming a thing of the past. There was a time when “restaurants” with big screen TVs didn’t exist. In fact, most of us were made to turn off the TV when dinnertime rolled around. In my home, if a friend called during a meal, they were politely asked to call back later. Remember when homes had only one, maybe two, phones? Even as recently as when I would drive my daughter to and from her dance classes, which were several nights a week, we had no cell phone to interrupt our conversation. You got your kids in the car and you had a captive audience for the duration of the ride. And so did they!

There is nothing worse than trying to tell a person what is on your mind while having them text someone under the table, or “having” to take that phone call, or being so distracted by what else is going on around them that they end up only hearing a portion of what you are saying. Worse yet are the “dates”, where you will see a young couple out to dinner, she sitting there smiling while he gets to watch the big sporting event on the billboard sized TV that is hanging in the restaurant. The sad thing to me is that there are young women out there who take this as normal and seem totally OK with it.

Those of us at midlife and older know that life exists without constantly being plugged in. We have a vague recollection of giving and receiving undivided attention. We know what it’s like to read facial expressions and pick up on body language. We have eaten meals- appetizer to dessert- without looking at a TV or taking a phone call or texting under the table.

The current heat wave most of the country is experiencing this week is straining the power grid with extra air conditioning demands. This morning I received a recorded phone message from my power company asking customers to please refrain from using anything but totally necessary appliances in an effort to avoid an overload. After all, what would we do if, God forbid, we lost power and had to sit for an afternoon and actually interact with one another?

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07.16.2011  Washboard

My friends seem to know that at any given moment I can be found doing something weird. A few summers ago I decided to forgo air conditioning, finally relenting in mid August, when I ran our central air for two weeks. I did it as an experiment to see just how much the cost savings would be, and to recapture some of the summer nostalgia from my childhood. Then there was the winter of the gray hair. It was a belligerent attempt to embrace my natural color, which I hadn’t seen in years. That ended with me having a panic attack at the sight of myself on a photograph, and a frantic run to the beauty supply store. This summer, I have regressed back to the days of the washboard and clothesline. Growing up, even though almost everyone had a washing machine, there were lines of laundry drying in almost every back yard. Now? Not so much.

While in the middle of a renovation of our home, we are left without major appliances, save for a refrigerator. Sure, I could go to the local Laundromat, but I have an aversion to throwing my laundry into public machines. The last time I went that route I watched a woman stuffing a washer with cloth diapers while telling her friend about her family’s recent bout with Norwalk virus, that common and very contagious illness that causes 48 hours of the worst gastrointestinal explosions imaginable. So, with that imagine seared into my memory, I decided to tackle outdoor laundry day in my yard. I’m not about to heat kettles and boil our clothing, but I did discover that, while very labor intensive, scrubbing things item by item on a washboard sure does relieve tension.

Call me crazy, but nothing makes you appreciate what you have so much as not having it. Sitting in the shade, scrubbing laundry for hours, gives you time to think. Technology has invaded us to the point of taking away some of the simple pleasures of life. My mind wondered back to when my cousin and I would think it was just the best fun ever when our grandma would get out her big galvanized washtub, fill it with cold well water, and let us sit in it. I remembered the snap of freshly laundered sheets blowing in the breeze, and the smell of them on a just made bed. I also thought back to how my grandma would be upset to see birds eating the raspberries from the fields, knowing that one flight over a fresh load of laundry she had just hung on the line would mean sure disaster.

I’m not about to claim that I will not be thrilled the day my new washer and dryer arrive. But I can also say that there are worse things than sitting outdoors on a beautiful day, hands immersed in soapy water, the sound of fabric sloshing against a washboard. There is something soothing about not being plugged in, not being connected to the Internet or the TV. Without the distractions of technology, it is easy to daydream. Most surprising of all, I have found that I have been sleeping more deeply than I have in years, waking up early without an alarm, and feeling more rested than I can remember.

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07.09.2011  Water

I was faced with two major stresses last week. The first is that my kitchen is being totally gutted and remodeled. The project sounded like fun until the day I saw my kitchen sink being hauled away. Left with no major appliances and no water source on the first floor of my house except for the outdoor hoses, I was left with the realization that I was going to be climbing steps often, all day long. Even the closest toilet is at the top of the stairs, as the downstairs powder room is part of the remodel. I joked, about half, that by the time construction was complete I was either going to have the firmest butt I’ve had in over 20 years, or I would be suffering from a nasty bladder infection. Every evening I fill a huge jug with water from upstairs and bring it down to the refrigerator that now resides in the garage. I also drag a dishpan of dirty dishes, which have been pre-rinsed throughout the day with a garden hose, up to the bathtub, where they are washed in hot water, dried and toted back downstairs. Laundry is being done in a big plastic tub in the back yard, wrung by hand and hung to dry on racks and on tree branches. I have an aversion to Laundromats.

My second stress of the week came with my father’s readmission to the hospital, the result of a postoperative infection. Thankfully, surgery wasn’t needed, but an infectious disease specialist had to be called in to determine what bacteria were responsible and what the best course of antibiotics, along with drainage of the abscess, would be needed. (Ironically my previous post concerning antibiotics was written the week before my father fell ill.) Dr. Seth Quartey is the name of the infectious disease specialist. The tone of his voice is strong and calming, his laugh fills a room, and his manner is warm and very approachable. He is someone who makes a stressful situation calmer with his presence. York is not a big city, but it certainly isn’t a small town. And yet his name had a familiar ring to me. I noticed his rich accent, and pegged it as Ivory Coast. Later, when discussing my father’s condition with my daughter, she pointed out that I had indeed heard the name before. Several years before, I had met this doctor’s wife and his daughter, who was in my grandson’s preschool. That is when it came flooding back to me. There had been stories of how they and members of their church started an organization to bring fresh water to Ghana, where both had grown up.

According to Dr. Quartey, something as simple as clean water can reduce deaths from infectious disease by as much as 50%.  Mrs Quartey said that some children have to haul the water for their family 4 miles, making learning harder when they are so worn out by the time they get to class. It made me realize how fortunate I am to be able to climb the stairs or access a garden hose while waiting a few weeks for a brand new kitchen. When I drag myself upstairs to use that toilet, my flush sends the sewage through an enclosed system that ends at a treatment plant and not into an open drain at the side of the road.

I wanted to learn more. We have easy access to information through Google. It led me tohttp://www.buildingsolidfoundations.org/activity/news.html, where I found the rest of the story. I was able to see photographs that ran the gamut from heartbreaking to spectacularly beautiful. I saw what we take for granted. I was reminded that even though we are in what is, by our standards, a slow economy, we are still incredibly wealthy and incredibly spoiled by what we take for granted. We live in a country where there are water parks. We render our water undrinkable so we can swim in it and slide down giant slides into it and ride in log shaped boats on tracks that plummet us into it. We wash our cars with it and we hook up sprinklers and saturate our lawns with it and we keep our golf courses green with it. We clog our landfills with discarded plastic bottles that we drank it from. We allow it to run from our faucets while we brush our teeth, and we take extra long showers and give our laundry that extra rinse to keep our whites white and our brights bright. When we don’t have what we consider easy access to it, we feel like we are roughing it. I will be happy when I get my sink back. I will be thrilled to have a dishwasher and a washer for my laundry. I have also double-checked to make sure those new appliances are as energy efficient and conserve as much water is possible. I will remember the faces of the people I saw in the photographs from Ghana, and I will be so thankful for what I have. Sometimes all we need to do is open our front door and take a look at the world around us to realize how very fortunate we are.

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07.02.2011  The Popcorn Was The Best Part Of The Movie

Last week the movie Titanic was on one of my cable TV channels. I thought back to when I saw that movie in a theater, just after it was released. It was torture for me to sit through it. I thought the computer imagery looked fake and ridiculous, the love story was stupid and the theme song was like fingernails on a chalkboard. But I sat there through the end credits, realizing that the movie lasted longer than it did for the actual Titanic to sink.

There have been times when I have started reading a book, only to realize early into it that I don’t like it. It may be the style of writing or the story itself. There are several about which I have commented about having to slog through.

At what point in our lives can we give ourselves permission to walk out of a theater, hit the eject button on the DVD player, or close a book and not open it again? Unless it’s something we are later going to be tested on for a class, who cares if we finish it or not? If we are renting or going to a movie to be entertained then why sit through something that bores us? If we’re reading for pleasure, then why slog through something when there’s a whole world of books out there that we can enjoy?

I have also had the experience of thinking I was going to hate something, but agreed to sit through for someone else. My husband just had to see the movie Glory. I thought I would just use the cool, dark theater for a chance to take a two-hour nap. I left the theater sobbing, knowing I had just seen what would always be one of my all-time favorite movies. I had a similar experience with Apollo XIII. It was released during my son’s obsession with all things NASA.  “Oh, this should be a real nail biter! Wonder if they’ll make it back to Earth alive?” was my sarcastic comment while waiting in line for tickets. Nobody was more stunned than me when I found myself perched on the edge of my seat, waiting for the crew to contact mission control upon re-entry. Again, I knew I was seeing what is still one of my favorite movies.

I suppose what I’ve learned is that while the payoff for trying something you think will not interest you can, in fact, turn out to be an unexpected wonderful surprise, it’s also OK to admit you just don’t like something. Even if a movie ends up winning more awards than any other movie in history, if you don’t enjoy it then why sit through it? Life is too short for sappy movies and boring books. Life is too short to be filled with meaningless junk in general. We can’t change things that have happened in our past. Time machines don’t exist and there are very few, if any, do-overs in life. All we can do is decide what we allow into our life from this second on. We can try new things, discover new things about ourselves, and sometimes even surprise ourselves by finding joy in unexpected places. We also have the power to let go of the worthless stuff that is weighing us down. We have the power to put it down and step away from it so that we can better fill that precious time with happiness and things that we find worthwhile.

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06.25.2011  Going Viral

As baby boomers, not only have we had to learn about new technology, we’ve also had to learn about new threats to our health. As teenagers, we never heard of HIV/AIDS. Just as we have now hopefully become more educated about that virus, a new threat has emerged. MRSA seems to be the new word that sends folks into panic mode. When my father contracted MRSA during his long hospitalization, I saw first hand the panic reaction that people had in response and realized that most of this panic came from misinformation. While MRSA is serious, it is most times treatable. That being said, there are some basic things we should all know.

MRSA: Methicillin-Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus, are bacteria that are highly resistant to antibiotics. According to the Mayo Clinic, these bacteria are “the result of decades of often unnecessary antibiotic use.” Antibiotics first became widely used in the 1940s. Often people would demand them for viral infections such as a bad cold. Sometimes they would stop using them when they began to feel better, saving them for the next time they or another family member became sick. The problem with this is that while antibiotics can kill bacteria, they do absolutely nothing to kill or even weaken a virus. In fact, not only do they not help, they actually cause harm. How? By setting evolution in motion by creating a classic “survival of the fittest” with the bacteria.

Bacteria are living organisms that live on an evolutionary fast track. They learn to survive the antibiotics and become resistant to them. Bacteria exist everywhere, and some types are beneficial. For example, the bacteria found in yogurt help with digestion by aiding in the breakdown of food. Other bacteria are harmful because they invade our bodies, where they then grow and multiply. An example of harmful bacteria is streptococcus, more commonly known as strep throat. Since strep is a bacteria, antibiotics would be a reasonable treatment. There are also viral throat infections, and treating them with antibiotics would be useless. Many patients, however, don’t realize this and react angrily if their physician refuses them antibiotics for a viral throat infection.

Viruses are not living organisms and cannot exist on their own. They live, grow and reproduce only after they invade living cells. Some are fought off by our own immune systems, some run their course, and some, like HIV, set up camp in our cells. People don’t die from HIV; they die because the virus attacks the immune system. When the immune system is compromised then secondary disease has a chance to wreak havoc.

The bottom line is, while antibiotics are wonderful drugs for treating bacterial illness, there is danger of too much of a good thing. Because of overuse of them and because of the use of antibacterial soaps and cleaning products instead of the just as effective soap and water or bleach and water, we have created stronger bacteria that have learned to resist our arsenal. If you use these things when you really don’t need them, they are not going to work when you DO need them.

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06.18.2011 Wow!

Wow. Sometimes there’s just nothing more that needs to be said.
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06.11.11  The Real Art Of The Deal

There’s certainly a possibility that Jeff and I may be kind of weird. We grew up well within 5 miles of one another. We both know what it feels like for the floor to rumble under our feet from blasts at a limestone quarry. We know that rotted egg, sulphur smell of a paper mill contrasted with the amazing smell that is emitted from a potato chip factory. We had some of the same teachers and all of the same graduating class. Chances are pretty high that there may have been something in our environment that made us a bit goofy, but probably not. I think that we are part of a huge number of dealmakers.

Jeff and I share not only the same basic childhood environment, but also an affinity for making a deal. There are some promises we have made that, come Hell or high water, we aim to keep. Jeff talks to God way more than I do. He is certain that God is listening, I wonder sometimes if I am just talking to myself. I suppose you could label me a Deist. And yet, when times get tough I feel that in case I am wrong about my beliefs, I want to cover my bases.

Jeff and I have made promises that we have no intention of breaking. Those promises are for our loved ones. “God, please keep my child safe, please keep this disease from harming them. Please heal them. I promise that I will………” And there you have it.

When my daughter was less than a year old, it was discovered that she had a problem with her kidneys that would either resolve on its own over the years, or would require surgery. It caused kidney infections that would make her temperature soar to as high as 106 degrees, at which times she would have febrile seizures. Over time the problem did resolve, but it was later discovered that the infections left her with a kidney that doesn’t function much, if at all. Good thing we have two kidneys and only need one.

I made a deal for my husband, after his stroke. “God, if you let him live I will do whatever it takes to help him recover.” As I said to Jeff the other day, “What?! You think I have only missed 2 physical therapy appointments in 15 years because I think they’re fun?” I made a promise just last year, when my father wasn’t expected to live. Sitting at his bedside every day all summer long, clipping toenails and dressing an abdominal wound is not my idea of an exciting way to spend a year of my life. But a deal’s a deal. I bargained for my brother, I have bargained for my friends, I’ve even tried to strike up deals for my pets. I have very good reason to believe that Jeff and I are not the only gamblers when the going gets tough.

Do I really think these late night, desperate deals work? To be honest, I don’t think that God works that way in so far as Him saving the folks who have the most sincere prayers said for them or who have someone willing to work for Him in exchange for a save. However, I do think that the deals work in another way. Those deals involve us giving extra help, support and love. Recovery can certainly be helped along if there is someone fighting the fight with you. I don’t think I have the power to persuade God to change the course of events. But I do think I have the power to put my own needs aside and reach out to help pull someone through. Even if that person doesn’t recover, at least I am left knowing that I did all I could do, and I can take that experience to try to find a way to help others who may be faced with the same. Maybe that is how God’s grace works.

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06.04.11  Gift

I woke up this morning with my windows open and my air conditioning turned off. After a weeklong heat wave, today is cooler and the humidity is low. I was able to walk out to my deck, newspaper in one hand and coffee in the other, and not have my glasses fog up when I slid open the door.  The birds sounded especially happy about the break in the heat and humidity. The squirrels were chasing one another through the tops of the giant silver maples, happily playing in my son’s long abandoned tree fort.

The weather forecast for tomorrow is the same, but the tone of the day will be quite different. There are some things in life for which we can find no deeper meaning, no upside, and no lesson. Some things defy explanation. There are no words that comfort, no gesture that takes away the pain. There are things that happen in life that we never really get over, things that we don’t recover from so much as just learn to move forward from.  One of those things is the death of a child. No matter that this was inevitable, something that was determined at the very moment of conception. Tomorrow is the day we lay to rest one of our family; on what would have been her third birthday. It seems that all of the other stresses in life, the traffic jams, the long line at the grocery store, high prices at the gas pump… none of them seem to matter.

Today I will enjoy the sunshine, the cooler temperatures, and the birds singing. I will think back to vacations as a kid, elementary school, those awkward teenaged years. I will remember the long nights sitting up with my own baby daughter, her first day of school.  I will think of sewing ribbons on her ballet shoes and the hours spent driving to the dance studio, the frantic search for prom dresses and leaving her for her first year away at college. I will think of being with her when my grandson was born.  All of those things seemed like such ordinary rites of passage, and yet some mothers never have those experiences with their little girls.

As I enjoy the cool breeze blowing back the curtains, I understand that not everything in life can be explained. Sometimes we just have to accept that life can be terribly cruel and unfair. We need to look at those mundane, everyday things like shopping for school clothes and music lessons and making snacks and realize that they aren’t chores, but gifts. Being able to nag our kids about cleaning their rooms or doing their homework is a blessing. Having memories of those things after our children are grown adults is something we need to cherish. Not all parents are so fortunate.

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05.28.11 Mental Vacation

Memorial Day Weekend. The official start of summer. Most people think of outdoor activities, vacations and summer foods. One of my favorite foods to serve with the usual summer fare is those big dill pickles that you can fish out of a barrel. I like them cold, crunchy and garlicky. The smell of the dill and the snap of the pickle as you bite into it, and the juicy, sour taste makes my mouth water just thinking about it.

If thinking about a cold sour pickle can make my mouth water, then what other physical reactions can be caused by thoughts? Can thinking about stressful things cause a physical reaction? Of course! Chronic stress can cause digestive issues, high blood pressure and headaches, and those examples are just part of a long list.

On the flip side, thinking about positive, peaceful things can have a soothing affect. There’s a very real, biological reaction that Buddhist Monks have when they practice mindful meditation. Recent developments in functional MRI technologies and advances in neuroscience have proven that there really IS such a thing as mind over matter. Thoughts alone can rewire the brain to some degree. Yoga classes, prayer, meditation or just taking time to think about something positive can have health benefits.

The next time you are thinking about something that is stressful or something that makes you angry, pay attention to how it makes you feel physically. Is your heart pounding? Are your muscles tense? Do you have butterflies in your stomach?  Now, also pay attention to how you physically feel when you’re in a good mood. Relaxed? Energetic? Ready to take on the world? Why not see if you can teach yourself to swap out some of that negative thinking for something more enjoyable? Think of a favorite place, maybe. For me, it’s a secluded spot on Assateague Island, surrounded by wild ponies, the sound of the ocean over the dunes. It’s very hard to feel stressed when I’m there; even it’s only in my mind.

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05.21.11 Commencement

Within a span of a few days, both of my “kids” received diplomas. They each walked a very different path to get to that end.

My daughter earned a Bachelor of Arts in Letters, Arts and Sciences from Penn State, York Campus. The look on her 11-year-old son’s face was priceless as he watched his mother finally walk across that stage to receive her diploma. They had done their homework together at the kitchen table, and he had seen her still sitting there finishing papers she had stayed up all night to complete, only to have to shower and dress for work that same day.

We had a celebratory dinner that evening, during which she commented about the 14 years it had taken her to achieve her goal. She commented on what her little brother had achieved during that same time. He had finished high school, graduated from college with two honors degrees, and obtained a master’s degree in bioethics while completing medical school. His graduation was set for three days later. I had seen the smile on my son’s face during her graduation ceremony, and watched as he listened closely to the graduates who stepped up to the open mike to say a few words. Many of them thanked their families for supporting them through the years, especially their small children who saw Mommy or Daddy working full time while finishing college a few credits at a time. One graduate was in tears as she said she was so honored to be the first member of her family to earn a college degree.

My son said to his sister, “Not everyone has the luxury of going to college full time. Sometimes life happens, and you have children to care for and bills to pay. You did this while working full time and raising an amazing son.” He was clearly in awe of his sister and what she had accomplished.

It’s so easy to be intimidated by the accomplishments of others. It’s tempting to just not even try, thinking it’s too late or that it will take too much time. What struck me was the admiration and respect that my son had for the tenacity of the graduates he had heard that night. He, who had accomplished so much, was blown away by their spirit and determination.

More than the diplomas they received, I find that, as their mother, I am most proud of her will to reach her goal no matter the time and sacrifice it would take, and that his long list of accomplishments never eclipsed his true appreciation for the accomplishments of others. Children learn more, I feel, by example than they do by words alone. That being said, these past few days may have been one of the best learning experiences of my grandson’s life; not only in persistence and appreciation, but in humility.

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05.13.11 Erase The Signs Of Aging

Last week an elderly relative of mine confided in a small group of friends that her son doesn’t seem to understand that she can no longer do things she could do even ten years ago. A mutual friend of ours chimed in with what I realized is a quite reasonable explanation. “Logically he knows that you’re 90, but in his mind he sees you as about 45. I couldn’t understand why my mom couldn’t just go out and dig her own garden anymore. I saw her as middle aged, right up until she very visibly was suffering from dementia at age 80.”

I came home and got out some old photo albums. My great grandmother wore a flowered print dress, thick stockings, orthopedic shoes and a bonnet and apron. In contrast, the woman who had made the complaint about her son had been wearing a lovely pair of tailored slacks with a tailored shirt and a structured jacket. She carried a buttery soft leather bag and wore beautiful ballet flats.  Next I looked at photos from my parent’s wedding. Both of my grandmothers looked lovely. As a side note, neither ever learned to drive a car. The year was 1951, and they were true to the amazing style of that time. But they looked their age. I compared it to photos from my son’s wedding, and noted the difference between my grandmothers and us moms in the newer photo. My grandmas were wearing sensible shoes, while I was wearing stiletto evening sandals. In the newer photos the mother of the bride is out on the dance floor showing the kids a thing or two. I was also struck by the comparison between my mother and grandmother. Photos of my grandmother show an exceptionally pretty woman who was chubby and rosy cheeked; the quintessential Grandma. I vividly remember the first time we saw her wearing slacks instead of her usual dress. It was in the early 1970s and she decided she was going to jump on the new pantsuit trend. That in contrast to my mother, who at 77 years old had this past winter took to tucking her jeans into her knee high leather boots.

While I would never suggest that all those 60+-year-old fashionistas should revert to the days of housedresses and sensible shoes, I can see where there is some confusion.  Our style really does reflect who we are as a person, at least to some degree. When we see 65-year-old Helen Mirren looking spectacular in a red bikini, we see her as being not only confident, but also almost ridiculously physically fit. I don’t think that we would be concerned that she needs help with carrying her laundry upstairs. While all of the advances in skin care and cosmetics, and yes, Botox and Restylane, have erased the signs of age, the fact is they have not literally erased the years. Yes, we have medical advances that have enabled us to live longer and healthier lives, and that is great. But we have also blurred the line of perception so that when a 90 year old woman who looks decades younger than her chronological age asks for help, the response may not be as fast as she had hoped.

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05.07.11 Zombie Invasion

My grandson, in discussing the serious subject of who he would want to have on his team in the event of a Zombie invasion, laughed when my daughter suggested to him, “I’d want your LoLo on my team.”

Without missing a beat he shot back, “Momma, LoLo can’t run.”

Why should it bother me that an 11 year old would automatically assume I couldn’t run? This is the child with whom I spent nearly every day of his life from the day he was born until just last year, when his mother’s career change allowed her to get him off of the bus every afternoon. I was under the impression that he thought I was a super hero. I’m the one who hard boiled and packaged an egg for him that just few weeks ago beat out 70 others in some weird egg boxing match at his school. I have spent many summer days doing cannonballs into the pool with him. I was stunned that I would not be someone he would automatically want on his team should Zombies ever invade.

Today I went to my daughter’s house to help her prepare for a yard sale, and just in time to meet Carter as he got home from school. I challenged him to a race. I told him that I wanted to run across the front yards. He actually laughed at my crazy idea and me. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve actually moved faster than a brisk walk in at least 15 years.

We stood side by side at the edge of the neighbor’s driveway. My daughter called the race, holding her hands out so that whichever of us slapped her hand first would be declared the winner. I gritted my teeth, dug in my feet and flew off the start, determined not to let this boy win. Arms pumping, I pushed off with every step, digging in and using my feet to propel the rest of me forward. My eyes squinted shut and I reached out toward my daughter’s hand, smacking it square in the palm. I then ran into my car, which was parked in the driveway. I turned around, panting and puffing, to see my grandson standing there with a look of disbelief on his face. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. I stopped on the way home for some lavender scented Epsom salts and a fresh bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol. My breathing has since returned to normal.

Who do you want on your team of Zombie fighters now? Huh? Because what self respecting middle aged grandmother isn’t going to want to beat an 11 year old in a front yard footrace?

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04.30.11 Things That Matter

Sometimes it amazes me when I observe what stresses people out. Just the other day, a TV show came on and my father commented on how he can’t stand the host. He said she gets on his last nerve. Whenever I am at his house at that time of day, the TV is tuned to that channel and he is watching that show. The remote is right beside of him.
My husband and I were standing in line at a deli on Thursday afternoon and overheard two people talking about the Royal Wedding. Said they were sick of reading about it. Why read it, then, I wondered? I will often hear people complain about how depressing it is to watch the news, and I can’t help but wonder why they don’t just turn off the TV and go read a book or listen to music?
When my son was a teenager he wore his hair rather long. In fact, his ponytail ended at the middle of his back. More than once the comment was made to me that “MY son would never get away with that! I’d make him cut that hair!” When my daughter came home from school with her tongue pierced the comments were off the charts. Call me crazy, but it was just never an issue for me. Why get my shorts in a knot over things that really don’t matter? Eventually she got sick of the tongue jewelry and he cut his hair.
I was nearing 50 when I decided to find out what all the fuss was about; I got a tattoo. I sort of thought it would be fun. The biggest decision was should I get the Aerosmith logo or my husband’s name in a heart. I ended up getting the name in a heart for his birthday. What else can you get a man who has everything? After being asked what I had gotten Gary for his birthday, I actually had someone tell me that they HATE tattoos. “OK”, I replied. “Then don’t get one.” They were upset and bordering on angry with me over a small tattoo that they were never even going to have to look at. They behaved as if I had drugged them and inked them against their will. After calmly assuring them that it was perfectly fine with me that they didn’t care for tattoos, they still ranted on. Looking back, I think it upset them more that I was unaffected by their opinion.
Sometimes the answers to what is bothering us are simple. In fact, they can be as simple as “Turn the channel”, “Don’t read about it”, “It’s not hurting anyone and it will pass in time”, and “So don’t do it if you don’t like it.”  That TV host can’t hear you, the news is going to happen with or without your approval, even good kids find strange ways to express themselves, and why freak out over something another person does, especially if it really has no affect on you?  Why would anyone want to cause themselves stress over things that really don’t matter?.

04.23.11 Dabble

My shrink: What do you do for fun?
Me: Huh?
My shrink: What do you do for fun? Just for you? What do you enjoy doing? What’s your hobby or interest?
Me: God… I don’t know…. I don’t remember……. (panic sets in)
My shrink: You’re going to have to just dabble. Eventually you’ll know the answer.

Kids seem to know what it means to dabble. They naturally jump from one interest to another, often taking years before they find their true passion. When they hit it, they know. It’s the thing for which they don’t lose interest or have to be nagged into practicing. As adults, we are the ones who chauffer them from the practice field to the dance studio, from play practice to the ice rink. Along the way, it’s very easy to lose sight of our own interests. In the real life world of shuttling kids to their activities, trying to eat something besides drive through meals, and tending to work and home related chores, “me time” can take a back seat. Then one day, the kids are grown and our time is our own. When that happens, we may find ourselves wondering, “Now what?”

Several years ago I found myself with nothing to do. My daughter was grown and had a son or her own, and my son was in college 8 hours away from home. I could do whatever I wanted with this newfound free time. The problem was, so many years had passed since my children weren’t the center of my world that I couldn’t remember what I enjoyed doing that didn’t revolve around them. That was when I realized that I, too, would have to learn to dabble. I would have to revert to my childhood and try out new things until I found what spoke to me.

I tried out gardening and I fell in love with it. Thankfully I live only minutes from a large garden center, and I would sometimes get there just as they were opening for the day. I could spend the entire day just digging in the dirt, planting and transplanting. The trouble is, here in the northeast warm weather doesn’t last year round. Over the years, I found that I also enjoy painting. Not on canvas so much as on walls. My dad laughs and says that I have painted the rooms in my house so many times that they are noticeably smaller than when we first moved in. I learned to hang wallpaper, refinish furniture and hone my sewing skills. I found that yoga is the only form of exercise I look forward to. I am learning how I enjoy spending my time. Former President Jimmy Carter didn’t learn to ski until be was 62. I learned when I was in my early 20s, and although I became rather good at it, I never enjoyed it. Maybe I would have appreciated it more if I’d have waited.

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04.16.11 American Beauty

“This isn’t life, it’s just stuff. And it’s become more important to you than living. Well, honey, that’s just nuts.” – Lester Burnham, American Beauty (1999)
There seems to be a story I keep hearing over and over again from friends with adult children. Their “kids” have decent jobs and yet they can’t seem to pay their bills. Without batting an eye, the parents are dipping into retirement savings to “help”. With the median family income in this country at just under $50,000 a year, I’m floored when I hear a newly married couple can’t make ends meet on an $80,000 a year combined income.
Some quick research showed me what I had suspected could be at the heart of this seeming sense of entitlement for many of today’s young adults. Growing up, I can’t think of one single friend of mine who lived in a house with more than one bathroom. Many of them shared a bedroom with one or more siblings. Nobody had more than one TV. Most teenagers borrowed the family car. I found that in 1950 the average size of a home in the United States was 983 square feet. In 1970 it was 1,500 square feet, in 1990 it was 2,080 square feet and by 2004 it had risen to 2,349 square feet.
When a friend was visiting from Germany several years ago, he commented on how many SUVs he saw. In Europe, they take public transportation or ride a bike or drive a smaller car. They have to pay a high yearly registration to drive something that uses a lot of gas. Of course gas is much cheaper here in the U.S., he told me. Over there it was around $8.00 a gallon.
When I was growing up we went on a vacation every year. Campers were the big thing back then, as were Howard Johnson’s and their signature orange roofs. For most of us, luxury hotels were something we only saw in the movies. I remember people being upset by the “new luxury condos” that were being built in Ocean City Maryland. They would block the sun in the afternoons, and who was going to rent or buy them anyway? Only rich people could afford those!
Don’t get me wrong; I don’t think the problem is big homes and nice cars and extravagant vacations. I think the problem is thinking we HAVE to have those things, even if it means needing to ask for help to pay for that life. Maybe in wanting to see our children achieve The American Dream – which is becoming increasingly larger- we have lost sight of the fact that it all has to be paid for.
While chatting with my son over the phone today, I asked him why he had his wife have never asked us for money. He seemed kind of taken aback. I explained to him that I was preparing to write this post, and asked for his opinion. Bottom line is, he feels it is a good idea to live with less than you can afford instead of more than you can afford. Also, in doing so you tend to learn how to reuse and repurpose, which leaves less of an environmental footprint. (Well done, Grasshopper; well done.)
“ My company sells an image. It’s part of my job to live that image.” – Lester Burnham’s wife, Carolyn.

04.09.11: “Projection”

Have you ever noticed someone will say they can’t stand a personality trait or behavior of another person, and thought to yourself, “But that’s what YOU do!”

Psychological projection is a rather commonly used defense mechanism. We project thoughts or feelings that we have onto someone else. The classic example is the jealous husband who constantly accuses his wife of cheating, when he is the one who is being unfaithful. “Jane” may not like her sister in law, “Edith”, but she won’t admit that, so she will say that she can just tell that “Edith” doesn’t like her. “John” always feels the need to judge others, and yet he accuses “Sam” of always judging him.

If there is someone who gets on your last nerve, sit down and write a list of what you do not like about this person. Put the list away for a few days, and then come back and take a good look at it. Does the list include things you don’t like about yourself? If you substitute your name for the name of the person for whom you have written the list, does it ring true for how YOU behave? For example, if you have written “Joe is so stupid. His grammar is horrible, his social skills are atrocious, etc.” could this mean that you are perhaps insecure about your own social skills and intelligence?

If we pay close attention to what bothers us about others, sometimes we find that it is actually what bothers us about ourselves. We have no control over changing someone else, but if we take a really close look at our own thoughts and feelings, we CAN make changes that will result in our liking ourselves much better. You can’t fix what you are unwilling to see.

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April 3, 2011:  ”Livin’ On A Prayer”

Do you ever use praying about it as a way of trying to avoid doing something about it? If you know someone who is having a hard time, do you tell him or her that you said a prayer for them and hope that by doing so you have fulfilled your moral obligation? “I’m kinda busy, so I’ll ask The Big Guy to do it.” Because He has so much time on his hands these days.

Illness, divorce, job loss; all can be very isolating. While it’s nice to think that you are being remembered in someone’s prayers, what will mean the world is that handwritten note that says someone is thinking of you. I know a young man who, while housebound from a bout of severe depression, said that for weeks the one thing that kept him going were the daily emails from a friend. What amounted to a few minutes of her time was a lifeline to the outside world for him. Lawns need to be mowed, houses need to be cleaned, and home cooked meals often become a luxury when someone is in a crisis.

The doing something about it plan works the same when it comes to how we treat our own problems. Would you pray for good health, Twinkie in one hand Marlboro in the other? Pray for a better relationship with your spouse on your way to the neighborhood bar to shoot pool with your buddies? Ask God to parent your children so you can go play golf? How about asking Him for financial guidance and then reward yourself with an afternoon of shopping?

Do we turn it over to God and let Him do all the work, or do we step in and to do some of the heavy lifting ourselves? I’m not a big teller of jokes, but this one seems to fit:

Every night for years, Mary asked God, “Please, Lord, let me win the lottery. I’m a decent person. I work hard. Still, I can’t seem to pay the bills on time. I promise if I win I will share my wealth with those less fortunate.” After ten years of saying this as part of her nightly prayers, God answered her! “God, please, I know I have asked you this for years and years, but I am asking you again. Please, please let me win the lottery so I can send my children to college and pay off some of my bills.” Lying there in her darkened room she heard a voice, deep, clear and unmistakable: “Mary…. This is God. Mary, you have to help me here. If you want to win the lottery, you have got to buy a ticket.”
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March 27, 2011: “Gardening”

I remember reading something not too terribly long ago, about friendship being like a garden. They need to be tended and nurtured or they will wither and die. The analogy failed to include the part about having to pull weeds from time to time. If we are going to look at friendship, or any relationship, as a garden, then don’t we need to also think about the weeds? Weeds can be invasive, crowding out the “good” plants, stealing nutrients and water and leaving them prone to disease and distress. They tend not to notice or care about the good plants they have to take down in their effort to dominate.

Sometimes I think of that garden analogy and realize that it is time to pull some weeds. Sure, every friendship has its ups and downs, its misunderstandings. Those are the ones that need the extra care and attention. The weeds are the relationships that leave you feeling emotionally drained, used, or perturbed most of the time. The weeds tend to be those who, through consistently poor choices, create drama and then try to pull you in. They are the ones who always respond to your down times by telling you how perfect their life is by contrast. The weeds expect you to be there to help them through a crisis, but tend to become unavailable if you ever need to have the favor returned. They don’t respect boundaries.

I am not one to use herbicides in my garden. I don’t like to see that slow withering of the plants. I would rather just put on some gardening gloves and get in there and yank them out by the roots. It seems kinder, in way. In today’s age of technology such as caller ID and voice mail, you would almost have to try to be caught off guard by someone attempting to sabotage your time.

Last week marked the first day of Spring. What a perfect time to take a look at your garden, Tend to it as necessary, plant some new things you feel may be interesting. Spring is also the perfect time to make sure you are ahead of those weeds. Pull them as you see them, before they start to drop seeds or develop strong roots. You’ll save yourself much hard work later in the season and your other plants will be happy for the extra time you have to spend enjoying them.

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March 20, 2011: “Lorie to jeff to Lorie & Back”

jeff noel’s original email reply to Lorie…

Perfect timing with your note.

Been writing most of the day.

Am trying something radical, instead of waking up with no clue what the five blogs will be about…just wake up, think, go, write.

In two weekends, the goal is to crank out 155 posts.

Is that not crazy? Wonder what I’d think of me if I was on the outside looking in. Some sort of compulsive, freakish person who ought to get a life…

Or maybe a man driven by the ticking clock, racing to catch up, or make up, for squandered years….the 1st 40 were all about me.

Lorie Sheffer’s reply to jeff noel:

“Squandered years”.  Oh how I envy you!  I think we should all have some squandered years, when it’s all about us. What a luxury. Imagine if you had Chapin a month after you turned 20.  Imagine being 25 and having 2 kids and two marriages.
But you know what? If we changed even one single detail about our past it could alter what our lives are right now, and in ways that we may find unbearable.  Leave out even one minor detail, and it could change life as we know it.
When I was 17, all I wanted was to get the Hell out of York. I had this dream of living in a large city and going to discos (Hey! It was the 70s!) and having quite the life.  I had no clue what I was going to be doing to support that life, but I knew I would be single for years and years. I was not going to get married till I was at LEAST 40, and I didn’t like kids, so they were totally not even a consideration. Three years later I was living in a tiny town on the Pennsylvania Maryland line, with a cheating, drug using husband and a baby. So much for big dreams! Every one of my friends except for one went about their lives as if they had never known me. They were busy with college parties and newfound freedom.
I thought that since I had my kids when I was so young that I would hit 40 and finally it would be ME time. But then Gary had his stroke and then my grandson came along and then my brother got cancer and then our cousin/friend died and then Dad got sick……. I’m still waiting.  You think about the years that were all about you and I think of the years that were never about me. The road not travelled.
But like I said, if we think about what would have been or could have been, it’s just a waste. It is what it is. Not to say that I don’t appreciate my life, because I do. My family means the world to me. My family means the world to me. By family, I mean not only those who are related by blood but also those who always have a room at my house.

Anyway, Jeff, I will bet that clock began to tick really loud for you when your dad got sick. I know how Gary began to kind of worry about his own health when his mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He has brain damage from his stroke, which is a known risk factor, and genetics going against him. Those factors can’t be controlled, but he takes such good care of himself he is probably not at any more risk than the average person. Still, if he can’t remember a name I can tell it hits an internal panic button that wasn’t there a few years ago. You and he will both probably live to be 100.
You are who you are because of what you have been, and you are a wonderful person. If you were on the outside looking in, you would like what you saw.  I had no contact with you since 1977. I missed the “squandered years”. What I am seeing through your writing is that you are not that different from the kid I knew in 4th grade, the one who spoke with wonder and awe about the little newts he had found in the woods behind his house. That little boy didn’t have to say that he treated them gently; it went without saying.

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March 13, 2011:

“We Just Don’t Care”

Last Saturday night I had the house to myself. I spent my time chatting with some friends, and we got onto the subject of middle age. It seemed every one of us had our good list and our bad list. The conversation became hilarious and irreverent as I explained that I fully intended to share their views, promising not to use names. After some rather heavy editing – this IS a kids friendly blog, after all – I distilled it to some common observations and some rather funny irony. Keep in mind that this discussion was between women of a certain age. Hopefully I will have to chance to one day have a similar conversation with the men.

One of the common ties was that we all seem to be more accepting of ourselves. We all vary in shape and size, and we all have come to terms with how we look. I have a memory as well as photos of us in our late teens and early twenties, when we worried about body image. One of us said that had she seen herself then as she sees herself in those old photos, she would have walked around naked all the time. Another of my friends, in a comment that I spent hours trying to edit, said that the newfound acceptance and appreciation of her body has led to some pretty incredible rewards. The bad side of that is that her husband is now in the “neutered tomcat” phase of his life, content to spend his time tinkering with his computers and eating snacks. Another friend said that she no longer cares what people think when she does something embarrassing. I give that one two thumbs up! Personally, I am fascinated that I now eat about half of what I used to eat, and yet I am twice the size. I wonder if this is something nature intended and if so, what is the reason? We are now content to relive our youth through watching our children and grandchildren.

Even with a list of complaints that includes achy joints, less energy, frequent bathroom visits, spontaneous and profuse sweating, chin hair and flabby bits, we all seem to be more comfortable in our own skin. We see the middle aged Real Housewives as silly, not as women we want to emulate. (Except Caroline Manzo, RHWNJ, who is awesome.) We are less concerned with how others see us. While it is nice if others accept us, it’s no longer necessary for our happiness. We like us better now than we did when we were younger.

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March 6, 2011

“Stroke of Luck”

I think Kirk Douglas, Dick Clark, and Michael J Fox are amazing. I’ve always liked them, but it wasn’t until recent years that I began to see them as fearless. In Hollywood, where physical appearance and perfection is everything, they have stepped out and shown the world the true meaning of beauty and grace that can only be found through an extremely strong sense of self-acceptance.

Both Douglas and Clark, in their later years, suffered strokes. Both were left with language impairments. Dick Clark has his stroke in 2004, and missed that year’s hosting duties for New Year’s Rockin Eve, but he was back as host the next year, on December 31, 2005, and has counted down the seconds till midnight on every New Years Rockin Eve since.  Kirk Douglas suffered a stroke in 1996, the same year as my husband suffered a massive stroke at the age of 44. Since then, Douglas has made a few more movies and written a few books. At age 94, he is currently the oldest celebrity blogger. The day after the Academy Awards, I was thrilled to see the headlines, “94 Year Old Legend Kirk Douglas Steals the Oscars”. His fearless and funny appearance as the presenter for the award for best supporting actress stole the show. Michael J Fox has become the national face of Parkinson’s Disease. Even though he became a household name with roles in Family Ties and Back to the Future, he became a national hero of sorts through his tireless efforts to help educate us about a disease that he lives with, but has not allowed to define who he is.

Needless to say, it brings me to tears when, at best, I hear people say these men, these national treasures, should no longer appear in public. At worst, Fox was actually mocked by a prominent radio personality.  Dick Clark is 81 years old, and as I stated earlier Kirk Douglas is 94. Apparently they make some folks uncomfortable. I heard a man on a  television show say that Mr. Douglas’s appearance on the Academy Awards was “too painful to watch”. I wondered what he was seeing. Certainly not the same thing I saw. With Douglas, Clark and Fox I see courage, I see strength, and I see a self-assurance that flies in the face of what we as a society have decided is “beauty”. I have seen first hand what is required to regain what a stroke can take away.  I feel honored that these three gentlemen are willing to come out and grace us with their public appearances. I know people who struggle with Parkinson’s.  They have done nothing wrong. They have nothing to be ashamed of.  Why would they feel the need to be hidden away from the world? Why is it that even though stroke is the third leading cause of death in the US, and a major cause of disability, most people don’t know the meaning of the words “aphasia” or “apraxia”? In the United States, someone suffers a stroke every 40 seconds, and there are currently 4 million survivors. Why then, should the appearance of these two men seem so unsettling? In the US alone, one million people are living with Parkinson’s, with many more worldwide.  “Knowledge is power, hope is everything” is the motto.

I think that Kirk Douglas may have said it best, in his book “My Stroke of Luck”.

“My stroke taught me so much, and for all that it stole, it gave me even more. In the process of healing, my life has changed for the better. Now I want to share what I have learned.”

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February 27, 2011

“The Other Ian”

Jeff and I reconnected via Facebook, after not having seen one another since our high school graduation in 1977.  I had to smile when I realized his son is the same age as my grandson. One of the first questions he asked me was, “What do you find different about being a grandparent compared to being a parent?” Good question! (I would soon find out that Jeff is full of good questions.) The standard answer I hear from other grandparents is “You get to send them home!” I see the “get to” part as “have to”.

When Carter was 2 years old, we were shopping and happened to run into one of my long time neighbors. He proceeded to tell me that he felt sorry for me because, now that both of my children were grown and out of the house, I was stuck babysitting my grandson full time. Stuck! I quickly set him straight.

When my youngest left for college I had this other little boy to occupy my life. What a blessing. My daughter was born just after I turned 20 years old, and I never did anything other than be a mom. I have the hindsight to know how fast the time passes. I had a full understanding of the speed at which the days would go by. The three half days a week of preschool would run into the full days of kindergarten and then elementary school. Carter will be 11 years old in a few months, and at 5’5” tall, he is only one inch from being my height. I know that it will feel like tomorrow that I will be attending his high school graduation.

Yesterday I was shopping in the same store where, only a few years ago, my neighbor offered his misplaced sympathy. A little boy with dark hair was clearly getting on his mother’s last frayed nerve. “IAN! Stop that NOW!” Ian. I laughingly told her that I have an Ian, too, and believe it or not I miss those days when he would drive me crazy. She gave a tired laugh. Then I told her that some day she would wish she could come back to this very day. She laughed even harder and seemed to be glad for that adult conversation from a total stranger that every mother finds herself in need of. I told her I remember the day I watched my Ian get on a plane for the UK, ready to spend 6 months at a university in Wales. I cried the whole two-hour drive home from the Philadelphia airport. It was worse than when we left him at college and drove home for 8 hours. Now, I am grateful that he is back in the area, Philadelphia to be exact, and we can visit him and his wife more often. Not too often, though. He’s in his last year of medical school, which takes up lots of time. Rightfully, his wife has priority.  But we speak on the phone a few times a month. A mom knows she did her job if her kids grow up and don’t need her anymore.  The other Ian’s mom wasn’t laughing now. She chatted for a few minutes about the snow we were expecting.  She picked her Ian up off the floor; kissing the top of his head, she held him close and said it was nice talking to me.  I decided to pick up some carry out for my husband’s and my dinner and head home before the snow started to fall.

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February 19, 2011:

Some women can do almost anything…

“She’s a 16/61″

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February 12, 2011

It’s so easy to miss the constant change that happens right before our eyes…

Lorie Sheffer has been a featured, weekly blogger at Mid Life Celebration and has her own page of posts. Here’s Lorie’s latest, “Taking Care”:

“If you took as good care of yourself as you do the rest of your family, you wouldn’t be here and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

My doctor said that to me a few years ago. He told me that I was not the first person he had ever said it to. In fact, it is a line he repeats almost daily.

Why do we treat our loved ones better than we treat ourselves? Looking back, I think of the times I would make my grandson’s lunch, taking care to include some raw veggies and fruit slices. Then he would lie down for a half hour nap while I ate the crust he left from his sandwich, multitasking laundry, dishes and wiping sticky fingerprints from the walls. Or those summer days when everyone was having fun swimming in the pool I had just spent all morning cleaning, while I was inside preparing a meal for them to enjoy. I don’t think that I am alone in this, either. At least according to my doctor I’m not.

It is not selfish to say “no.” It does not mean you are negligent if you make someone help him or herself while you take a few minutes for you. One of my very favorite friends, who has obviously learned to take care of herself, said it best this past Christmas. She told me that her husband had said he sure would love to have some fresh baked Christmas cookies. She handed him a cookbook and went out to get a pedicure.
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February 5, 2011

“You’re Hot!”

One night while lying in bed, just as David Letterman was reading his Top Ten list, my husband said those magic words: “Wow… you’re really hot!” Oh, my! I hadn’t bothered to shave my legs and I was wearing pajamas with a rubber ducky on skis design, but I’ve never been one to turn down a compliment. “Thanks, Honey!”  There was a long pause. “Thanks? What? OH! Umm…. I meant you’re sweaty. I feel like I’m sleeping next to a blast furnace.”

My second clue that things were off kilter came on the day when I realized my family suddenly seemed to fear me. I think it was my daughter who said that lately they never knew what was going to make me either burst into tears or turn me into something out of a Wes Craven movie. I found that ridiculous and insulting and ended up sobbing for an hour, locked in my bathroom with only my cat and a bag of Snickers bars.

The final blow was the worst. I had just stepped out of the shower when the phone rang. Home alone, I ran down the hall to the phone in the bedroom. In doing so, I happened to get a glimpse of myself in a full-length mirror. I stopped dead in my tracks and gazed in horror. What HAPPENED? What was THAT? All I could think of was the scene from Ghostbusters, when the giant Stay Puft Marshmallow Man was lumbering through Manhattan, wreaking havoc and causing screams of terror.

When we baby boomers were children, women were often accused of using menopause as an excuse to act out on feelings they had been holding back for years. And now we know. It’s not just an act. Some women breeze through with little or no symptoms, while others are miserable for quite a few months, if not years. Each of us is unique, and each of us will experience this time of life in different ways.

I have the good fortune of my son being in medical school. He jokes that he is going to take me in for show and tell, or that he is going to change his phone number and forget to give it to me; he also understands the biology behind the madness. He showed me a chart with graphs of hormonal fluctuations over a period of 6 months for a woman in her twenties or thirties, a woman in midlife, and a woman post menopause. The first chart has rhythm and symmetry. The middle chart, the one for the woman in midlife, looks chaotic, like a toddler was given some colored markers and told to draw a picture. The last chart is the light at the end of the chaos. It shows even, flat, smooth lines. Bless him for showing me that it’s not all in my head. Sure, I have been known to literally shove someone aside who was standing between me and the air conditioning vent, but I hardly think a jury of my midlife female peers would find me guilty of any crime for that!

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January 30, 2011

What happens when it hits the fan…

“Grudge”

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January 23, 2011

“Sometimes It’s Our Call”

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January 16, 2011

“Experiment”

There’s not much we can do to change what happens around us or control the actions of others. Maybe we can avoid getting stuck in traffic by taking a side road instead of the main highway, or send our kids to their room when the noise level gets unbearable, but for the most part we are left to adapt to things as they are. This can lead to frustration and negative reactions, which can lead to anger and stress. While we can’t all have the mental calmness of Buddhist monks, we can turn down our own internal dial to some degree.

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January 12, 2011

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January 6, 2011

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December 30, 2010

Lorie Sheffer, without her fully understanding it, contributes to a bigger picture that is Mid Life Celebration’s grand vision. Take it away Lorie:

“What Would You Do?”  While randomly channel surfing one Friday evening, my husband and I found a TV show by that name. The premise of the show is to put unsuspecting folks in a moral dilemma type situation to see who, if anyone, will step up and speak out. The show will use the same scenario but switch up actors to see if it makes a difference in how people respond. For example, in one situation we saw how, if a young black man were clearly stealing a bike from a park, more people called the police than if it were a young white man. When the would-be thief was a very attractive young blond woman, many of the men actually offered to help her! One man even did so while his wife protested and called police from her cell phone.  Hearing reasons and excuses from the bystanders when they are clued in to the experiment is interesting to say the least.

Earlier this week I told my 31-year-old daughter how proud I was of her 26-year-old brother, who had recently made a very brave stand about an injustice he had witnessed. “Like you’re really surprised he did that?” she asked me, chuckling.  Later that day we were chatting on the phone and she said she had been thinking about the conversation we had. I have seen her do her own share of stepping up and speaking out. That afternoon, she noticed a rather mean comment on one of the social network sites. She immediately called the person out on it with a short, to the point, “Why so mean? Is it really necessary?” Within minutes she started receiving Tweets about her action. Interesting how, even though they felt it was uncalled for, none of these people had stepped in. They were happy someone else had done it for them.

Intrigued by this social experiment of a television show, I tuned in again. The man who finally spoke up on last night’s show in defense of a gay couple was the son of Holocaust survivors. In the extreme case of the Jews who were exterminated, the silences of the majority lead them straight to the gas chambers and ovens. People would rather not get involved; it’s easier to look away and remain silent. This man said that in honor of his parents, who survived the atrocities, and of the millions who didn’t survive, he vowed to never remain silent when he sees an injustice. He doesn’t want to be considered a hero; he just feels it is the morally correct thing to do.

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