happy birthday to our ceo dr. jeffrey lant you turn 66 today and we are so glad you have helped us...

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Happy Birthday to our CEO Dr. Jeffrey Lant you turn 66 today and we are so glad you have helpedus along making money together in Worldprofit Inc almost 20 years Wow



Preface / Introduction

This is a great collection of stories which Dr. Jeffrey Lant has written for us to enjoy about his

special day!

Feel free to comment:

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Table of Contents

1. 'Will you still need me, will you still feed me...?' Dr. Lant turns 64, and at last knows the answer to the Beatles' plaintive question.2. 'Nobody wants you when you're old and gray.' On the matter of turning 65... and other outrages.3. 'And run, if you will, to the top of the hill/Open your arms...' Thoughts on turning 66. 'All theleaves have gone green'.



'Will you still need me, will you still feed me...?' Dr. Lantturns 64, and at last knows the answer to the Beatles'plaintive question.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Today I turn 64, having entered this life February 16, 1947. That makes me a certified Baby

Boomer, a member in good standing of a petted generation that has touched, for good and ill,virtually everything on this planet, incising its deep mark far and wide.

We started life as heirs to creation; now we are the hair thinning, pounds packing, "I can beat the agerap and live forever" folks for whom the motto "been there, done that" pretty much summarizesthings.

We have known everything (until we discovered that we didn't); loved many (until we discovered,later than our parents, the virtue of loving one); traveled everywhere, only to discover the beauties of the place and people we left behind... and now crave.

We have known many identities, many loyalties, many styles, more sounds, and often tragic insights

into the human condition, sufficient to beat every band but one.... Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts ClubBand. (Released June 1, 1967).

I remember the day this album hit the streets. I was in Santa Barbara, California and my friends,each selected with a connoisseur's eye, had waited in an overnight line so that could be amongst thefirst million or so who purchased this latest effusion from the group to which we gave (mostly)unqualified allegiance.

As the happy possessors of this album made their excited way back to their ocean-side apartments,always more resort than dormitory, from now this window, now that emerged the sounds of the newrhythms we were hearing for the first time, assessing each tune with care, deliberation, and a

practised ear.At that moment I first heard the questions that compose "When I'm Sixty Four."

When I get older losing my hair Many years from now. Will you still be sending me a ValentineBirthday greetings bottle of wine... Will you still need me, will you still feed me....

The tune, as you must know if you are a member of my generation, is about a young man posing thequestion every young person in the grip of an early, unrelenting passion insists on knowing about hisincomparable Significant Other: is what we have True, The Real Thing, Forever?

To find out, the young man queries his beloved, sketching out in the process a life lived in the backwater, with only the simplest challenges, joys, and triumphs:

I could be handy, mending a fuse When your lights have gone. You can knit a sweater by thefireside Sunday morning go for a ride.

The young man, still very much a boy for all his raging hormones, figures that if he offers so little tohis equally youthful beloved and she accepts... why, then, she really does love him. So he sings of avision of little joys, picayune pleasures, minor challenges... all redeemed, however, by... you., theinamorata of this catchy little number.

Sir Paul McCartney wrote this song at age 16, before there were Beatles, millions of screaming fans,and royal honors. He, like me, had to imagine that condition of life... and for him, like me, it was

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Happy Birthday to our CEO Dr. Jeffrey Lant you turn 66 today and we are so glad you have helped us along makingmoney together in Worldprofit Inc almost 20 years Wow

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"many years from now."

Now "many years from now" has arrived... and the condition I could hardly imagine is the reality of my life. Having lived, I shall now exercise the privilege of age, sharing insights with you.

* Never forget the people who love you. They are the most important people of all.

Denizens of my generation were what my very stay-at-home grannie called "gad-abouts", goingeverywhere but to the people who counted. Recognize the importance of such people as early as you

can; then hold them fast to you. They matter.

* Make each day a learning day.

Learning, as I may not have gleaned in the days I was ordered into the classroom, is the consummate privilege; an exercise subsidized by the community to turn you into a better person.

Now I am voracious in pursuit of my education, in love with knowledge and the thoughts and ideasof others who excite, inspire, and move me more the older I get.

* Make money early... then focus on more important things.

Money is important, desirable, useful. Thus, when young and in possession of your utmost energy,lunge for it with all your might. Then, having achieved life securing success, turn your energies toother, more significant things. For while money is necessary, it never defines the truly well livedlife.

* Never allow yourself to be the sum total of your disabilities, defeats, disillusions and nothingmore.

Life is punctuated by injuries, crises, losses, mayhem. But life, being life, is always more than these.Remind carping people around you; remind yourself to stop and perceive the amenities and benefitsall around you, if you but take the trouble to perceive them.

I take that trouble, and grateful, too.

* Remember, no person is "self made". We all owe whatever success we have had to the assistanceof others -- many others. Recognize them.

The words "self made" are regularly trotted out like a Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval, therebysuggesting that the individual rose alone, majestic. But the truth is, no one rises alone. We rise because of the sustained help and assistance of others, many others.

Take time to remember these "others", to thank and to venerate them, for they are the people whohelped shape you.

* Take time to remember and savor the wonder of -- you.

It is easy to forget, and crucial to remember, that there has never been anyone like you before... andupon your passing, there will never be another to come.

Thus from time to time, upon such an occasion as this, pause and contemplate yourself, withwonder, bliss, awe. For you have helped shape not only yourself but a world of others. And youdeserve all credit arising therefrom.

Today I shall allow myself the luxury of exulting in the marvelous creature I, along with so manyothers, have crafted. No false modesty, nothing abashed... just pure, unadulterated joy. For that iswhat turning 64 entitles you to and completely justifies, and I intend to make the most of it!






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'Nobody wants you when you're old and gray.' On the matter of turning 65... and other outrages.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. In 1921, that sultry chanteuse with a silken voice seasoned with a touch of honky-tonk and life's deflating experience -- Ethel Waters (1896- 1977) -- got up before the

microphone one fine day and belted into history a little ditty by Billy Higgins and W. BentonOverstreet. It was a swinging song with attitude... and, it turned out, with "legs", too; a song so potent in its magic that over 50 major recording artists couldn't wait to get their vocal chords aroundit.

It was "There'll be some changes made", and it included the resonating line that made us all queasy..."Nobody wants you when you're old and gray"... the line that justified an ocean or two of wild behavior, the wild oats you'd better indulge in when young and limber... before the Grim Reaper stamped your forehead with the iconic number 65 and measured you for eternity.

Go now to any search engine, review your recorded choices; then "choose your poison" as GrandpaWalt used to say... but, whoever you select, take time to pay homage to Miss Waters, for she was a

game old bird and after all was the first to urge us to approach olde age with dignity, composed,resigned, withered hands folded gently in your lap, glass for your false teeth at the ready -- not!

Oh, no, Miss Waters celebrated not just the "you" you were... but the "you" you could be with a fewdeft changes, tweaks and tucks... all necessary so that your "golden" years are even less demure (bya long shot) than your early days; that you don't just read your Browning -- "the best is yet to be" -- but live him, with plenitude and a "hey, look me over" edge, your original and unique cocktail of defiance, insight, and allure.

Step-dad Jack and the chocolate box.

He was shrunken, smaller than he had been in life... in form that is, never in spirit. And he asked me

--before "forever" took him -- for chocolates. He craved them. I didn't have to think twice about whatto do. I was on the phone at once and ordered him an exuberant chocolate feast of Godiva's best, thekind of assortment that a boy bent on the delights of love gives to the girl he wants to wash his shirtsand cheat on for life. Yes, it was that big. And when I called to make sure he had the package... Iwas informed this man I hardly knew... had the box open, a few already nibbled, sampled, so hecould make the best selection. And he was smiling...

But that's only a part of this tale...

The instant she heard ol' Jack talking to me, my mother, that force of nature and approved behavior,grabbed the phone and Let Me Have It. Jack was ill, she said; Jack was dying, she said; Jack could

die at any moment, she said, and face his Maker, as quick as you could say "Jack Robinson." Whatdid I mean by giving him, and on his death bed, too, the rich seduction that was chocolate, a foodthat could not be found amidst his recommended dietary choices, unappetizing all. Why, didn't Iknow that could kill him....? Moreover, there was no mention in Emily Post sanctioning death-bedchocolates... and thus they could not be approved, unfitting objects as they were for such an eventand its high mysteries and profound enigmas.

"But POM (Poor Old Mother)", I said. His cancer is terminal, he could indeed die at any moment;every doctor said so, and at such a time if there's a dance in the old galoot yet he ought to dance it...he ought to have what he wanted, the savor of life, not another moment of the semblance of life,measured out by tea spoons of this medicine, tablets of that. In short he wanted, with an insistence







that comes when time is almost gone, one of life's pleasures, not another indication and token of life's finality.

... Jack died just hours later...

... POM became the Ice Queen to me for too long...

But I was the gainer here... for Jack had reaffirmed a profound truth we cannot hear and contemplateoften enough... that life is for the living, that life must be lived, exulted, extolled, celebrated and

savored... and that at the end, if you want chocolates, the very best chocolates (or their equivalent)no one -- not even the well-meaning wife and scold -- should be allowed even a moment of jeremiad, pontification, finger-pointing and condescension... "Proper behavior" be damned....

Easy to say, difficult to do.

Now, one can damn, and so easily, too, the bug-a-boo of "proper behavior", but the truth of thematter, an independent course is difficult to pull off. Witness my darlin' mama's frosty reaction onthe matter of chocolates an instant prior to demise. We geriatric life-savors need to face up to theshibboleths and prejudices of our rigid adversaries... and become as shrewd as we are aged.

Thus, start from the proposition that for the bulk of the world... but never for ones as wicked cool

and winsome as we are, Age 65 is regarded as the gate through which one passes, inexorably,inevitably, slowly on account of rheumatism, arthritis and assembled other maladies attendant upon bigger and bigger birthdays; the gate through which we enter aging... through which we departdead... truly an inviting scenario... if you're into the macabre pictures of Hieronymus Bosch(1450-1516) and other mediaeval horrors. . But Hieronymus and his scarry ilk have never been mycup of tea, perhaps because of their unremitting focus on the darker side of life, its miseries, regrets,loneliness and angst about the eternity into which each of us must enter, like it or not. I am a creatureof life and light... and aim to live my credo to the very last moment... for all that I may be able to donothing more at that unique moment of finality than nibble a chocolate. Even that is enough toreaffirm my adamant belief in life, not life's restrictions.

Yet these restrictions are everywhere, built into the very heart of our youth-centered culture. Folksover 65 are lesser beings, unable to do this, incapable of doing that; past it in ways as diverse aseating corn on the cob or satisfying even the least demanding of lovers. Even more than a baby(which after all does not know better) we are held thrall to the do-nots, the should-nots, thecould-nots, instead of enjoying the thrills and growth of the why-nots.

But we are not, we crew of 65 plus, babies to be protected and instructed. We are people who havelived life -- and often riotously too -- with gusto and a zest that only begins when you realize that thelife force within you is not unlimited or inexhaustible. It is its very limitation that makes it precious... and which drives us to use it... all of it ... never letting a drop of it... any of it... drip awayunused and unregarded.

We know the pleasures of life... and intend to explore each and every one of them until the enginethat drives our magnificent being can do absolutely nothing more.

That's why I tell you this: Miss Waters sings her song not for you and me who seize and savor life.For we do not need to make changes...

Rather, these changes must be made by the folks -- "age-ists" every one of them -- who want us tostop living before our time, pushing us out of life, anxious to get what we have had. These folks arein the business of denial, living to block us, restrict us and chide us for ideas, thoughts and actionsthey deem unsuitable to our age and station... They are the ones who would remove us from life, nothelp us engage it.







It is for these folks and their disapproval and disdain that Miss Waters sings her song, for theycannot be reminded often and enough...

"You're here today and then tomorrow you're gone" ...

Thus I shall live my life while there is a crumb yet to enjoy. And if that bothers you or anyone, getover it... and make the changes which must be made today... for you have far greater need for themthan I do...

Envoy

Dr. Lant turns 65 February 16, 2012.

*** We invite your comments to this article.







'And run, if you will, to the top of the hill/Open your arms...'Thoughts on turning 66. 'All the leaves have gone green'.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author's program note. It is 6:31 a.m. The dawn is still struggling to arrive pushing away the chilldetritus of a yesterday now gone forever; the only part of that yesterday now extant the clear

admonition from God Himself when He turned out (half) the lights at the 2013 Superbowl Game as awarning; viz that we should be more careful, less profligate and capricious about His patrimony, themost verdant of spheres, which He created for us and where we have been so consistently wastefuland remiss; that if we cannot act as required, He will, removing it from us and certain destruction.

Front page today, the subject of massive raillery and embarrassment, no doubt yesterday's clear warning will go the way of all the many such which preceded it. Why worry as the planet, saggingunder the weight of our hubris, swoons and dies? Why indeed? After all we have 163 varieties of chili readily at hand; more than ample for even the most finicky of eaters.

But I do worry. It is a sure sign one has reached the age for Social Security, as now with a flourish Ihave, my first check slated to arrive the 20th of next month, the date some bureaucrat in the capital

has decided I will officially exist, the bureaucrats keeping that extra money for themselves, in theway of light-fingered flunkeys throughout the ages.

"Jean" words and music by Rod McKuen, sung by Oliver, from the film "The Prime of Miss JeanBrodie" (1969).

The tune running through the attic of my memory is one I first heard in the fall of '69, thatmomentous autumn I first arrived at Harvard for my graduate education. No decrepitude, noenfeebling arthritis, no "senior moment" of obliteration and wobbly uncertainty can ever dim theluster I first experienced just short blocks from where I am writing you now.

I arrived with just $100; knew no one; had no place to live; had never been to Massachusetts and had

an incipient case of mononucleosis... and was supremely happy.

It is important to remember such grand moments, not just because in a lifetime they are few andfleeting, but because when one passes through the portal of advancing age too many fixate on whatwasn't, isn't, and will never be; a sure formula for the carping and grinding bitterness that defines for most "the last of life for which the first was made"; the celebrated phrase of Robert Browning(1812-1889) my mother so cherished.

So far I, at least, have kept this unhappy reality at bay... and I am grateful... and wary. For you see,this state can only be retained by unending vigilance and unflinching honesty... and there are dayswhen there is not a scintilla of either to be had. You will have such days, too, if you have not had

them already. "Old age," the wags rightly say, "is not for sissies."Before we continue, it is time to add some music... a tune for which words like "wistful" and"bittersweet" come quickly to mind and rightly so for this song and its poetic lyrics will move youand remind you, too, that once upon a time you loved not wisely but too well.

It was nominated for an Academy Award as "Best Song" in 1969, when a virtually unknown singer called Oliver rode it to the top, his one time only. Find it now in any search engine and listencarefully. Don't rush the process either as some careless readers on the sunny side of fifty willundoubtedly do. The song is too beautiful, the lyrics too poetic, the sentiments too important for that.







Comfy? Then it's time for "Jean"... and thoughts of love given, received, refused, repulsed, denied,dishonored, abjured, offended, glorified, celebrated, indulged, forgiven, remembered... grateful nowfor it in every moment and manifestation.

"Dr. Lant, please call at once..."

I was at home in Cambridge when the nurse called, the matter urgent, pressing. I was scheduled tomake a trip to Illinois, to give a speech, and, of course, would stop by the nursing home to see my beloved Grammie, Victoria Lauing. Then I got the call... no, not that she was dead, for she was toowell bred to leave us so precipitately. She kept her engagements. No, she was not dead... but shewould be, the nurse said if I didn't Do Something.

Anxious, I quizzed the nurse. What was the problem? How much a crisis? What must I do?

It seems my grandmother, so desirous to see me, had created, as we humans can do anywhere and atany age, a lurid fear all her own; in this case that I would come... but that she would be asleep, notin her small room smelling of medicine and listless days ... that we would thus pass like ships in thenight; never seeing each other, never seeing each other again. And against this threatening prospect,she was prepared to fight... her weapons frail, her determination absolute.

Thus, my grandmother was adamant the nurse told me with a dollop of anguish in her voice, for Grammie's never exhausted store of charm had touched her like all the rest; that she would stay up,fully dressed, eyes fixed upon the door I must enter, ready to greet me properly whenever I shouldcome.

As a result, my darling Grammie, whose succulent meals brought to fruition with care and culinarymagic tasty and profound, was dying by inches, starving amidst all the bounty of America'sheartland. Could I please talk to her... at once? The matter was urgent.

Thus driven by fear that I would be too late... and fear that I might say the wrong thing and so insome inscrutable way make a difficult situation even worse, I called.... and somehow love found thewords for me for the word smith never without the mot juste needed such help that day.

I told her I loved her, the most compelling phrase in our bounteous language. Then spoke the wordsof utmost necessity; that she must eat a little something, yes, while I was there, on the phone.... thatshe must do it for me.

Too, that she must then close her eyes and sleep, sleep; that I would be there soon and we wouldtalk and laugh together. And then I knew she was smiling and that smile was rich, radiant,comforting, containing the promise of still more smiles to come.

Then it was time to end; we had comforted each other as those who know love may do. But she hadone more thing to say... and it was this, "Remember. Remember that while my body may be old, my brain is a teen-ager's. Someday you will know what I mean..."

Thus did the conversation that had begun in fear end in relief for both of us. Then she said, her voicesteady and clear, "Good-bye now, Laddie", and I knew she was thinking of me; of those moments somany years ago, so often taken for granted, when she would right every wrong by the simpleexpedient of stroking my hair, turning my very name into a felicitous incantation, always potent,always available, a healing spell to be summoned at will.

Now I know what she meant.

I looked at myself in the mirror this morning, not a cursory glance but a precise reconnaissance, anecessary event requiring courage and resignation. I was if not old then on its threshold, but not the brain, for it is sharp and ready for any adventure, any mischief and, always, for love and were I to







loose all but that I should still be a man supremely happy, like I was that long ago day I arrived herefor the first time.

And so I tell you this, and resolutely, too, "This is the prime of Dr. Jeffrey Lant" who will tocelebrate go out into the silvery gray of this February day when "the clouds are so low/ You cantouch them". For like Miss Jean Brodie, I am "young and alive", running swiftly to the land where"All the leaves have gone green". Come with me. "Open your arms, bonnie Jean. Come out of your half-dreamed dream", and dream the rest with me, for time is short and there is much to do.







Resource

About The Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., where small andhome-based businesses learn how to profit online. Attend Dr. Lant's live webcast TODAY andreceive 50,000 free guaranteed visitors to the website of your choice!

Republished with author's permission by Howard Martell http://HomeProfitCoach.com.


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happy birthday to our ceo dr. jeffrey lant you turn 66 today and we are so glad you have helped us...

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