the power of lice

Underneath my oak tree at the Sherman Beach overlooking Candlewood Lake, I sat in my canvas chair prior to the first day of school listening to other moms summon the curse of lice upon them. In my Evangelical insistence to not activate that vibration, it was I, or more accurately my children, to whom the lice flocked. The years and years of misconception and condemnified debt of those stricken with lice during my school years had all, in that one moment, been karmically delivered. These infinitesimal parasites that only live off of a human head are not "The Plague" as the school nurse explained. All things considered, however,  in our hermetically sealed Western civilization I beg to differ. Had this occurred two years ago I would have dropped dead of a heart attack. Mortification coupled with the sheer incredulity that something so minuscule could result in so much upheaval and inconvenience. The empathetic coos from other mothers in hopes to assuage embarrassment , "...Lice prefer clean heads..." go into the gutter...because, lets face it, unless a scalp is swimming in olive oil no amount of naturally occurring scalp grease can deter a louse. Had my children's state of personal hygiene been more thorough I can bet that my perspective on lice would remain dormant.

holy shit this sucks...

Upon initial impact I dare say that the size of my house impacted the degree of my protruding eyeballs as my head wrapped around the miles and miles of laundry and house cleaning that lied ahead. It also didn't help that two hours prior to this discovery I had made a proclamation denouncing all worldly possessions at the desire to live in a tee pee preferably located on a nudist reservation. I wouldn't put myself past it if I didn't have such a fetish for my kick-ass boots or derive so much enjoyment by conveying my daily moods through my palate of textiles and colors.


These creatures, compounded by the arrival of our puppy who was suffering from a rapid purge of cat food, tested my faith in the Universe. How was I going to be able to apply the concept of gratitude amidst this scenario? What is the purpose of lice? How did they get here. This is not my house. This is not my life....I begged a friend for a merciful drive by de-licing with a can of gasoline and a match. Quietly however, the hours of combing, picking and washing hair allowed a counter intuitive force of baboonish nurturing to envelope us. Focusing on each individual task helped alleviate the immensity of the whole.

Cetaphil encrusted heads lay on the freshly laundered linens as I teetered on the cresting and periodic wave of insanity. Trevor's impish voice could be heard from his side of the quarantined room as he learned that he would be issued a leave of absence from the next day of school, "Thank you Universe...may I have some more?" he giggled in perfect comedic timing. Much to their disappointment, however, lice do not warrant a two week absence. Once realizing that this also prevented any circulation for the entire weekend, the next day his sense of friendless-asphyxiation settled deep. Contact was at a minimum due to the sheer ferocity of my need to purge; The kids had to guard their possessions closely. Any time spent on the phone would mean that their kingdom of toys could be pillaged. My friends knew that I would be too busy to talk. Either that or they were afraid to make me cry. "Mom, look at the clouds....I feel as if we are the only family left alive, " Trevor remarked.

So, as it turns out my gears started to turn once my husband returned from five days away. Progress achieved once I could tackle these rooms and laundry without interruption. Then momentum kicked in and projects started branching further from the source. The cat barf on the carpet was finally removed, the blue tape on the window hardware peeled off after three years of contemplating a second coat, overstuffed bins of unused toys were unceremoniously escorted out of the house bag by bag. Terror in my children's eyes brought them to a state of solidarity with intuitive reasoning that they had to work as a team to avoid further dissolution of mommy's state of sanity. This brusque state of  household resurrection was aided by other wonderful addendum of grass cutting and garage cleaning, door installations and weather stripping, dresser refinishing and refrigerator cleaning. The power of lice is really quite extraordinary.

It was only after the siege had passed did I realize the immensity of what I had experienced. From the onset the lens on my camera was enabled with gratitude...looking to make sense of these conditions and knowing without a shadow of a doubt that I was being selected to undergo this test. The biggest realization though was that only when my husband mentioned how much he was looking forward to a beer at the end of the day did it strike me that never once did I feel the need to alleviate this discomfort with alcohol. My three years of meditation and the last year of removing alcohol from my repertoire held fast....diving deep into the dark recesses to cleanse and purify in combination with gratitude of living moment to moment we were rewarded with trinkets of joy that had gone missing months prior - symbols of loving appreciation that the Universe does deliver in ways even better that you could conjure on your own.

The Universe's symbolic gesture

Don't get me wrong...I wouldn't readily welcome a repeat performance of this experience. I wouldn't even wish this on my worst enemy...not that any exist. However, the cues from the Universe that prompted us into action and mobilized the troupes delivered a great sense of cohesion and unity. In the seemingly arduous tasks and responsibilities of which we have no control over, we are given a choice of perception. By grounding in gratitude no matter the circumstances, appreciation and beauty can be excavated.

Tatum after undergoing lice treatment plan

mrs. brown

Mrs. Brown retired last spring. She snuck out under the radar by announcing her plans at the last minute so as not to cause too much ruckus and fanfare. Relinquishing her 15 year post as kindergarten teacher was not a decision that came easily. However, she was comforted by thoughts of being able to spend more time in Maine...a place that is dear to both of us.

Just as with hundreds of other Sherman families, Judy lovingly guided my children through their first year of school. Her love, kindness and patience must have originated somewhere close to the town of Whoville; the Saintly sort of disposition that opens her classroom, her heart, her understanding smile and eyes not only to her fledgling children but the brittle mothers who are doing the commando crawl to the threshold of her door.

The first time I set eyes on this classroom was ten years prior...before my husband and I were even engaged. "Quintessential", I noted...hoping someday my children would have the privilege of attending this school. Ten years later I had tears streaming down my face as it struck me that I was in the exact classroom I had daydreamed into. During the parent teacher conference, Judy exalted all of my children's amazing gifts and talents; just like at Disney there were seemingly never any faults to be found.

We gravitated to her house every Halloween and to her classroom every year to catch some of her positive vibe as if it would lend us a power boost of good fortune. Her smile radiated acceptance and affection regardless of reading ability, tying vs. velcro, gender or age. Peers, parents and children alike were all treated with unwavering love. There is a piece of our hearts that Judy is able to touch with her smile and presence.

At at time when my youngest was in her class I wrote an entry into my  former "Inspiration Journal" that I will share with you today. It seems a pertinent entry at the eve of another school year synchronized with the resounding joy I glean from her acceptance to enjoy some time at our home on the coast of Maine. I know she is wearing her Heart chakra necklace her husband gifted her for her latest birthday. I know she is standing at the kitchen sink overlooking the four-trunked birch tree that was the inspiration for this entire JewelTree of Life series. It is a piece of the puzzle finding it's way home into a cohesive expression of appreciation.

2/19/08 - My daughter, Tatum spent 20 minutes this morning carefully drawing a picture of a windy day. The wind made with a black magic marker line swirled in random circular patterns surrounding a single figure drawn in green. She clothed this figure in orange and took great pride in signing her name at the bottom. She asked if I might sign her teacher's name at the top. Tatum folded the picture up, skittered over to the desk and before I knew it had found a perfect envelope, sealed it and wrote her name again on the cover. She looked over her shoulder with a pencil poised in her small right hand and asked, "Mommy, how do you spell ' I love you?'

Tatum loves her teacher, Mrs. Brown just as I loved my first grade teacher Mrs. Kitson. It is a love I can't really quite seem to fathom even to this day. I find myself becoming overwhelmed with emotion even at the thought of her kindness, caring and peace she radiated. When I graduated from College I went back to my elementary school in Riverside, CT and brought her one single Delphinium; A flower that I felt captured her height, grace and gentle aura. I walked into the school not even knowing for sure if she still taught there but trusting my instincts that she did. The front office staff directed me to her classroom where she sat at the end of a busy day. She was by herself. I came unannounced, could barely utter a word, couldn't even tell her who I was but just hoped that she would remember who this 5'10" body might have, at some point, resembled 15 years prior. Similar to age 5 it must have been my shaky voice and the tears that I tried to hold back that revealed my identity because 3 days later I received a card of congratulations from her in the mail. Only today was it made clear to me what I had to say to her that day. It was the same thing that my daughter so easily expressed to her teacher this morning; A simple I love you from the heart of a child who now has her own children the same age that I was when I had the privilege of being in her presence.

Love can unlock the Universe....anyone can be a teacher of this sacred element...from the unfettered heart of a child, a wagging tail of a dog or special people who touch your heart forever....where your world expands and all the clouds are lined with silver. Thank you Mrs. Brown. You have made a difference in our world.

the mascot

Kola nut ~ the mascot

This summer's motto, "Piercing Through the Veil of Boredom" and our new mascot, Kola, a 9 week old chocolate Labrador have formed a united front; literally changing the familial landscape of our family one puppy tooth piercing and ear piercing bark at a time at a time. We have all been inducted into this club with our infinitesimal disfiguration somewhere in the range between our right elbow and fingertips. As the days of our cohabitation increase the jaw strength has abated; Kola realises that he needs to start to mouth more gently if he intends to jive with his new pack.

The Board of Animals-in-Residence issue low guttural disgust. Kaos, the president, a 13 year old feline, is seeing laptime diminish right before her eyes. No longer am I available for leisurely sofaside lounging during this intense stage of puppydom - occupied instead with the frequent cues and whimpers that may or may not indicate that another mess on the floor could be narrowly averted. These seething emanations from Kaos ignite hopeful barks of glee from Kola. "Perhaps this is the happy language of the subtly different form of dog that they keep on this alien planet?", he thinks; his interpretation skills missing the mark so acutely that I if he's not careful, Kaos may slice and dice Kola into bite size niblets. The crescendo hits it's peak however, when the low baritone and the mezzo soprano are overpowered by the infinitely louder voice of my seven and ten year olds ...pleading for the the noise to *just stop*.

The name Kola came into my awareness as a flash of intuition. I had no idea what it meant when I passed this suggestion on to my husband.The kola nut in African Igboland culture constitutes a social symbol of hospitality, life, peace, kindness, good-will, commensality, fraternity, reconciliation and integrity. The kola is a typical multi-referential social symbol that has also touched western cultures with its use as a stimulant and flavoring that had, at one point, been found in Coca-cola and Pepsi products. In humans it enhances alertness and physical energy, elevates mood, increases tactile sensitivity and suppresses the appetite. At 4a.m. I see this benefit most clearly as I watch my husband kip up out of bed...into his pants...into his duck boots in one swift maneuver to take Kola out to systematically kill the grass, patch by urinated patch.


Between the puppy teeth and eardrums we have far surpassed the initial impetus of our motto that had included quiet puzzles, books and dabbling in streams. In fact, I think we have shot ourselves out of a cannon with the success of this mission running in terror of the creature we have allowed into our domicile.

In total transparency though...I must admit...it was my insistence that we get a dog. As I look into these puppy eyes (located right above the razor sharp teeth and below the level of the excretory features) I see total perfection of Source Energy ...I see the power that this animal has to open our hearts wider than we are able. Kola is the ingredient that we need to unify and move beyond our status quo to illuminate our capacity to love him, love ourselves and love one another....unconditionally. Kola will become our teacher.

The Universe answered our requests...for 14 years we have wished for a dog and now the timing is right; our family is now complete. No better time than the last week of summer to introduce a new member of the family where we could devote unfettered time to the foundations of training and pack dynamics. Source energy conspired with us in a fit of miraculous, synchronistic corrosion as our internet and phone lines fell inactive during the same eight days.  Although my JOY was not equally met among the rest of the family members,  I was awestruck by this divine intervention allowing us the opportunity to focus solely on life...on grace...on Kola.

life onboard

simplicity in the flow merit badge

This is what my merit badge looks like. Over the last seven years onboard I have made friends with allowing, releasing old blockages and going with the flow.  Allowing on the most extreme levels....I can now sleep side by side with what had been my arch nemesis: SAND. I can tolerate my children wearing the same t-shirt for 4 days straight. I have acquired a taste for coffee sludge as I pick coffee grounds out of my teeth even after the sun appears four finger widths above the horizon.

It is a time when all earth bound hurdles fall gently to the ground and I no longer need to jump. Vegetables are optional. Candy is a necessity. Ten and seven year old computavores settle quietly in the recesses of darkness. Laundry does not exist. Simple pleasures of a pinwheel seem to delight the senses. The close physical proximity of the four of us reveal interplay of thought and emotion that could never encapsulate itself in the vast landscape of life on land.

Onboard is where there is no time, where Terns perched on the bow rail and juicy cannonballs off the stern can co-exist, where the supply and demand and supply of dry towels are in syncopated circulation, where salt water baths and fresh water rinses suffice for days and days on end.

It is onboard where we all seem to reach the cosmos individually...where the rhythmic evening breaths and gentle waves against the hull beg one to walk the tightrope of awareness and sleep as the beat of our hearts deepen. It is a place when I set the anchor it grabs the first time without any thoughts of skittering across the bottom...it stays...held fast and secure.

I have come to love our 20 year old boat. In years past I would cast envious gazes upon the 70' navy hulled sloopes. Now, boats such as these summon an acknowlegement of beauty...and work. My soul rests easy with this sense of partitioning... just happy to enjoy the here and now without the need to fly at cruising altitude with the Jones'.  Living more from the heart and less from the Ego has enabled a sense of alacrity for life without feeling as if expensive possessions qualified me to live within higher ranks of privilege and worthiness. Less is more...more joy, more freedom, more love.

pixey stick bliss

Rockport, MA happens to be one of the heralded ports of call along our summer waterway although it can prove to have both effects of elation and dread...elation in the form of onshore reinflation....elation of the customary toy store ricochet and reverse ricochet to determine the candy/trinket most worthy of the $5 and $15 respective allowance...elation for the dark mochas at my fingertips...elation to verify whether our credit card can still be set ablaze in joyful gratitude...elation in the form of Rosemarie, the harbormaster...happy to see that we maneuvered our 28' SeaRay Sundancer without upsetting the ecosystem of the inner habor's tightly woven network of lobster boats...and the reward of a hospitable and complimentary pumpout.

This years toy harvest for my daughter Tatum was a plush turquoise octopus that settled on the name Aqua...although I thought Squirt was better. She would have sold her own blood had we not remembered that any money not spend on candy could be transferred over to toys. Trevor, on the other hand would have easily spent the full $20 on candy...the more retina scortchingly sour the better. As we headed back in to the General Store for the fourth time Trevor's spirit grew. It was at this very moment that he realized the cheap plastic pacifiers would no longer soothe his soul...he was making his metamorphosis in front of my own eyes....could it be that he was actually going to SAVE his money?

As we strolled through numerous boutiques (now my turn) we landed amidst Indonesian and Nepalese textiles, woodcarvings, metalwork and singing bowls. Lingering longer than we had in any previous store Trevor reveled in his ability to make these bowls come alive as if he was gifted with a unique Shamanic ability. Upon my insistence we settled on two bowls...one in the note of E to ease the fury of flaming solar plexus' caused by treaded toes and generalized discontent when situations breach over the limit of the illusion of control and one in the note of B to eclipse the discomfort of my ear infection, its surreptitious advantages I enjoyed due to sound deadening properties applied to a wide range of bicker worthy topics onboard.

As we made our way back to "Spin" Trevor had one final purchase request - an Asian diorama under glass. He wanted to keep this semblance of calm...found inspiration in the thought of creating a meditation corner of his room...and persisted with questions relating to the benefits of meditation until he fell into slumber listening to a guided meditation on my ipod.

The following morning at 6:30 a.m. Trevor poked his head into "cozy village" the bunk area I share with my daughter and requested that we go to the end of the breakwater to meditate. Jumping on that opportunity like a frogs tongue to a fly we bouldered over the disarray of granite blocks to the red #6 beacon at the entrance to the harbor. Our legs draped over the edge of the solid stone we reviewed the previous nights beginning meditation overlooking Motif 1 and bounded over the remaining six for fear that he might turn into a pumpkin on the way up the chakra ladder...my eyes wide with disbelief that we were here (in body and mind) to begin with. Pleased with ourselves upon completion, with an impish smile Trevor pulled from his pocket a 3-pack of pixey sticks to share...the meditation-elation firmly embedded by this offering in the way a child comprehends BLISS.

So you ask "How could there be a down side to this story?" The balance to the euphoria found in Rockport heretofore mentioned as "dread" is met every year with the realization that we must cast the dock lines and power towards different waters. Once beyond the breakwater, after we relinquish our sadness in exchange for gratitude, we extend our hearts back up to the cosmos..."Thank you Universe...May we have some more?"

jelly bean siesta

It has taken months and months of preparation for this Moment...this week onboard our humble motor vessel "Spin" anchored in Castle Neck off of Ipswich Bay, MA;My husband's childhood boating turf becoming that of my children.
We have spent seven seasons refining our lists and maneuvers to where we have now successfully achieved family boaters bliss.
My husband has balanced the systems maintenance and aesthetics with clear parameters as to the proportionate time alotted for ATOB...actual time onboard. Nine days onboard does not quantify a two day hull compounding. There are very few shortcuts for engine upkeep which went relatively unthwarted with unanticipated snafus.
My jobs consist of provisioning, clean linens, ship store inventory and making sure that there is enough sugar, hydrogenated fat and salty snack treats to keep the crew happy for days on end.
This year our most beneficial investment of time came in the form of "Boredom Training". Our motto "Piercing through the Veil of Boredom" was an essential element to keeping this season buoyant and joyful. In lieu of back to back summer outsourcing we resorted to puzzles, books and splunki
ng in local streams and riverbeds. Oh jeez...I will admit a slight tarnish of halo and admit that there was significant television exposure involved...but all in all I must say that the process of disconnecting from the seismic shifts of summers gone by was a success...particularly from my current vantage point in an area the size of my pantry...
Yes, all four of us have widdled our 4000 sq.ft. personalities and voices into this space. My husband and I have reclaimed our right to afternoon siestas even if it involves a bag of jelly beans. It has been a lesson in scaling back and slowing down...releasing the need "to do" and exploring the comfort of being; being in the moment, allowing the flow and slowing down to decipher and sort each flavor along the way.

"mocha-funked"

I have spent the last five months falling in love with sickeningly sweet five-pumped chocolate espresso drinks. Here's the thing though...up until a year ago I was all about a good cup o' tea ...dark enough to look like black coffee but it was still a sheep in sheep's black wool. Drinking coffee is a ritual so enjoyable I feel that, for the rest of my remaining days, it is my duty to make up for lost time. Tea good....coffeeeee....better.

Today, in my pursuit to find an even better cup of mocha I sauntered into a different coffee shop. It had the attitude of a Seattle-sanctioned hot beverage depot; lots of wood, velvet upholstered furniture, tile mosaics, jewel colors to compliment the earthy organic goodies for sale atop the sprawling counter space, chalk boards gushing with delectable breakfast sandwich combinations and enticements for homemade granola, big windows from which to see and be seen, ...all in all perfect decor...things were looking promising.

I should have followed my gut when the mocha-tech took my order with a breath of contempt only one who had made one espresso too many could. There was no evidence of an over-caffeinated twitch lurking from this pre-pubescent brew...but from the first sip, it was clear,  the coffee product was incongruent with the atmospheric perfection.

My conclusions? It's preferable to engage a mocha-guru who has a pleasant disposition, tatoos and piercings. This conveys a comfortable, fully-realized self-image and a dedication to art, no matter what form that may take....mochas included. The full, glorious expression of my sweet, steaming cup of choco-coffee heaven delivered with smiling eye-contact and not the word "NEXT".

Sixty minutes into my mocha-funked state I zipped open my sheep's clothing and let my inner wolf run rabid for ten hours. Praying to find re-alignment amidst this quirky quandary of caffeine I clamored for Granny's night clothes and slipped into bed waiting for Red-Riding hood to arrive.

Gratitude? Universal Heart?.... Eclipsed in the pursuit and irony of trying to ascend the staircase beyond mocha nirvana that I had already attained.

diggin up some dull

Summer 2010 has taken a vastly different route compared to last summers' over programmed mayhem. This summer I have decided to expose my children to the concept of "diggin up some dull". We are leaning into puzzles and lazy days that allow boredom to settle in like a thick blanket of fog....last year this would have caused me to spin into a claustrophobic breathe-into-a-paper-bag panic...this year I am all about allowing my kids to find their own ways to pierce through the veil of boredom in order to reclaim their own power. (Following the "unplug" at 10am I hid all of the lighters and magnifying glasses).
Today's highlight happened to be wandering down a woodland stream bed looking for crayfish, listening to frogs and burying our feet in the sandy bottom.  We lay in the flow looking skyward at the unadulterated early summer leaves that have yet to be scavenged by hungry bugs and draught. The cool creek water infilled our souls with an awe-inspired sense of gratitude and calm.

I have always resisted the possibilities of Boredom. By allowing it however, power lies in it's potential to be a portal into inspiration...into power...into the divine connection with Source.