my inner bling ~ a JewelTree introspective

melba toast alcoholic

2012-01-11T14:54:00.001-05:00

It's been two years since I decided to stop.

I questioned whether this would be a compelling topic and doubted whether anyone would be interested in how I never have been responsible for an alcohol related car accident or how I have never hid booze in the dryer or, holy crap...just heard about this the other day...soaked tampons in vodka. Nope. Although I have chalked up plenty futile days wasted in self-negotiation as to how many drinks I would allow myself at the next party and the subsequent epic hangovers, never have I woken up incarcerated or put my children at risk. I am thankful that it didn't take an atomic mistake to wake me up to the realization that alcohol had too tight a hold on my refined ability to rationalize glass number four. What the heck just finish the bottle. My boring, drama-less story, therefore categorizes me as a Melba toast alcoholic.

I read a magazine article yesterday about four women, mainly mothers of young kids, who, like myself, gravitated towards some cottagy type home biz where blogging maintained their connection to their adult brain. Hiding from being pecked to death by ducks, alcohol provided them with "supplementary" coping skills in the throws of trench parenting. All of them all had their own blogs for differing purposes. One wrote about her jewelry business, one about this, one about that...but all of them ended up using the blog as their platform to "come out" with their vulnerable challenge.

When I was contemplating my life without alcohol the term "vulnerable challenge" would have felt more closely akin to any derivation of the word "death". The effects of alcohol made me feel smart, desirable, fearless, fun and confident. That is, until about glass four when the words started to slur and the end point of my own story would run for the hills. The next few days would be a mine field of self-doubt and beration of whom I may have offended amidst my field of tangents. The article I read left me with the statistic that one out of every four moms are struggling with alcohol addiction that have or are spiraling towards the full-blown, gale force skewer of a drowned olive.

"Why would you want to write about this then?" my husband pointed out. "There is nothing devastating about your story. I asked you to refrain a little and you chose to stop drinking completely."
"Well, maybe I need to let people know my story so that they might have something to consider as a preemptive point to disembark so that they might, just maybe, avoid the inevitable train wreck. Maybe they need to register a story of a mediocre alcoholic to empower their own choices and decisions. Maybe people need to know that if they are thinking about quitting for one reason or another the benefits are so worth it. If people could see and feel the benefits of a life without alcohol I believe they would welcome the opportunity more easily. Now, even if I could enjoy a couple of glasses of wine every so often I would choose abstinence because I prefer the clarity, I prefer the way my body, mind and soul feels without it and I prefer reaching for meditation to get me to that comparable state of energetic inebriation. I love the capacity my heart has to love now."

The one thing that the article lacked was the guidance and methods as to how these women kicked the habit and found a sense of fulfillment and peace with the absence of what they had considered their best friend, booze. One woman felt that the 12 step program was beneficial and they all seemed to find solace in their common thread of trying to overcome their addiction together. I asked myself though, what are some additional steps that one can take to nurture the four bodies (mental, emotional, physical and spiritual) back into balance once such a dependent substance has been removed? Not that this would work for everyone but I'd like to add one pivotal practice for me which was and continues to be, meditation.

Meditation is a safe place. It is a zone where grounding, peace and self-love are resurrected. Once attained an energy similar to that of a flame ignites lending the feeling of the first glass, gulped. This sacred space is like getting a room of your very own; a quiet, tidy space filled with fluffy pillows. As my quality of life is dependent on this space I guard it, nurture it, cultivate it, breathe it. It is a captivating silence that the longer it is imbibed the smarter, funner, love-lier and confidently present one doesn't just feel...one becomes. It is a party that I rarely want to leave but feel restored, grateful and appreciative when I must. Going into meditation resets all the common denominators to love and melts all fear, doubt, irritation, impatience, anger and ego related struggles away. The benefits my family and I have reaped are vast. The quality of love, patience, tolerance and mindfulness have cords reaching into heightened familial solidarity. The spirit of love guides us more in our thoughts, words and actions.

I had instituted meditation as a daily practice a year prior to dismounting my affair with the goblet. The effects were so immediate and delectable that I contemplated how much better they could become without the toxic effects that lingered long after any alcoholic beverage was consumed. The longer the duration of my meditations the more intensely captivated I became. However, had I indulged in my old vine zinfandel even two nights prior, my meditations started from an impaired platform of scraggly, barnacle & seaweed covered rocks. Conversely, setting out of the gate with my four bodies intact; a clear mind free of self-doubt and insecurity, a pure body free of the toxicity of alcohol, my emotions heightened with anticipation and my spirit engaged with pure intention, the meditations took flight and soared towards access ways into the divine. The delicate flame of Universal conductivity ranneth over.

I was fortunate to have had my meditation practice to put into the position that alcohol had at one point inhabited. If you consider finding yourself ready to take this next step I would only have one piece of advice not to emulate. Refrain from implementing your new direction on the night you decide to host a New Year's Eve party.

Ask Yourself:

What do I have to gain by admitting my vulnerability?

If this post given you an opportunity to apply to your own life please "like" JewelTree, LLC on facebook. Daily thoughts, photos and clips that assist in pondering the passage.

Julie Bowes - Certified Life Coach

JewelTree, LLC

P.O. Box 82

Sherman, CT 06784

http://www.jeweltreeoflife.com/

203.240.4397 or email Julie@Jeweltreellc.com to schedule your sample coaching session today!

upgrades

2011-10-25T13:07:00.005-04:00

Raising children is an art unto itself. And I will say that if I knew then what I know now I would never have put my foot in the pool. Gone are the days of staying up until 2am and sleeping in until 10, cleaning the house and having it stay that way, one load of laundry sufficed for the week...gray. A whim could find me out to dinner, at the movies, in Albuquerque for the weekend. Gratefully, my internal clock recognized that I was ready for expansion both literally and figuratively; we were ready for an upgrade. This is when my husband and I decided to become pregnant.

It was a conscious choice that took only two tries for each child, easy pregnancies, natural deliveries. No coursework offered in Parenting 101 could have prepared me for the intensity of this job. Babysitting is one thing that earned me a tidy sum of minimum wage. As far as I am concerned, however, babysitting does not prepare anyone for the real deal. I watch expectant parents with a new set of eyes wondering, "Do they really know what they are getting themselves into? How much freedom (and sleep) they will sacrifice in raising this child?"

The crazy thing is? I wouldn't change a thing. I am so grateful for having this privilege. It set me on the course to becoming a better person (questionable at times), it has allowed me to follow the artists path and I have met other families & people who have enriched my life beyond my greatest imagination.

What I am experiencing now is watching as my children look for their own upgrades like matches, gas masks, Exacto knives and ear piercing. I find masochistic pleasure in rewarding them with their desired upgrade and assisting them into the heretofore previously unknown realm of "danger." Quite frankly I do it because if they blurp it out of their mouth one more time I may do something I regret. IT pushes ALL of us into an upgrade.

Four weeks ago, in preparation for Halloween, my son started in on the ABSOLUTELY mandatory component of his costume...a real gas mask. I couldn't stand it another second. So I bought it. Such a push over, I know. He cannot wait to wear this thing. Pleas of desperation to wear it to the bus stop and to the super market have all been squashed with a firm, "NO!" So last weekend he had other plans. As he walked behind me it wasn't until I saw the oncoming looks of horror did I realize he had snuck his mask into the car...and subsequently wear as we headed down to the orchard. Or then later in the afternoon (still wearing the gas mask) when he was building airplanes out of balsa wood did he look at me with wide eyes, pale face and muffled scream recognizing how close he came to disaster. "Mom, I just saw a flash of skin pass before my eyes." He is learning the treachery inherent with his upgrade; Sniper exacto knives have a silent and deadly capacity of their own volition.

Gas mask aeronautical engineer

As I have consistently discovered, the first born has more inhibitions. The second child has none. If my daughter could have changed her own diaper, she would have. If she could have breast fed herself, she would have. When the highchair and spoon became involved I was to be no where near her field of food. The last time she wore a coordinated outfit was a Onesie. Tatum is a force.

So, I take my daughter to the mall with her posse of friends and then sic it on Tatum that "Today's the day! :) ya wanna get your ears pierced?" With a feverish sweat of exhilaration and terror, all the color drains out of her face as she realizes her wishes are being delivered...but ...there is going to be pain involved. She squirms in the chair as the earrings are locked and loaded and ready for impact. Her hyperventilation renders her catatonic and Tammy and Tiffany bust a move for the dualie piercing.

Tatum feeling the upgrades

We gaggle of girls at the mall also had feathers put into our hair. They all asked if I was going to have one too. This was a one time deal, I figured. Next year I may be seen as an embarrassment so I better hop on this limited time offer. I have a feather in my hair, yet another upgrade that I didn't know I needed. In retrospect, it serves two purposes. I went along with the invitation to be a part of Tatum's joy. The other half, and anyone who has babysat for Tatum, been her parent or older brother, been her teacher in a classroom will attest (sorry for the 3 year old mooning Mrs. Dixon) ... the brave-mother-warrior I am...

I have earned this feather!

...and am proud and grateful for the upgrades I have made and that we, now continue to make together.

Ask Yourself:

What upgrades are necessary in my life?

If this post has made you laugh or given you an opportunity to apply to your own life consider joining JewelTree, LLC on facebook. Daily thoughts, photos and clips that make you go, "Yea!"

Julie Bowes - Certified Life Coach

JewelTree, LLC

P.O. Box 82

Sherman, CT 06784

203.240.4397 or email Julie@Jeweltreellc.com to schedule your sample coaching session today!

glanzpunkt

2011-10-17T14:09:00.001-04:00

Do you have a pivotal moment in your life that consciously registers in your chronology as kick-ass? Like the time that, after hours of diligence, you passed the exam to earn your license or the time you followed through with a blind date and fell head over heals into wedded bliss? Whether you play your intention out loud or allow the still, small voice to urge you forward for reasons you can't quite explain there is a sense of happiness and fulfillment as the Universe rewards you with a gold star.

The German words Glanzpunkt and Sternstunde both convey the similar essence of awareness laced with acknowledgement and gratitude; the MOMENT that shifted perception where everything changed for the better. These words inherently convey the highs of a panoramic lifescape that were the deciding factor in a choice to take one road over another. After impact you were left standing in your power alive with possibility.

At our dining table every night we have a ritual to discuss the "Glanzpunkt", the shining point, of our day. This practice has very succinct, Praktisch und useful applications; it stimulates positive conversation, generates gratitude and employs the magnetic Law of Attraction.

The rules of the highlight of the day depends who you ask. My husband insists that I have to choose just one thing. I just can't. So I say with this enormous smile, "*The Whole Day*"! My rules dictate that you must be interested and interesting. Therefore, if you have asked a person their highlight, that person must ask someone else. Frequently the question stalls, even on me when I become enraptured in the retelling of my perception...my tornado of happiness...With a hint of martyrdom someone, who will remain nameless, will nudge me back onto planet Earth. No one is excused from the table, however, until everyone has extrapolated the highlight that speaks most powerfully to them. Some moments may even be in anticipation of what is to come in the remaining moments of the day.

On Saturday my son, Trevor, announced that his Glanzpunkt was "Getting to level 100 and", with a Vanna-White-feathered-backhanded reveal of the dinnerscape..."this exotic food."

What, you might ask, where we having for dinner? Amidst the glorious harvest of organic veggies from Fort Hill Farm and fresh venison steaks came the heralded antithesis: Hearty Man Frozen Dinners and gluey macaroni and cheeZe. Yes my friends...this is what my son is grateful for. And you know, I was then grateful X3 because he was happy, I didn't have to cook AND he made me laugh.

Do you find it difficult on some days to come up with something that could be a contender? It doesn't need to be huge...perhaps just the fact that you were able to get out of the house with matching socks? Maybe the impromptu call you received from a friend? Or maybe the food on your table? Perhaps you won Publishers Clearing House (will you be my friend)? Or maybe ladies, you woke up and realized that you were married to George Clooney? My point is that once you choose to see the things that have fallen in your path that you have to be grateful for the more will come to you.

At first you may select from only the palette of effects. As you become more appreciative however, you will begin to be the Cause. Before you know it you may not even be experiencing any thing but giving instead...perhaps also even experiencing someone else's joy as if it were your own.

Ask Yourself:

What is the highlight of my day?

If this post has made you laugh or given you an opportunity to consider and apply to your own life please join JewelTree, LLC on facebook. Daily thoughts, photos and clips that make you go, "Yea!"

Julie Bowes - Certified Life Coach
JewelTree, LLC
P.O. Box 82
Sherman, CT 06784

203.240.4397 or email Julie@Jeweltreellc.com to schedule your sample coaching session today!

snort

2011-10-11T13:43:00.000-04:00

Not long ago I had the privilege of a solo trip to Maine. The few friends who were aware of my exploits and envious of these few precious moments of ME time encouraged me to enjoy...more specifically, snort, Portland. Typically that would mean long sunset sails on gaff-rigged schooners, loading my pockets with polished, banded stones from the beach, shopping on lower Exchange Street for the doodads that all those left at home expect and, as my sister would eloquently put it... "running me like a dog on the dance floor" preferably snorting old vine zinfandel.

I teetered on the edge of snorting someone elses ideas. There was a sense of cagey anxiety that tried to push me down a dark hallway to embark in endless activies that, by the end of the day I could display as my accomplishments. However, I was there to BE. And in that BE-ingness it was (is) most important to follow that quiet inner voice that says, "I'd like to _______ because it brings me happiness." So I did.

This trip, ME time was spent with my champion sister, swimming in the ocean, one massive holy-God-thank-goodness-I-don't-live-in-Portland-full-time-to-have-to-subject-myself-to-hot-yoga-every-day-drown-in-my-own-sweat snort, and what I least expected... falling in love with Gus.

His luxurious embrace, long golden hair, rich brown eyes, an ever-ready smile, the embodiment of harmony in his ability to balance alacritous adventure and cozy time on the sofa are the qualities that swept me away.

I love this dog. But really, I challenge you to introduce me to a dog I don't love. Gus is so patient. He is so happy. He is so appreciative. He loves with such abandon. He has such a great BODY....of hair. This was my heaven. He obscured and magnified every semblance of joy I ever conjured as a child with Barbie's synthetic locks and every dream I had of becoming Rapunzel. I spent a good portion of my mornings brushing Gus, the golden retriever, because it made US happy.

I snorted Gus.

Ask Yourself

How do I snort life?

Join me on Facebook! Call to schedule your sample coaching session today! Lots to gain and nothing to loose.

JewelTree, LLC ~ p.o.box 82 ~ sherman, ct 06784 ~ 203.240.4397 ~ inquiries@jeweltreellc.com

your fortune

2011-10-03T11:10:00.000-04:00

Apparently, I am going to be given one Million dollars and learn Kung-Fu. My daughters' fortune telling gizmo has predicted this to be. The proclivities I have towards even numbers, sunset purple and melon orange narrowly averted me from abject poverty, eating worms for dinner and loosing all my teeth. Had I known how high the stakes where I am not sure I would have ventured forth.

Judging by the tattered edges of this origami finger workout it is clear that it has predicted many an outcome for the eight and under contingent. Although I don't believe anyone to have lost sleep over the fortune garnered therein there may be a couple curious youngsters, however, pursuing the most effective way to enhance the taste of earthworms.

What risk does one face when some of the options they have included on their fortune teller are less than ideal? Nothing at all. However, playing the game of life with the same possibilities floating in your field of intentions, the stakes are higher, and the likelihood of the negative manifesting increase.

That then leaves the concept of "negative" up for debate. Those who integrate positive operating systems would tend toward the view that negative is all relative; the perspective is largely based on faith that the circumstance has been drawn to them as a necessary tool for growth in preparation for the next step, without which greatness would oscillate just out of reach.

Take a look at Claude Monet, one of the most influential artists of all time. His mother died in his mid-teens. His father, a grocer, was a very practical and hardworking man. It was Mr. Grocer Monet's sister, an artist as well, that helped raise Claude. She supported Claude whole heartedly even after he got married and started a family of his own. Pursuing a career as an artist, Claude and his young family couldn't even afford to pay for heat in their small, cramped flat. What do you suppose would have happened if Claude's mother hadn't passed away? My two cents is that he would have been the most miserable stock boy in the south of France. The point being, what side of this story do you see? It's all in the perspective.

I dare say that Claude didn't have the luxury of this new thought during the grief and mourning of his mother. Rarely can a Westerner truly inhabit this perspective under the age of 40. What he cultivated throughout his life as a painter, however, was the most astute ability to find beauty in the light and how it made his subject matter morph into completely different palates. Beauty was found at every time and condition of the day. Even emotionally at the moment of death of his beloved, second wife was beauty found and immortalized through his painterly skills. By keeping the intention and focus clear he became one of the most influential artists of all time, thus serving the world through his vision and passion to make beauty manifest.

No one "likes" difficulty but no one can live a life without it. It is how one is able to see through and within the lessons that lend dimension and grounding. You must have the rain to appreciate the sun. Perhaps, for some, the reverse may be true. The juxtaposition of the positive and negative create the depth and power that lies behind the evolution of every being on earth. It is most beneficial to already be of this disposition as this need for buoyant perspective becomes necessary. A way to practice this is by consciously appreciating the goodness displayed before you while it is in progress. By thanking the Universe for what you receive, what is taken away and what is yet to be conjured on your behalf: remaining in a state of gratitude in a big picture mentality is always to your benefit.

What if the eight items on your fortune teller read what you'd be able to GIVE instead of receive? This would automatically infer that you were engaged in your pure, abundant intention so intensely that a degree of philanthropy could enter into your thinking, possibly extending far beyond your wildest dreams.

Opportunities like:
You will give a million dollars to your favorite charity, Expect an invitation to speak at the commencement ceremony at your University, Donate a week at your home on the coast of France to the library's silent auction, You will transport a human heart through Angel Flight, You will donate the fresh veggies from your garden to a family in need, You will donate blood, You will have the privilege of delivering a baby, Expect the opportunity to practice compassion, You will help drill a well for fresh water in Africa, Just by Being you are Worthy. Even if you decide to write: You will Save the Earth (because it is the only planet with chocolate) you will do millions a huge favor. THINK BIG...think abundant...think compassionately.

Calling upon your intention to be of service to others is the greatest of life's makeovers. In sculpting this type of reality there are no downfalls. The drama feeds only through experiential thermals of helping delight rather than the dregs of "what's-in-it for-ME" despair. Although the edges of the vessel in which you collect this fulfillment may show signs of wear I can guarantee you it will never be flawed. How will you craft your fortune teller?

Ask Yourself

How may I serve? Who may I help today?

Join me on Facebook! Call to schedule your sample coaching session today!

JewelTree, LLC ~ p.o.box 82 ~ sherman, ct 06784 ~ 203.240.4397 ~ inquiries@jeweltreellc.com

romance & love continued...

2011-09-26T11:43:00.001-04:00

Hum. Maybe...just maybe I am wrong.

My most recent blog has cavorted within me and has birth to more thoughts on the topic of romance. More has yet to be expressed. It's clear...I am not going to live as a monk. Why?...because just like you the gravitational yearning and pull of sacred love (the divine cousin of romantic love) is too much to resist... That, and I look shitty in saffron.

Romance does exist; ideally not as an end in itself but as the window dressing for love. Because, quite frankly, I can't go cold turkey and stop loving romance movies or listening to love songs. They are the delicious breadcrumbs along the path of life to witness and experience the heady intoxication and proof that Source love does exist. I am never going to be able to wipe the smile off my face when I watch a couple newly in love as they lope down the aisle of the grocery store. Love just makes me so damn happy.

When you find someone that is a true spiritual partner, I do believe that you can do more together than you can apart. I do believe that by removing the romantic sand in the hourglass and replacing it with the sand of alacrity, gratitude and sacred, substantive love the two can be of great influence. But this type of relationship requires join responsibility to the Universe to make the world a better place. And if this can be done together with such devotion and commitment to ones self, one another, the community and the world...to be of such pure intent that the ripple you create inspires more purity within others then you can have your cake and eat it too. You can be "selfish" with your desire to hear the proclamation of loving devotion AND share it with the Universe together. Ohhh. that sounds yummy doesn't it?

It strikes me however, that with a perfect condition such as this you have to abort your personal agendas towards ego enrichment. And once you decide to leap off that ledge nothing else matters except loving everyone. And at that point it is hard to just love one person...and then to decide to love everyone and experience the joy of love that your partner feels for another through your own heart without ego/jealousy. Hum. It gets wacky and heady only when the ego says, "Hey, wait just a minute....the universe revolves around me!" Strap on your seatbelt for that ride.

However, if we go back to the idea of establishing the "control experiment" within the confines of your own Soul and taping into the frequency of love then it is a blissed-out, self-sustaining climate. It's a smooth ride without 911 to all the kings horses and all the kings men. It's safe, satisfying and delicious.

Nothing is right or wrong or more virtuous than the last. It is the ebb and flow of experience and of choice. It is about making the choice, minute by minute to sculpt who you truly are and make manifest your intention to leave the world a better place than when you arrived. And that can be done with or without another person. You decide. It's your choice.

But what is certain for those seeking meaningful partnerships is you have to become the person you want to attract. By tapping into a fully resonant source and embodying that vibration will bring you what you desire more quickly. By *being love* you remove the resistance on all levels until you feel as if you are in the warmth of pure sunshine no matter the apparent condition. This is yummy too. Once you truly feel that you don't need another to help generate these feelings; when you are so consumed with gratitude and love within then the Universe provides a match according to your specifications.

I guess we are looking for yummy x2. To feel it whole heartedly within our being and then have the mirror of your condition appear in a prospective partner...~~and then stop time to just exist in that state of nirvana forever~~....and then go forward together with the intention to be love, speak love, act lovingly in everything you do and say.

For those already in a committed relationship where the romantic sand has been depleted, bust open the hourglass. A total romantic sandectomy is unnecessary. It is a sand augmentation that would be the perfect answer to this quandry. Take out all the grains of ego and replace them with gratitude and appreciation. Mine for the good qualities in each other without expecting anything in return. When you commit to yourself to set the example of love and appreciation the alacrity in newfound partnership returns with an easy smile on its face.

So my question to you:
What quality do you need to change or accept in yourself that you'd like to have reflected in a partner?

Take the 2 minute quiz to determine what is blocking your path and call to schedule your free sample coaching session today.

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JewelTree, llc
Holistic Life & Soul Coaching
"Guiding the Seeker to the JewelTree of their Soul through
Energetic Restoration and Heart-centered Healing"

p.o. box 82
sherman, ct 06874
http://www.jeweltreeoflife.com/ ~ 203.240.4397

the illusion

2011-09-20T16:43:00.001-04:00

I am going to drill down into last weeks topic into the core of what ~~this blog~~ LIFE....and this human existence is really all about...at least in my bubble. Chez moi, cable TV and the news is purposely omitted. It makes it easier to dedicate my linear mind to align with Gratitude and the Universal Heart. Knowing full well, however, the suffering that exists, I'd like to offer a couple observations that may ease you into a different yet enhanced cloud of perception.

I will confess that I have a library of romance movies and books. It has been a life-long quest of mine to marinate in the thought of lofty love songs, flix and cozy 18th century reads. The amount of money that has been spent on attaining this library is quite impressive and doesn't even take into account the outflow to Blockbuster and Netflix. If there was ever a romance junkie I was it. The Western culture has been conditioned from birth to conform to the idea that we can only be happy and complete when we have met our true love. I felt entitled to this experience and it presented itself to me. I have learned however, that romance and love are two separate things.
Very unexpectedly (and very iinconveniently I must also add)16 years ago, my future husband strolled into my place of employment and filled the roll of Prince. He swept me off my romantic feet and we rode into the romantic sunset. Through the 14 years of our marriage though, I think we'd both agree, it hasn't been a total cake walk. It has taken a fair amount of conflict resolution, ego relinquishment, patience and ...love.

Not the love you think I am going to talk about. Not the undying love you declare at the altar...not the love and devotion that you swear in blood to commit to...but the love you foster for yourself to stay in your own power and truth while negotiating a sense of identity theft. Invariably, the challenges that you face as a married couple morph and shift. If you decide to have children this process continues even more acutely. What remains constant is the dwindling notion of romantic love. At some point along the way I started fantasizing about little remote cabin hide-aways and how far I can get with one cent in my pocket...the sand had funneled to the bottom of the hourglass ...and then it broke. So, here is my observation...

Romance is illusory. There. I said it.

Granted, if this concept was understood by the masses it would warp the face of commerce. The sale of diamonds and greeting cards would plunge while wedding planners, D.J's, photographers and divorce attorneys would all be filing Wal-Mart applications. A new category of books would have to be coined called "Romance Fiction" or "Romady". Julia Roberts, Hugh Grant and the like would need to hustle a deck of Tarot cards at Venice Beach. You can fill in the blanks. My point is that as much as the concept of romance has entertained and delighted us for centuries it has a very blunt back swing that, if not approached with realism, will have you hanging in the stretcher next to Humpty-Dumpty.

The most crucial element in this warning statement is that you must seek your own divinity without relying on others to provide you with a sense of self-worth and belonging. Do yourself a favor by "tuning in" to the pure resonance of love for loves sake alone. Learn to love the Universal heart to which we are all connected by experiencing your own love and then choosing to share it through your eyes and soul. By recognizing yourself in another you have the power to transform the world.

On a base level we all seek the same thing: to be understood, acknowleged and loved. By turning over the hourglass with an intention to serve through compassion you will find a richer life's texture and meaning. If you have found yourself installed in the vestiges of a romantic void, shift your thoughts to take a look into the condition with a lens of gratitude. Gratitude (minus the romantic Ego) combined with the perspective of the Universal Heart are the magic ingredients to healing the human condition.

Our only purpose here on Earth is to love.

So, my question for you is:

Who is the most important person to love?

Visit http://www.jeweltreeoflife.com/ for more details on how Holistic Life & Soul coaching can shift your perspective and illuminate your Soul. Email or call Julie today to schedule your sample coaching session. Inquiries@Jeweltreellc.com or call 203.240.4397

tune in

2011-09-12T14:30:00.002-04:00

I grew up thinking my dad's name was Dearheart 1. because it was true and 2. this is what my mom called him when I was little...before my sister and I became...well...~~annoying~~ demanding. It was when we started taking up too much bandwidth that I stopped hearing that term of endearment. I liked that name. It made me feel that I was living amidst a frequency of love.

If you have ever found yourself subsisting on sweet elation for weeks and gazing starry-eyed at a new boyfriend you know the feeling; That insular sensation that noone but the two of you exist in this plush haze of omnicontentment. From your head to your toes you are one with the Universe and feel comfortable enough to make up pet names for each other like "schmoopie" or "sweet thing" or "baby doll" or "honey" or "dearheart" or as my husband calls me "Mamma Cat". It's a long story but suffice to say I believe it to have originated out of jealousy that I am the "go-to" for all the household pets. Before I reach seven Mississippi there is an animal at my feet or on my lap. Really...you too can become a animal whisperer if you learn the magic inherent in a can opener.

I call him Pappa. I like saying it. It is a name that is never used in anger and serves as a double syllabic vehicle of relief. Pahhhhhh - pahhhhh. Awww. Love that sound. Same thing with the name of my dog, Kola...Ahhhhh. Which by the way, didn't know this at the time the name chose us, but I have been told that Kola means "Friend" in Sioux. Perfect. He is every bit of that.

How often do we tune in to Love? I mean that loopy insanity where nothing can shake you from your sweet, feathered nest? I believe it is possible to achieve this state by oneself. It requires noone but yourself. In fact it is even better that relying on someone else to provide it because it would be stupid to self-disappoint. Right?

Just like a transistor radio you have the ability to receive your desired frequency. You wish to listen to the weather on one station, talk radio that's further down the line, classical...way up at the neck. You must deliberately scroll the dial on the radio to pick up your station of preference. Presumably you avoid the fields of static and choose something that you enjoy. Right?

How great is it to hear of people falling in love or watching two people walking hand-in-hand down the aisle at the supermarket reluctant to be out of each others physical range! That total heady intoxication that you have felt in your past can simmer in your soul now! At frequent intervals it draws symbols of love to you by way of heart shaped chips, puffy heart shaped clouds, painted hearts on the bottom of tin cans in the middle of the appalachian trail, centercuts of wood, surprise hugs, necco wafers in your folded clothes, boston baked beans in your overnight bag...love as a random act of kindness. It feels good to love...just to love...just because. The more you embody love, the more love embodies you.

You can love another, yes. You can love an animal, yes. You can love a vista, yes. Have you ever tried to capture the feeling of love for love sake alone? To allow yourself to love yourself better that you have loved another? To allow it to stream through your body by just knowing that this frequency exists? Relax into the possibility and let your mind, body and soul tune in.

So my random question to you is:
What are the conditions that ilicit your highest frequency of love?

Hurricane I Clean

2011-09-02T15:39:00.000-04:00

There is nothing like throwing a party...or expecting a hurricane...to get me to clean. As witnessed in this recent bluster it wasn't a question IF we were going to loose power but WHEN. All cylinders where activated into tub cleaning/filling, round the clock laundry, preparing the basement as a hurricane shelter and refrigerator purge/consolidation. Hurricane Irene was my Hurricane I clean.

The day before the storm we experienced "a happening". As my husband was cleaning the gutters and securing all the downspouts, barricading the front door for the purported 115 mph winds I was consolidating and cleaning one of the refrigerators. If this doesn't sound like a big deal to you let me just explain. (For all those who have eaten anything other than Take-Out at my house within the last seven years don't read this next sentence.) In the eight years of our ownership a sponge has never paid it a visit.

I know.

I'm lazy. Not that this task is difficult. Apparently, I need hurricanes for motivation. The job took less than an hour. Seven years of resistance. What's that all about? It was a fridge colonic.

Amidst all the uber-hype of hurricane preparedness we did, in fact, loose power for six days. We were totally prepared. It was nice. The kids even remarked at how much better my cooking was on an open flame while re-living my past life as a Pioneer. Some of the highlights would be Cowgirl coffee strong enough to bolster the faint at heart, warm outdoor solar showers, kids in bed relatively early once the darkness sent them into fits of petrification and, of course, the hypnotic glaze of candlelight. The power was allowed to remain dormant until the laundry baskets breached max capacity. I wasn't going to beat my clothes stream side against no rock. However, it does need to be noted that I am left feeling insanely gypped that the roof didn't blow off the house.

Don't tell my insurance company.

What I have to report for the aftermath of this Hurricane is a set of more resilient children, gratitude for how the community pulled together particularly the weary CL&P technicians who work tirelessly into the night to restore power, appreciation for the conveniences of modern day life, a cleaner than usual house, a roof that still needs to be replaced and... a sparkling refrigerator. The entire experience, with emphasis on the fridge thing, has left me feeling lighter and joyous with an ever so slight twinge of kookie irrelevance.

So, in this spirit I ask you in my Hurricane Haiku:

Hurricane I Clean
What long overdue project
Needs a colonic?

Dharma

2011-07-13T15:43:00.001-04:00

The word Dharma exited my husband's lips today. This is a word that had only heretofore been uttered in conjunction with "& Greg" in our days of Thursday night TV. However, today after lunch in combination with his unprecedented purchase of the eight dollar Sports Illustrated Boston Bruins Stanley Cup edition he proclaimed his Dharma. Jeff has decided that he wants to be the private pilot for the Bruins. Not a far stretch really. Just last week he had the privilege of flying the Mets to Los Angeles.

I told him I didn't think he'd be able to do it. His tears of joy would eclipse his view of the controls...totally unsafe. He smiled. I would love it if he could combine his passions of flying and Bruins hockey.

My Dharma? In as much as my position of SuperMom is concerned I have found peace in making school lunches, never ending laundry, kissing boo-boos, ever ready supply of Band-Aids, clean sweeping toys off of the kitchen counter into the trash, mowing, walking the dog, etc. My pure dharma is in finding the symbolism, the now, the love in everything.

Making dinner still has not made the list.

My morning walks with the dog are nice. It is time to reflect, listen and enjoy the silence. It is 80/20 ratio of joy to guilt. Those sad puppy eyes are too much for me to bear. As I set out on my morning trek I decide what type of walk I desire. Is it going to be the walk up onto the finely manicured, sunny lawns of Crawford lane or the wise canopy of the Appalachian Trail? More often than not I am drawn to tree hugging and stream wading on the trail. I love the peace I find in the forest.

Once in a while I pass a through-hiker going the other direction on their way to Maine as I make my way clockwise on my circuit. Without impeding their progress I offer a smile and a passing inquiry as to how many days they have spent on their journey. They keep walking, return the smile and issue their accomplishment to date. You feel a skip in their stride with the knowledge that they are half way there. There is no turning back. They are All In.

I spotted "All In" (trail name) as I descended Hoyt Road just entering my trail head. The decision to enter and walk with him or alter my course was determined effortlessly. Greetings of a "good morning" fell on his ears before we surprised him with a wet dog nose. His open smile, eyes and heart revealed the seeker status that is so enchanting on this path of life. You can find it on a subway or the supermarket but not nearly as often. This seems to be a enduring quality of the through-hiker; The Universe is coursing through their veins.

All In and I shared 30 minutes of philosophy, metaphysics and life stories. A six month severance package propelled him into a clearly defined life-opportunity to hike the AT. Carefully segmented days will deliver him in Maine by September 15th. Kola walked without tugging on his leash knowing that this divinely orchestrated meeting needed to be savored. The several day's prior All In had been questioning his purpose. I believe we found him a better feeling space at the end of our 30 minute hike. His subsequent blogs on trailjournals.com, appreciative email from his sister Connie and thank-you voice mail have been the most blessed highlight of my days; My Dharma of Holistic Life & Soul Coaching so clearly acknowledged by the brief encounter with a new friend on the path of life.

It was like meeting God on the Trail.

So my question to you is, What is your Dharma? Find it, Love it, Live it, Breathe it, DO IT!

"Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs are people who have come alive." Howard Thurman

Interested in a sample coaching session? Visit http://www.jeweltreeoflife.com/ or call 203.240.4397 to schedule an appointment.

drift drive

2011-06-15T12:49:00.003-04:00

There is a speed boat that sits in the midst of poison ivy forlorn and lost in the woods. Its engineless transom sits exposed and vulnerable to host the myriad of creatures looking for shelter during the storms. How did it conjure such demise? What did it do to deserve the destiny of a underutilized life? My husband and I have named this boat "drift drive". In boat lingo the drive is the type of engine that is factory installed in each vessel. Without an engine, a purpose, this boat has run aground...hard.

I reflect on this boat nearly every day as I walk past it during my morning dog walk. Is it more difficult for a the soul of a boat to be abandoned in the woods or parked in a marina overlooking the bay, still shrink wrapped on the trailer long past the fourth of July?

In contrast, the boat that I look at every time I open my front door smiles. It is so loved. It reminds me of one of the charter vessels I used to work on out of Camden, Maine named "Mistress". The love my husband has for this boat is very apparent by the amount of hours invested in polishing the hull, replacing the steering cable, sound proofing the engine hatches, recovering the cockpit seats and hiding in the cabin cozied up with satellite radio. In his eyes there is no end to the finessing. He calls the boat "Spin". I call it "Mistress". The roof of our house has leaked for five years but our boat is guaranteed watertight and hermetically sealed. Incidentally, it has a Mercruiser Bravo 3 drive. (Can't you just hear it purr?)

This past spring we ran out of fingers and toes on which to count the amount of rainy days we endured. It was the first time that I was actually relieved there was a boat in my driveway. It makes him happy though. And his happiness is my happiness particularly when we are all enjoying a day on the water.

So, getting back to "drift drive"...here is this boat that has lost all hope. Is it drowning in despair or seething with anger at being left high and dry? Is it some kind of Karmic destiny that maneuvered itself into this condition? Out of curiosity I venture deep into the woods to take a closer look. Quite unremarkably, the name of this boat that is painted front and center on the bow is "Bad Attitude".

There is no better analogy to life. Keep a good positive frame on the engine of your mind and you will find your truth and your path lined with brilliance. Foster a bad attitude and you will land yourself amidst squadrons of mosquitoes in the poison ivy of despair.

So, my question to you is:
If you were a boat, what name would you christen yourself? Where would you go? Who would you bring?

It's a short, glorious life. Tune your engine. Take it for a Spin.

Be The Tree Philosophy

2011-06-03T10:34:00.001-04:00

Be The Tree Philosophy

Be still.

Worry not.

Know your truth.
Grow deep roots.
Bend in the wind.
Weather the storms.
Observe much.
Act little.
Speak gently.
Host graciously.
Drink water.
Shed your leaves when they no longer serve you.
Rest in periods of dormancy.
Grow tall.
Outstretch your arms in gratitude.
Allow.

Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park
Santa Cruz California 2009

expectation vs. reality

2011-05-04T17:55:00.000-04:00

I, as a first generation German, and my friend, as a first generation Norwegian, carry vague experiences of what life was like in the Motherland. We believe that both being raised by European parents is the crux of our similar perspective on life. I enjoy spending time with her mom.

Anna Wetlesen spent her summers camping with her three daughters, all still in cloth diapers, while her Viking husband tended his lines as a Merchant Mariner. In short, Norwegians are a hearty bunch. Attempts to genetically modify my gene structure, through high doses of Jarlesburg cheese, could never make me as strong as the stories Anna recounts.

Recently, Anna responded to a question posed by her daughter that I had never even thought to ask my mother while she was alive. "Mom? Did you like being a mother?"

Her practical, honest and succinct Norwegian answer?

"Sometimes."

Recognizing how often I reflected back on that response indicated that there was still a sequence of reconciliation occurring within me that put my current state of motherhood more into alignment with reality. Light has been shone on the disparity between expectation vs. reality. Seeing things as they are as an adult and a parent and not how I think they should be from the dream state of childhood recollection (or Disney storyboards) has brought me greater clarity and ease.

"Sometimes" sets the stage for cautious optimism grounded in the belief that parenthood is first and foremost a responsibility. Second, that parenthood is a platform through which we, as parents, stretch and grow beyond that which we thought we were capable. Third, that parenthood is where the "sometimes" sneaks in with surprise hugs, "I love yous" in pig Latin and the gentle effervescent breaths of sleeping children. Fourth, that only after we recognize the glitter of "sometimes" can we embrace parenthood as a privilege. It's the "sometimes" that make the whole deal worthwhile. That is powerful stuff wrapped up one word that teeters on the edge of a Fjord.

So, my question to you, regardless of whether you are a parent is this...

What in your life needs a practical Norwegian nudge to recalibrate your expectation vs. reality? What needs to shift in order for you recognize that you have been duped into the sense of entitlement of what you believed should be always to move into a state of pragmatic gratitude, that brings into focus the glitter of "Sometimes"?

God-In-Slaw

2011-04-14T22:26:00.002-04:00

I was the recipient of a drive by slawing two days ago. It came in the form of a tidy square Ziplock container busting at the seams with coleslaw that a friend of mine wanted to share. This wasn't your average coleslaw though. Amongst the myriad ingredients of celery, sweet onion, vine ripened red pepper, carrots and the cursory green cabbage was a vague semblance of dressing that draped the mixture in a condiment aisle version of a see through nighty...virtually transparent yet enhancing.

Alex, the drive by slawer, breezed into my house, presented me with this gift, wrote down Grandma Quinn's recipe and departed faster than my dog could figure out a way to maneuver himself into her car. Prior to her departure I announced that I didn't intend on sharing it. I kept my word. I couldn't bear the thought of this labor of love being wasted on the tastebuds of my children. I tossed them a carrot.

First off, however, I do need to preface this with the fact that I have grown out of my enjoyment of cooking. My time cooking onboard Schooners and yachts on the coast of Maine in my single years was
Fun-ish when seas were calm but downright torture close to the Bermuda triangle in 25 ft breaking undulations. Now faced with the prospect of having to cook every night as a wife and mom of two, I am done. So when someone delivers food to my doorstep, I cry. But it gets worse. When my father and mother-in-law bring a gourmet meal every time they visit I squelch the urge to tamper with their spark plugs and car battery. My resistance to cooking is becoming pathological.

The Zen of this gift appeared in perfectly diced 3/8" crunchy tidbits. It must have taken all afternoon. Most people in this frantic achievement oriented mindset would have needed to have taken a sedative prior to embarking on this recipe. Alex, creator O' slaw, had an alternative approach. She put God-In-Slaw. She viewed this experience with such infinite gratitude because of the significance the recipe held. For years she tried to recreate this childhood memory of summer BBQ's where this salad's dressing soggied the bottom of everyone's hamburger bun. She thought the recipe had died along with her Grandmother. Yet, low and behold, a cousin carried the torch. Alex rejoiced in the privilege of being able to resurrect this long lost side. Decades of minced fingertips and grated knuckles unlocked a vestige of love that resided in the memories of Grandma Quinn. The love was carried forth in this gift. Love in the vegetables, Love of the process, Love in the memories, Love of the giving, Love of friendship = God-In-Slaw.

The moment I received this salad I gobbed down two cheek-stuffing spoonfuls while I left Alex to watch in delighted horror. The minute following her departure I unleashed a part of me that I had never met before; a passionate slawnivore. By the 3/4 mark something had to give. I could have easily polished off the entire vat but thought it better to save some for the following day. So, later that night in meditation my coleslaw fluid mind coleslaw drifted into the oneness coleslaw of coleslaw being.

I was able to hold off eating the rest until 3pm the next day and felt compelled to commemorate this experience by snapping the last remaining 1/4 cup. It was nip and tuck as I came close to biting my own hand in the process of taking the picture. My food-stylist professor at CIA would have had heart failure if she proofed this shot. It's a picture only a mother could love, radiant with humility and gratitude.

So, I ask you this...during the course of a month, week, day or hour how does your God-In-Slaw manifest? Excavate it. Own it. Rejoice in it. Share it. Make the world a brighter place by sharing what you love, your unique skills, your talents, your abundance. You were put here in this space and time to help the world unfold with Love.

Ann Quinn's Coleslaw
(reprinted with the permission of Alex Lagarto)

1 red bell pepper
1 green pepper
1 sweet onion
3 celery stalks
chop above ingredients as small as you can

2 carrots
1 head green cabbage
shred above ingredients

1 t. (no more no less) French's yellow mustard
3 T. Hellman's mayo
1/2 t. onion powder
1/4 t. garlic powder
salt & pepper to taste

Refrigerate overnight, stir and serve.

hot lunch

2011-03-28T17:27:00.000-04:00

Friday's were the day that came closest to heaven. Square slices of tangy-sauced, institutionalized pizza thrown on a cold tray and a five cent carton of plain milk. All the bases were covered. Carb, protein, dairy and veggie all in one. Perfect for the 3 minute lunch. On more than one occasion I surpassed all previous heightened sensory inputs when stacks of peanut butter cookies, larger than my head, beckoned me at the register.

Setting the largest cookie in my site from three kids ahead, I'd pull out my prepaid meal ticket and pray; pray that the other three kids wouldn't see my cookie. The cashier's hair net and white apron conjured a comfortingly similar appearance to my grandmother. I think she helped protect my cookie just by the sheer advantage of remarkable resemblance. There was no German accent like Muma but her stature and warm smile always helped calm my proprietary anxiety. Two kids to go...one kid to go...Ahhh sweet relief! The patty of delectable peanut buttery confection resting safely in my possession, I'd relinquish my light blue stub and find my table facing the door to the playground. It was always a tentative moment finding a seat amidst the sea of faces, but with my peanut butter cookie I was invincible; my heart swelled with love, confidence and sweet anticipation. On those days, I was happy.

I would be happy just expecting Pizza. Pizza and p.b. cookie? Totally awesome.

So, because I believed my children were direct extensions of me I gave them the same privileges. Every Friday they got to by hot lunch. Every Friday it was, and still is, the same pizza I loved as a child. (wow - really?) Just until recently, however, I learned that my kids hated that pizza? WHAT?! How can you dislike something I cherished so intensely? Something in which I found so much solace? OK fine...I am flexible right...I am not 9 anymore...right....check...got it. My children are not me.

Now they have the ability to scan the weekly menu and choose the day they want to buy. Tatum was so vested in her choice that she waited a whole two weeks for Beefy-Cheezy Nachos to rotate through again. Surprisingly, my son's equal enthusiasm was not thwarted. From the experience two weeks prior, I had expected the agonizing discomfort of boiling cheeze application to the roof of his mouth to sway his decision. Apparently Beefy-Cheezy Nachos is my Pizza.

They each crumpled the three, one dollar bills into their left pants pocket with heightened anticipation. I attempted a coaching session at the bus stop so as not to replicate the need for beefy-cheezy band-aids. With nary a wave, the effusive excitement eclipsed my suggestions as they climbed up the stairs of bus number six towards the land of nacho heaven.

Later the wheels on the bus chuffed up the hill around 3:07. The dog stood en point as the flashers flashed and the safety bar slowly extended. Eyes as wide as saucers, they hurdled over the bar and lept with joy to tell me about their day. Their lunch, more precisely.

Tortilla chips smothered in LOTs of beef and LOTs of cheeze sat in queue. The copious amount of toppings that dressed each mountain of chips set their hearts a flutter. "I've been waiting for you..." they whispered from underneath the heat lamp. The membrane of dehydrated cheeziness indicated that it had been sitting long enough so as not to blister the roof of one's mouth. It was hot lunch perfection. Expectations exceeded by the sheer enormity of the portions got me to thinking. Their delight was heightened by the oozy plethora of cheeze and beef - more than they expected.

How often do we set ourselves up for despair when we expect more? We are barraged with advertisements that condition us to this state of constant disappointment. Why not spend more time giving more and expecting less? Why not give unconditionally...give just to give? Why not spend more time seeing how we can serve than to be served? Have you ever given, witnessed or received a random act of kindness? I guarantee that if we all jumped onboard with this idea, the world would smile. So my question to you is how beefy and cheezy can you become?

dirty laundry

2011-03-13T16:20:00.004-04:00

We have it so easy. Pretreat, cram the dirty whites in the metal box, a cuppa detergent, close the lid, rotate the dial to hot, pull the knob and away it goes. The water fills, the soap bubbles and ...presto...thirty minutes ...all clean. I look towards these modern conveniences with such gratitude. I am entirely too lazy to hang my laundry on a line as I had to do as a child. I cringe at the thought of having to wash all of this by hand. My one day blitzkrieg of laundry would equate to a lifetime of daily washboards and basins. I welcome the ripe smell of baked elastic sets that sets me in motion to rescue the finished load of cooked waistbands. Barring any kamikaze dog rampage there is a satisfied sense of completion and quiet pleasure derived from the tidy towers of warm, sweet smelling clothes.

Let's all now imagine how this procedure would look 100 years ago, 200 years ago; long dresses and mud would create current day material for a nightmare. My mind wanders to this subject as my kids gravitate (under duress) towards the rivers and streams that run full this time of the year. I welcome muddy clothes and shoes as it is the clear indicator that they have engaged in the natural world. Pink cheeks and dirt = two thumbs up.

Typically, I do our laundry in a one shot, full-on day devoted to the task. For one brief moment in time all the hampers are empty and I breathe into the illusion that I have control over my domain. It amazes me that with four people, the loads are evenly distributed. My daughter's wardrobe selection is the load called the box of melted crayons, my husband is all the darks and the white load is my bathrobe covered in brown dog fur and soot. There is a separate pile that falls in between the normal range. The color I could never comprehend as a child and why there where would ever be a need for it. Beige. Beige is better classified as a shade. Apparently I must have cast such a severe judgement on this "color" as a child I now have subconsciously and inadvertently surrounded myself with it. My most intimate textiles happen to be beige. In my mind, beige has equated itself with the illusion of peaceful invisibility. If I climb into my beige colored bed linens maybe I will disappear into my dreams? If I dry myself off with my beige colored towel my aura will be cleansed? If I wear my beige/gray t-shirt I feel at one with the nonchalant hipness of flow? If I put on my beige bra and panties my boobs don't sag? Beige is mystic. Beige makes me happy. Go figure.

My husband's black work pants need to be dry cleaned. For years I'd drop them off to Dot, the owner of the local dry cleaners. We'd smile and say in unison, "Another boring black pair of pants." But now after 10 years of raising kids, damn if these pants lead a more exciting life than I! Barcelona, Paris, Amsterdam, Africa, Egypt are a mere fraction of destinations these pants have visited. Now I drop them off with the new owner of the dry cleaners named Barrie who shares the space with the owner of Happy Rainbows (best store in town) and who also goes by the same name (!) and we all say in Unison, "Another kick-ass pair of pants."

My son's laundry takes on an entirely different approach. His weeks worth of clothes miraculously fits into one hot load with homemade laundry soap. His vortex of laundry includes precisely seven pairs of khaki pants, seven short sleeved soft shirts, seven pairs of socks, seven pairs of boxers and seven pairs of pajama bottoms. Yes, and I am the lazy advocate of the t-shirt he sleeps in that he wears to school the next day.

What piques my interest in doing his laundry, however, is seeing how many plastic bags, candy wrappers and plastic toys emerge from this heap of soggy clothes. The double pointed micro ninja pencils are my favorite. They have been loved, nurtured, sculpted into their live role as companion in homework, boredom and imaginary weaponry. Sometimes they surface. Sometimes they don't. What I learned this weekend is that sometimes they make their way back to the timed vault with the lint. The sentence in the dryer vent repository, for this batch of pencils, lasted for years.

There are opportunities to illuminate gratitude in everything. In your course of life and the choices you make it is your privilege to mine, mold and excavate your Soul. Air out your dirty laundry; wash it, dry it, fold it, stack it, forgive it, release it, allow yourself to move through it. Now my random question to you is this: How much of your micro Ninja Being is inadvertently stuck in the dryer vent?

barf

2011-03-04T13:26:00.001-05:00

As is customary for this time of the year, the stomach bug is sweeping through school. Normally we experience lock down a month earlier. Perhaps the 11 snow days we enjoyed played a part in this delay.

Around 6pm when I inventoried every one's hunger meter, signals flared in preparation for a rapid decent; the meter's needle was buried in the category labeled : "abort mission".

As the flight attendant on this airliner I rapidly dispensed a bucket and box of Kleenex by my son's side. The oxygen masks deployed and as we fastened our safety belts to preparefor imminent impact. Whimpers of panic set in as he felt this consuming visceral dispair. His face lost all semblance of life just prior to projectile vomit.

I breathed through my mouth and grinned. In no way was I choosing to mock his passage - I was choosing to love mine. I loved the fact that he called out for me. I loved it that in between pukes he was telling me about the new Lego themes that are being developed. I loved it that the next sentence after his beloved toys he said, "Mom, I really love my sister." ...with the attached caveat that ,"Sometimes she can be really annoying though." How great it was that in the middle of this release he could summon such joy and love!

And so, as I remember my mom doing with me when I was young, we slept in the same room together - the bathroom light left ablaze as a beacon of safety. My mom ears stayed on alert the whole night without incident; yet periodic affirmations buoyed the bond of care and nurturing as we checked in with one another over the whirrr of his fan.

On the appearance of morning light he hopped into the shower to defumigate and sterilize. I met him somewhere in the middle of the kitchen after I had stuffed all his bedding into the washing machine. We embraced in a good-morning-thank-god-that's-over-but-we-made-it-through hug. Relieved, he buried his face into my bathrobe and said to me, "Mom, you smell like barf." And you know something? I woudn't want it any other way.

We have a choice to embrace these conditions in love or run away in fear. The same goes for every other "unsavory" that sweeps across our daily radar. By having had the privilege to assist him in his time of suffering allowed me to hear the gifts, to help alleviate his fear AND to smell like barf. In my sense of Universal appreciation, I offer no resistance.

Do you think I am crazy? Take a look at mundane moments in your life that present themselves with an essence of resistance. How do they make you feel? Angry, overwhelmed, burdened, fearful? Do these feelings make you happy? (If you said yes then YOU are the crazy one.) Perspective is crucial to how we experience life. It applies to doing the dishes that someone else left in the sink (leave them for the person who made them), to emptying the cat box (come back to it when you feel less resistant) or to unavoidable train wrecks like vomit (must rally NOW!). When you realize that these situations are bestowed upon you to advance your perspective in this physical world...in this human game...you will be gifted with elevated and better feeling experiences on a more frequent schedule.

Open yourself up to feeling good - no matter what. And as you tunnel your way every moment towards what feels good and makes you happy the Universe will conspire with you to answer every desire. Barf happens, but I can guarantee that you will never regret breathing and grinning into love.

conduit

2011-03-01T14:47:00.002-05:00

For some reason I was not OK with my daughter wearing her hot pink, fleece bathrobe to Home Depot. As I stated with firm insistence, I recognized my ego. Why the heck not? Is it because I am afraid that people are going to judge me through the appearance of my child?

"Fine!" she huffed as she shed her robe to the kitchen floor in exchange for her box that I had just helped her cover in foil. I am thrilled to report that this made me so happy. It girl-slapped my Ego right back into its rightful place. It made Tatum joyous to show off her "new look" that morphed in between a robot and blunt nose aircraft fuselage. It made the numerous 40 hour/week countenances sparkle with delight at an errant piece of ducting-with-legs that they weren't responsible for inventorying. It made me happy because right as she made a wide, arms-extended, running swoop into aisle two, it occurred to me that in her state of engaged imagination she was happy and "on purpose". One of the employees said, "Heck, she looks just like a piece of electrical conduit!"

This simple observation by the woman in the orange smock was such an afterburner of illumination. Yes, Tatum IS a conduit. She is the only child I have even known to readily portion off her cache of candy so that everyone can take ownership in her happiness, thereby making it their own. She shares her prized possessions or newly acquired toys with her brother without hesitation. She runs with the dog in endless circles of delight. She says, "Mom, the best thing God gave me in my toolbox is LOVE."

We are all conduits. By allowing yourself to feel good, to share with others that which brings you joy, to feel the freedom to express yourself through inspiration fueled by love and light we can all experience the essence of Source, of the Universe. For as you find your core intention, your inspired energy activates those around you calling on their souls truth.

Heaven on Earth awaits all those who wish to plug into themselves.

thermal lifts

2011-02-24T13:48:00.001-05:00

I have a theory. I believe that the physiological response to a smile allows the wings of your heart to ride the thermals lifts of gratitude. By engaging your facial muscles even in a faint uplift of the corners of your mouth, even the most dreaded task (mine happens to be a toss up between doing taxes and scooping cat crap) doesn't deplete energetic fields as readily as if your brow was furrowed by burden of a mundane chore. Choosing a gentle grin as often as possible softens the tension of a task driven existence.

When I smile it is as if my cheeks raise the marionette strings of my wing'ed heart. I soar on the thermals of gratitude in complete understanding that I am present for what is. The quality of job I do is dependent on this mindset. Even if I have to hold my breath, cringe, squint and scoop (how many of you are trying this...?) I can still smile. There will always be less savory tasks. The trick is to do them at a time where ones resistence is minimal. The greatest disservice you can do to your soul is to undertake a task while your soul is kicking and screaming, "NO F****** WAY!" By stepping back and recognizing this state of discust honors your core emotional guidance system...it allows a breathe of peace and creates a space. Leave the task. Just walk away and by doing so you either allow for someone else to do it who doesn't harbor such resistence OR you return to the task later without the barbs and hackles raised. Really, it is the first step in respecting YOU from the inside out.

By recognizing that at each and every moment we have the choice to appreciate the journey, your soul takes a sigh of relief. I am soothed by the effortless flight of these thermal lifts as life's circumstances gift me daily opportunities to breathe into Being. By aligning with Source I am able to give my thanks back to the Universe by smiling and soaring into the unknown with an open, wing'ed heart.

cord wood

2011-02-17T15:39:00.001-05:00

My husband is an electrical engineer and a pilot. He measures things precisely - and you can believe it - they always work. His dimensions and calculations are always right when embarking on a project whether that be rewiring a circuit, building a tree house or making the main course for the Christmas feast. Impeccable in his preparedness however, there is always a bubble in the line prior to the delivery of cord wood. Apparently the guys cutting and loading cord wood don't use calipers. Jeff knows it, he expects it and it makes him madder than a hornet even before they materialize. It's called the Law of Attraction; like attracts like.
So in my endless quest to introduce Jeff to this friendly and abundant Universe and living through the heart...and the benefits thereof, I ordered three cords of wood. I made the call, scheduled the date and caressed this interaction through an open heart the entire way. My reputation was on the line. I had taken my life into my own hands because if, gosh-forbid, the three cords that we pay for fell short I'd never hear the end of it. The day of the delivery arrives and I am already hearing mumblings...the wood arrives and my husband says, "this doesn't look like three cords." The transaction has airs like that you'd watch in a back alley drug deal. Their truck bed is filled with wood but until they have the cash in their hand they are leery to dump. A cheque puts the entire exchange on edge. Then my husband proceeds to ask the guy who is covered in sawdust and wood chips, "Do you know what the measurement of a cord of wood is?" (4x4x8)
If the wood engineers knew who they were delivering to they'd never answer their phone. As I mentioned, my husband, who I affectionately refer to as Mr. Micrometer, has constructed a wood bin that measures the wood by half-cords. Wood is taken seriously around here. But then again, so is my insistence on illuminating the connection with the Universal Heart. I am shedding as much love over this situation as I can muster.
So, the wood guy leaves and we spend the next day stacking and...of course, of the three cords ordered we received 2.25 cords. This is not good. Not good at all. I am afraid. Am I more afraid for me...or the wood guy? However...now is not the time to fear the reaction of my husband....it is the time to love him...to love the wood guy and to envelop myself and all involved participants in white loving light purifying this whole situation and knowing without a fraction of a doubt that it is a friendly and abundant Universe!!!
Each of the two calls I made to Wood R Us I received an answering machine and with the most love in my heart I issued my request to complete the three cords for which we had paid. A week went by...omg. Pressure of this friendly and abundant world thing was starting to make me twitch. I just couldn't bear the thought of enduring several months of dissatisfaction. But then...as the rumbling noise permeated the interior of the home I peaked outside to witness the most beautiful sight of the remaining wood being dumped in our driveway. I was so happy, I sobbed. Yes, sobbed with gratitude. Grateful that my love surmounted fear. Grateful that I don't have to listen to complaining. Grateful that it truly is a friendly and abundant Universe. And grateful that I held it together until after the wood guy pulled away. Grateful that my husband is becoming a believer of the Universal Heart and that my faith delivered.

the power of lice

2010-09-14T10:52:00.000-04:00

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

2010-09-07T14:17:00.002-04:00

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

2010-09-02T10:12:00.000-04:00

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

2010-08-23T09:47:00.000-04:00

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

2010-08-22T11:48:00.000-04:00

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

2010-08-14T15:22:00.002-04:00

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"

2010-07-23T14:22:00.000-04:00

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

2010-07-19T00:03:00.000-04:00

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.