Wednesday, July 31, 2013


Please tell your friends and family about Reiki. Please take a class, read a book, venture out.

Experience Reiki. It will change your life.

It will change our world.

Thank you.

Healing Hands

Healing Hands class this afternoon with children and families. Brilliant T, an LCSW, led the class. 

My boss, PD, told me to work more with children and families. I love to do that! Always welcome that opportunity. T & I offer this class twice a year. Would do more if local families requested and attended. 

It's so empowering for kids. Reiki: everyone can do it. You can help yourself and your loved ones. It's comforting and safe. 

T makes it fun. She  has engaging interactive activities, and a guest speaker (me).

That's it. Healing Hands. I hope it helps. I love kids. 

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

attractive brown bucket

Was pulling weeds. A bumblebee buzzed and approached. Usually they buzz and wander off. This one wanted to land on my right shoulder. Rabid bee? Attracted to my Reiki energy? I shrieked and ran off, shaking like a person with Tourette's.

Cautiously resumed. Same thing. Eeek! Times 2.

Grabbed my brown bucket and moved to another part of the garden. Again! Ok. Is  it the lovely brown bucket? Does it look like a prospective abode? Or is it my alluring scent and physique? What is it about my right shoulder? So sorry, am not ready to host a new bee friend on my person. Am not that evolved. Maybe next year. Love you, but don't get in my bubble.

The brown bucket sits, abandoned, full of weeds. And me, bee-free.

deja mow

An hour ago a woman in a red shirt and khaki shorts was mowing the neighboring lawn.

Now a man in a white shirt and khaki shorts is mowing the same lawn. Red lawnmower.

Hmm. Just remembering the grinding sound of metal on stone and sudden silence. My son was here, hanging on the deck. Could be a connection.

Monday, July 29, 2013

Grand Avenue


The hair dryer is inexpertly screwed to the wall, and falling off. The door takes a real key, clipped to a green plastic rectangle: 19. Room 19

The furniture has white paint, shaded light brown at the edges. In many places it's chipped and worn to bare wood.

A train goes by every few hours, out back, a few feet from the jacuzzis. It blasts a whistle and shakes the room.

The rooms are on the sides of a U with a parking lot in the middle and the pool at the bottom of the loop. We are on Grand Avenue: a street of old motels with outdoor pools, T-shirt shops, mom and pop shops,  pizza places, a Greek restaurant, and a candy store.  At the end of the Avenue is a carnival with scary rides and more shops.

Our favorite housekeeper is from Romania. She cleaned motel rooms all morning and then we saw her working a kiddie ride at the carnival in the evening. The girl in the candy store is from Turkey. She asked me how Bonono Turkish Taffy got it's name. I said I didn't know. She didn't either.

Across Grand Avenue is a path to the beach. A white sand beach on the Atlantic Ocean. A beach with hundreds of tourists. Maybe thousands.

There is also a synagogue. A man came to clean inside this morning. One year I saw people go inside on a Saturday night, to express their religious beliefs. What's it called when you must have enough people? A quorum? That's the right word for a board meeting, but I can't remember the right word in this instance.

The other guests here at our motel are from New York, Vermont, and Quebec. There are a lot of people from Quebec. Big family groups.

The Quebecois get three rooms in a row and gather in the parking lot to talk and smoke. They go to the beach even when it's 62 degrees, windy, and misty. They dig big holes in the sand and place their chairs in there, out of the wind. They swim and toss frisbees. They drink beer and smoke cigars and cigarettes. They talk and talk and I don't know what they are saying. Then they come back to the motel and get in the jacuzzis and pool. They drink more beer, barbecue burgers, and smoke more cigarettes.

The sun came out this afternoon. We lined up on the dry sand as the tide came crashing in. Frothy white on the green waves. Sky foggy around the edges. Thousands of us on the beach. Pizza, beer, and cigarettes. Boogie boards, beach chairs, and bikinis. Wind, rain, fog, mist, and then the sun. It was grand. 

Saturday, July 27, 2013

back forty

Calendula, yellow daisies, bee balm, morning glories, and sunflowers. Love my backyard. Perfect temp and humidity this evening. 

I worked most of the day, then zipped down to Portland, and back up to Livermore. Gave my son & his delightful girlfriend a ride. They cuddled in the back seat, exhausted from work, while I gabbed: talked their ears off I guess. 

Then back home. The deck. Not working, just admiring the view. So many colors, shapes, and textures. 

I sat on the deck with a small glass of chilled chardonnay and listened to the songbirds. Looked at the flowers, bushes, and trees. 

The vegetable garden is out back, the back forty. Not acres: feet, I suppose. Beets are big, peas gone by, green beans are slowing down, lots of kale and cilantro. A few blueberries and raspberries. Would like to keep chickens, but that seems too complicated. 

Do they eat copper beetles? I find hundreds of them daily, in the trees, on the raspberry bushes, hibiscus, irises, and ferns. 

What was once lawn is now rows of  vegetables, lined with hay. My back forty. 


A tent appeared on my neighbor's front lawn this week.

Wedding? Big party? Drunks parking on my lawn and crashing into my house? Traffic jam in the neighborhood?

What day? When? Oh dear. Should I offer my couch as a place to crash? Can I escape?

So it was today. As usual, all my fears and anxieties were for nothing.

People came in SUVs this morning, delivering 6 foot tables and folding chairs. There were about 10 tables. Then tablecloths, trash cans, jugs of beverages.

I thought I would bring over a vase or two of flowers. I have lots of flowers in my backyard. But I was engrossed in my work. I worked all day yesterday and most of today on my fall Reiki course. The syllabus and web page- it's a hybrid course, mostly online, 3 six hour face2face meeetings. Reading assignments, objectives, papers, rubrics.... I'm rambling. Sorry.

When I looked up the guests had already started to arrive. Oops. Can't really bring flowers now: party crasher. "Hello, here are some flowers, Oh! what are you eating there?"   Right?

It was mostly elderly women, chatting animatedly in French. "Oui, oui!" I heard.

Anyway, I had to go and pick up my son & his girlfriend.

Big tent. No big deal. 

step back


Sharing Reiki with another person.

I'm at this stripped down stage. I don't prepare, I don't make arm or hand gestures first. I don't play sound bowls (love them!), burn sage (love that too), dance, shake rattles, or dangle crystal pendulums (wonderful beautiful tools).

Just plain. I just place my hands: share Reiki. Do that as long as I can, as long as feels right. Hands off, I'm done.

Like Pamela Miles said last week, "Hands on, I'm doing Reiki. Hands off, no Reiki." Or something very similar to that. "Hands on: Reiki. Hands off: no Reiki."

Yeah, that's how I am. No drama. Just Reiki.

Oh, and I don't try. I don't force it. I relax, eyes open. My mind drifts.

Another thing she said, "This is not your personal meditation session." This is for the client. Be there for your client. Check, does he/she look comfortable?

That's where I am with Reiki right now.

Heard Pamela Miles speak last week at the Portland (Maine) Public Library. She speaks well about Reiki. I like what she has to say about Reiki. 

Thursday, July 25, 2013


In the sidebar. Right side.

Fed them lately? They're hungry.

Thank you for your time. 

all apologies

Sorry, poor neglected blog. It's been 14 hour workdays, trips to Virginia and Minnesota, visits with family, and exciting extra projects. Summer in Maine: beach and garden. Too little time to blog. Will attempt to reform self and blog more.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013


Like I"ve never seen before.


Circles, horizontal, forked with 3 tongues, 3 bolts at once, blinding like a flashbulb. I didn't know where to look, there was so much all at once. I had a 360 degree view and swiveled my head around to see it all.

Some summers I feel lucky to see one bolt. I've never seen a storm like this one and hope I never do again. 15 minutes solid of thunder and lightning. Rolling thunder that never stopped and lightning shapes I didn't know were possible. Bright as daylight. 

Monday, July 15, 2013

isthmus mornings

Thinking about living on an isthmus.

We walked the line, mornings, before anyone else was up. Sometimes foggy or misty. We quietly circled the girls' cabins, talking softly, walking quickly.

Sometimes I stopped to take pictures of the peaceful cabins, the misty pond, the barrels of flowers. The sign posts, the bear, the candy store. The convergence of the ley lines.

Two ponds. And we were on as isthmus. An island, if you count where a marshy stream ran through a culvert under the dirt road. Turtle crossing.

I brought 3 big tubs of meds to the lodge. Got coffee. Chatted with the Eastern European kitchen staff. Read bulletin boards. Gazed at the pond. Waited for people to arrive.

Thinking about camp. Teen camp. International teen camp. I worked there the last 7 summers. Not this summer; I retired from camp nursing.  Thinking about the isthmus.

Friday, July 12, 2013

summer in Maine

It was an error in judgment. I didn't mean to do it. Really.

But I did. I agreed to teach 3 summer classes (I love to teach!) and this means no time off. OK, I have a few weekends. Most weekends off. But the classes overlapped spring and fall semesters. So I'm teaching all summer. Thank goodness I love to teach. Really love it. Love the students: watching them learn and grow in confidence and abilities.

But summer! Again, thank goodness, it's been exceptionally rainy. Might as well be inside.

 But today? Today. Today was sunny, warm, and dry. Perfect summer day in Maine.

What did I do? I know you want to know. Hey, you made it this far: you want to know.

OK, alarm went off at 5:30, but I was having a compelling dream and hit Postpone x 6. At work by 7 for important meeting. Meeting went well: I love my boss, she does meetings so well. Lots of catching up to do, lots of work. Had lunch with a friend. Left after lunch, had my hair cut, bought sandals and work clothes, came home. Oh. It's hot and sunny. Went to the beach. Was mostly deserted. Read a good book and swam. Came home and worked in the garden.

Another big bag of green beans, which are thriving. But mosquitoes lurk in there, take care. Never had mosquitoes here before: rainy summer. Peas peaked and are going by. Picked them too, got about 1/3 cup. Wasted space? Picked kale.

Steamed green beans and kale. Delish with vinegar, oil, & tamari.

Now relaxing on deck. Listening to neighbors playing horseshoes: young guys. They talk about the score.  There are sound effects and applause.

Long day. Good day. Hope yours was too.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

that old broken air conditioner

the one I set out on the curb? Fan worked, but no cooling?
Yeah, someone picked it up.

Saturday, July 6, 2013


It was hot today and I remembered hot nights in Illinois.

I was a kid. Two parents, 4 kids. We had one air conditioner, in our rec room. Recreational room. It was at the back of the house, with windows out to the backyard. Winters, we used to roll newspapers in the rec room, roll them up and tie them, then burn them for heat. My hands got black from the newsprint.

Out past our yard and garden was an alley. Beyond the alley: a strip of fast food places, hardware stores, and grocery stores. The Dairy Queen where my little sister used to beg for ice cream, we found out years later.

Hot nights in Illinois I used to have trouble sleeping. Too hot. I'd get up, trudge around past the stairs and into the old bathroom. I ran cold water over my wrists, trying to cool down. Cold water.

School field trips. I remember the shrine in Nauvoo, the place where Joseph Smith died, the leader of a cult. There was a piece of glass over a bit of floorboard, with his blood beneath. I squinted, couldn't really see the blood.

And the town where Abraham Lincoln grew up. That was cool. I liked thinking of him reading and studying by firelight.

All enveloped by corn fields. Rows and rows of green spikes.

Those hot nights in Illinois. 

Friday, July 5, 2013

hot night

Almost 10 o'clock. Almost 80 degrees. Hot, humid, still.

Summer night in Maine. Air is thick with moths and moisture.

My name is memory

Reading a good book about remembering past lives.

The story resonates with me. These memories I have, these same people over and over; these lessons I must learn. Love, learn, serve. Forgive, feel gratitude, tune in to joy.

Didn't care for the ending of the book. That's OK. I rewrote it in my mind.

Mercury retrograde

It's hot in Maine. 80, maybe 90. Humid and still. Quite uncomfortable.

So of course I turned on my air conditioner, the big box in my kitchen window. For 3 years it's cooled my kitchen and living room, for those 2 months/year of a Maine summer. Yeah, July and August. Summer in Maine.

The room wasn't cooling as usual. The AC unit was moving air, but it wasn't cold air. Did this have anything to do with the gush of water on the floor last week? So much it warped the floor boards. Hmm.

It was too hot to move so I bought a room AC for $288. A colleague recommended it, "I can lift it myself! It doesn't go in the window!" Bought it, brought it home, assembled it. Had to rearrange room and didn't care for that.

Stuck a hose out a window and jammed a pan under the outlet that "might drip when interior collection unit is full." Had to empty that foil cake pan 3 times in 3 hours. The unit put out cold air in front and hot air in the back. The hose was hot. Overall, no change in room temp.

I hate to return stuff. How could I get rid of this room AC unit? Who would like it? Could I put it on the street?

This morning I called around to see about AC repair for the expensive (over $300 3 years ago) window unit.  No answer, leave a message, closed, OH finally: a real person. Yeah, "A service call starts at $300," Dawn told me. "You should just go out and buy a new one." Ok, a definitive answer is good.

So I called Home Depot to see if they would take back the room unit I bought yesterday. Took half an hour, talked to a few people. They would, and it would be helpful if I had the receipt. I probably had the receipt. Dragged my sweaty self across the room and found the receipt. Oh. bought it at Lowe's. I always get those 2 stores mixed up. Called Home Depot to confess. Called Lowe's. Got the same answer: bring it in for a return, no prob. Love that.

Disassembled, packed back in box, hot & sweaty, loaded into car. Returned room AC and bought a new window unit. Back home I managed to drag the old window unit out to the street. Free! Maybe someone will take it home. If not, hopefully the trash guys will pick it up on Tuesday. Assembled and installed the new window unit. It was blasting cool air before 11 am.

90 in Maine is too hot.

Wednesday, July 3, 2013


So I covered the blueberries.

The purpling ones I'd been watching were gone. Birds. The doves, cardinals, robins, or sparrows. Gone.

I needed a net. But I wanted to go to the beach. I worked all day, starting at 6:30 am. 6:30 am! Who starts then? We did. Worked hard til 1 pm. Sunny and hot. Beach! But the berries.

I searched the attic for a net bag. I use them to store fleeces, until I can spin them into yarn. Found one. A net bag. Covered the precious bush, bursting with green berries, then off to the beach. Summer in Maine. 

birds like blueberries

Three of the blueberry plants were cheap. Splurged on one, $28, with flowers and tiny berries.

The cheap plants are coming along. Perhaps berries in 2016. I like to plan ahead.

The expensive one has berries. I've been watching the berries, and giving them Reiki. Giving Reiki to all the plants. Really looking forward to the berries this season. Some of them were slightly purple. Large and ripening.

Today I noticed that those big purple berries were gone. Birds. I have lots of birds in the backyard, and enjoy their presence. Sparrow, red-headed sparrows (what are they, again, Tony?), doves, and cardinals. Love the cardinals. What a change, what a treat, what an indication of global warming. Oh dear.

Anyway. The berries. The birds. The birds got the purpling berries. Perhaps I needed to cover them. 


so Maine. Anti-oxidants, deep blue, beautiful and healthy. You know.

A few weeks ago: less lawn, more garden. I bought 4 blueberry bushes, 100 pounds of stone, and 3 bales of hay. I covered the lawn with hay and settled the blueberry plants. Sunk them into the pit of stone. Covered a wide swath with hay. 

Marco. Polo.

It was too hot at the beach. Never thought I'd say that. But it was.

There were 5 school buses of campers. Each group had their own colored T-shirt and customs. Example: WHISTLE. BUDDY CHECK! Or: Marco! Polo!

In the game of Marco Polo, one person is in the middle with eyes closed. This person shouts, "Marco!" The surrounding people shout, "Polo!" The eyes-closed person attempts to tag one of the others. If successful, that person goes to the middle.

This game is incredibly annoying to crotchety old women who like to read, reflect, and watch loons.

Buddy check is where everyone stops, grabs his or her buddy, and the pair raises their hands. It is an attempt to prevent drowning and sex on the beach, I imagine. Also annoying.

All those people left. Ahhhh..... I could hear the loons.

The sun and air were too hot, but the water was frigid. Our Maine water is cold. Instant relief. Poland Spring water. We swim in it.

thunder and rain

in the southern sky. Gorgeous here with breezes and dramatic clouds. 

Monday, July 1, 2013

Reiki Nurse

Someone asked for a link. Here: Reiki Nurse


So much rain. The backyard is squishy, saturated with water. Mushrooms sprout daily, beside the beets and sunflowers. Slugs abound. Wet.

The plants seem happy. Potatoes, raspberries, lettuce, and carrots are thriving. Green beans are flowering. There are pea pods.

Still a little more sun and a little less humidity would be good. 

What is the perfect lobster roll?

Start with homemade bread, preferably whole wheat or oatmeal. Fresh and warm.

Fresh lobster, of course. And just lobster, no imitation, no pollack. Just lobster.

My sister-in-law, Ida, adds marjoram.

I like a little butter. Maybe finely chopped celery. Some fresh red leaf lettuce.

The roll should be warm, the lobster cold.

On the side, grilled corn on the cob, or a tiny cup of rich coleslaw. A pickle.

Lobster roll

Summer in Maine. Another search for the perfect lobster roll.

Had one today in Boothbay Harbor. It was a warm, drizzly, muggy day. I wandered in parks and towns for hours. Got hungry and found a place.

It was a little sandwich shop on a whale-watching wharf. All old wood and pots of pansies. Grey skies and water. Mobs of tourists in matching clothes, standing in the middle of sidewalks and shouting in shops.

It looked good, the lobster roll. Was wildly expensive. $15 for a medium roll, no sides. Attractive presentation, with green leaf lettuce and lobster claw meat peeking out. On a buttered, grilled, white roll.

Took a bite. Miracle Whip: gak. Ick. Gag. Spoo. Who would add Miracle Whip to lobster?

Hours later, almost stopped at Red's Eats in Wiscasset. Too much traffic: couldn't stop. Too many Rte 1 summer traffic jams.

Will continue the search.