Long ago and far away, we'd sold our house and moved to a beautiful Victorian in the middle of Amherst, which, unbeknownst to us, had been oversprayed with a neurotoxin, diazinon. Took me two months to understand why I couldn't wash away the pervasive Raid smell everywhere; why my children's lips turned red and peeled- why we all developed bronchitis and became pale as a white percale sheet in the sun.
I got us on out of there, despite the anguish of my husband, then in doctoral program , two dogs and three cats and kids aged 2,3, and 11.
But we all were environmentally ill by then, and the kids could no longer go to school, where if you've noticed, pesticides applied regularly.
No Jones Library, at the time in lawsuits for sick building syndrome. No shoe stores or most stores or new rugs or new paint . At restaurants if they pulled out the bleach or ammonia, we had to calmly pack everyone up quickly and leave, before we spent a month with more acute bronchitis all round.
We spent thousands seeing Hart Brent, and slowly addressed the organ issues, while I studied and studied, and began treating us myself.
When you have a particular human made toxin move into your body that has, say, a 500 year half life- or a 50 year half life, you need to keep the stream of the body clear and moving- ever moving. It's you "Get Out Of Jail " card, especially to avoid childhood leukemia .
So we homeschooled and I got up into it, forgetting until recently to actually explain to them the necessity.
And sought out a vast range of things that we did as I quietly worked to enrich their lives, and simultaneously work in my practice,
One if the loveliest things I discovered was a family sing night once a month, held by The Hooks of Amherst, activists and grandparents and wise wonderful souls.
The night would begin with a potluck in their long, pine kitchen . Behind in the backyard was the barn where he adeptly taught woodworking classes to young people, which one of my sons relished.
It was a house built in the 1800s, down a wooded area, dark; the ceilings , the woodwork old and carefully made and fascinating in its structure.
And we would all cram into this one room, after sharing dinner, children popping under and over adults legs and arms, to fill their plates at the long pine table;
families and families,all upon each other, squished happily together on laps and by feet; kids smooshed in corners together , laughing and tickling each other - song sheets handed out,
And then? We would all sing.
So many people, beginning a song together, all ages, some familiar and some whispering hints- the regaling as we repeated a refrain, now somewhat familiar. The younger ones singing out! Because they could not read yet , but this part they knew!
It was simple and glorious and inclusive and those present varied- the new ones, the soon to become familiar, as we all slowly stumbled in the door each month , welcomed and bearing our dishes of food to share. The kids gamboling about in delight.
In retrospect, it was as far from anyone checking a cell phone as you could ever imagine. Can you remember that way of being? All focus on the present. If there was anything that could possibly engage you , it would need to be FOUND by YOU, right there, with whomever was with you, in that evening.
No small ones quieted by watching an iPad . No adults sneaking off to check sports scores on their phone or their face book page. No photo taking by 1,000 devices, at the ready, hand held.
The phone was stuck to the wall and heavy, with a long tangled cord. The television had rabbit ears that communicated with a rooftop antenna, tv was limited and free , and it all had to be fiddled with according to the weather and the day, and what waves you were trying to pick up , from where.
And at the end of the night, everyone had sung soft and low... Then hard and glorious and LOUD !!!!
And as small ones got cranky and slightly older ones began to pinch or tease or bonk a sibling, the parents would reluctantly find the impetus to rise up, gather to them the almost asleep, the misbehaving, the stilted or wronged or crying ( "oh honey, you're just tired. Let's get you home ." "I'M NOT TIRED!!".
And the Hooks knew every scenario, inside out, from raising their own children to patiently teaching them woodworking as they quietly taught them life; as they carried on their day jobs of tireless political activity for justice and equity .
And by their creative efforts and generosity, they instilled into one generation after another the delight of coming together, of bringing forth one's food to share, to settle all together like an enormous heap of Lions - and listen as your own small or large voice rose and joined and resonated with this herd of humans, on these special nights, over and over and over.
I got us on out of there, despite the anguish of my husband, then in doctoral program , two dogs and three cats and kids aged 2,3, and 11.
But we all were environmentally ill by then, and the kids could no longer go to school, where if you've noticed, pesticides applied regularly.
No Jones Library, at the time in lawsuits for sick building syndrome. No shoe stores or most stores or new rugs or new paint . At restaurants if they pulled out the bleach or ammonia, we had to calmly pack everyone up quickly and leave, before we spent a month with more acute bronchitis all round.
We spent thousands seeing Hart Brent, and slowly addressed the organ issues, while I studied and studied, and began treating us myself.
When you have a particular human made toxin move into your body that has, say, a 500 year half life- or a 50 year half life, you need to keep the stream of the body clear and moving- ever moving. It's you "Get Out Of Jail " card, especially to avoid childhood leukemia .
So we homeschooled and I got up into it, forgetting until recently to actually explain to them the necessity.
And sought out a vast range of things that we did as I quietly worked to enrich their lives, and simultaneously work in my practice,
One if the loveliest things I discovered was a family sing night once a month, held by The Hooks of Amherst, activists and grandparents and wise wonderful souls.
The night would begin with a potluck in their long, pine kitchen . Behind in the backyard was the barn where he adeptly taught woodworking classes to young people, which one of my sons relished.
It was a house built in the 1800s, down a wooded area, dark; the ceilings , the woodwork old and carefully made and fascinating in its structure.
And we would all cram into this one room, after sharing dinner, children popping under and over adults legs and arms, to fill their plates at the long pine table;
families and families,all upon each other, squished happily together on laps and by feet; kids smooshed in corners together , laughing and tickling each other - song sheets handed out,
And then? We would all sing.
So many people, beginning a song together, all ages, some familiar and some whispering hints- the regaling as we repeated a refrain, now somewhat familiar. The younger ones singing out! Because they could not read yet , but this part they knew!
It was simple and glorious and inclusive and those present varied- the new ones, the soon to become familiar, as we all slowly stumbled in the door each month , welcomed and bearing our dishes of food to share. The kids gamboling about in delight.
In retrospect, it was as far from anyone checking a cell phone as you could ever imagine. Can you remember that way of being? All focus on the present. If there was anything that could possibly engage you , it would need to be FOUND by YOU, right there, with whomever was with you, in that evening.
No small ones quieted by watching an iPad . No adults sneaking off to check sports scores on their phone or their face book page. No photo taking by 1,000 devices, at the ready, hand held.
The phone was stuck to the wall and heavy, with a long tangled cord. The television had rabbit ears that communicated with a rooftop antenna, tv was limited and free , and it all had to be fiddled with according to the weather and the day, and what waves you were trying to pick up , from where.
And at the end of the night, everyone had sung soft and low... Then hard and glorious and LOUD !!!!
And as small ones got cranky and slightly older ones began to pinch or tease or bonk a sibling, the parents would reluctantly find the impetus to rise up, gather to them the almost asleep, the misbehaving, the stilted or wronged or crying ( "oh honey, you're just tired. Let's get you home ." "I'M NOT TIRED!!".
And the Hooks knew every scenario, inside out, from raising their own children to patiently teaching them woodworking as they quietly taught them life; as they carried on their day jobs of tireless political activity for justice and equity .
And by their creative efforts and generosity, they instilled into one generation after another the delight of coming together, of bringing forth one's food to share, to settle all together like an enormous heap of Lions - and listen as your own small or large voice rose and joined and resonated with this herd of humans, on these special nights, over and over and over.
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