In 1973, while I was at Northwest Nazarene college in Nampa, Idaho, I had an opportunity to attend a concert which changed my impression of Christian music forever.
In 1973, while I was at Northwest Nazarene college in Nampa, Idaho, I had an opportunity to attend a concert which changed my impression of Christian music forever.
You know, a lot of young newlywed guys come up to me and say, “Hey Mard, you’re incredibly old and wise. (They got it half right) Can you give us your observations on having babies?”
I could hear Cheryl in our bedroom closet. She was finding dress shirts for me.
“Ah nope, ah nope, ah nope, ah nope.”
“What is the problem?” I asked.
“You haven’t got one shirt that doesn’t have ball point pen ink stains on the pocket,” she answered.
I have a theory. The makers of dress shirts and the manufacturers of ball point pens are owned by the same corporation. The pens are designed to leak, leaving an ink stain on the shirt pocket thereby requiring me to go to JCPenney. Four new dress shirts had to be purchased. We were going on a cruise.
It has been quite a few years since I have been to the mall, and I believe that it’s safe to go back since the statute of limitations has run out. For a while there, my photo was on the wall as a wanted fugitive in the mall cop’s office. Well, the only photographic evidence is of a man looking like Daddy Warbucks running through the crowd.
My mother told me that after I was born, they threw away the mold. I’m not accusing her of neglect, but why did she allow me to mold?
A short essay on the inadequacies of being a cow.
It all started one afternoon while I was preparing to mow the back field. I have a Craftsman Commercial riding mower which I use to keep the grass level of the half acre down to a two-inch height. The mowed area borders five acres of cow field which pastures six cows, six calves, and a bull named Melvin. It was a typical polygamous family relationship with Melvin; all the cows and calves vying for his attention while he hides in the back of the barn drinking fermented cider.
Terror. The feeling of helplessness or hopelessness. It causes some people to freeze, unable to make decisions. In others, who have the tendency to panic, it activates their “fight or flight” response, not necessarily reacting in actions which make any sense. This is sometimes described as mental dysregulation.
Turn on the TV news any day or read it from the feed on your phone. Somewhere in the world, someone or some large population group is experiencing the feeling of terror. In recent years, the stock market has crashed, there have been wars, fires, floods, active shooters in churches, schools, and malls. When you are involved, your stress hormones such as adrenaline and cortisol are released into the body which will determine how you specifically will react. Though, during my lifetime, I have reacted many ways to the feeling of terror, both personal and mass, my wife and I were not prepared for the note that my daughter brought home from her second-grade class teacher at elementary school. It stated very clearly in large block letters: Head Lice Infestation In Your Child’s Classroom.
As I read the flyer, my beautiful daughter stood at my feet looking up into my eyes. I gazed down at her thick long head of hair as the adrenaline and cortisol shot through my body and the first thought that came into my mind was, “Oh, icky.” As she reached up for a hug, I reacted like any dad who was just handed a baby with a poopy diaper, I gave her a long-arm hug.
Naturally, like any parent, I was in denial. “Not my daughter! We live in a very clean home. She showers regularly. Cheryl, would you come in here for a moment!”
As my wife came into the kitchen seeing me holding my daughter at arm’s length she asked, “What’s going on? I haven’t seen you hold her off like that since she had poopy diapers.”
“Could you get the flashlight and check Kalene’s hair for head lice?”
“Oh my gosh,” she exclaimed, the adrenaline and cortisol shooting through her body. “Let me put my shower cap on first.”
She ran into the bathroom and emerged with a shower cap on. To anyone driving by looking into our kitchen window, it now looked like both of Kalene’s parents were bald. She took the flashlight and began spreading Kalene’s hair apart to see the scalp.
“Oh no! No, no, no!” she moaned.
“Does this mean, no lice?” I asked.
So now we reacted in our own ways to terror. I stood dumbfounded not knowing what to do and Cheryl spun in circles with her hands flailing above her head.
“She has nit eggs all through her hair and I can see the adult lice on her scalp. What do we do? What does the paper tell us to do?”
I read down the page.
“Well, it says that there are many lice treatment shampoos on the market, or we could shave her head bald.”
“Always the funny guy in an emergency,” she growled.
“Dad. I don’t want you to shave my hair off.” Kalene started to cry.
“Your dad is being funny again, Kalene. We would never do that.”
“That would be a kick having three bald people in the house. We could just tell everyone that we have temporary alopecia. Let’s see what else the paper says. Hmm, bedding, clothing and hats should be laundered in very hot water on the same day that your child is treated. Nits should be removed from the hair shafts with a nit comb. Boil all combs and brushes that might possibly be shared with other family members. Do not share hats. All members of the household need to be checked when there is one case of head lice in the family.”
Isn’t it weird that just the thought of head lice in your hair makes your scalp itch? Cheryl started scratching her shower cap.
“OK, you go to the drug store and get some of that lice killer and I will start stripping her bed. I’m going to have to put her pillows in plastic garbage bags to starve out any lice that are on them.
Hopping into the car, I drove into town to the drug store. The line of parents stretched out into the parking lot. The pharmacist inside was busily emptying lice killing remedies off his shelves. Luckily, I was able to return home with a kit of the name brand lice killer. Inside of the house, the washing machine was running.
“Okay. Here is the lice killer. It says to put it all through her hair while she is standing in the shower and let it sit, then rinse it out. When the rinsing is done, use the nit comb and remove the nits from the hair.”
While the process was going on, I went to Kalene’s bedroom and scanned it for other possible lice nests. There at the head of the bed lay her two favorite companions which she had slept with since she was a baby, Mr. Monkey and the Wolley Bear. Mr. Monkey was a handmade sock monkey given to her by her aunt. Her uncle forever complained that he was now one sock short. The Wolley Bear, was a collectable store bought bear which was given to her by one of the relatives as a baby gift. His long brown hair and the look on his face, like Poo or Paddington, made him extra snuggly. Both of her bedmates slept next to her head at night.
“Going to have to do something with these,” I thought. I put them both into a plastic bag.
The shower being over, I said through the bathroom door, “How’s it going in there?”
“I left the chemical in her hair for the suggested amount of time, but it’s not killing the lice,” Cheryl called back. “They are still running all over her scalp.”
“Okay, I’ll get the hair clippers,” I said. There was more crying inside the bathroom followed by, “Would you stop saying that. It’s not funny!”
When the two girls left the bathroom, they were both worse for wear. Kalene stood in a bathrobe with her hair making her look like a troll doll. Cheryl was frustrated because this was not the type of trauma she wanted to face this late in the day. I parted the hair on Kalene’s scalp and could see that the store-bought chemical had done nothing. Not only were the lice still moving and biting her scalp, but soon the nits would hatch and there would be twice as many on her head. Instead of trying again, and putting more chemical into her hair, an idea came to mind. We had been using “Dr. Bronner’s 18-in-1 Pure Castile liquid Peppermint Magic Soap” in the shower lately because Cheryl said it wouldn’t leave a scum in the tub like bar soap.

Dr. Bronner’s is a concentrated peppermint oil that we put in a pump bottle. One pump into the palm will lather up a good portion of your body and leave you smelling like a Life Saver mint. I can attest to the fact that it leaves no soap residue in the tub. I can also attest to the fact that you do not want to get it into your eyes because it stings like acid. I thought about it for a moment. If it stings the eyes so bad, I wonder if it would kill the lice. Besides, it’s made to go on the skin and isn’t an insecticide.
“Oh, Kalene. Let’s try something new at the shower.”
She came into the bathroom in her robe. “Does this have anything to do with clippers?” she asked.
“Silly girl,” I laughed. “I want to try something. Get down on your knees and hang your head out over the tub. Keep your eyes closed tight and I am going to put this peppermint soap all through your hair and scalp and we’ll let it sit for a moment to see what it does to the lice. Keep your eyes closed tight.”
Reluctantly, she got on her knees on the bathmat and hung her head over the tub. I poured some of the Dr. Bronner’s into my palm and began running it through her hair and over her scalp. The concentrated liquid matted her hair and I made sure that every hair shaft was coated. Cheryl came to watch.
As I parted the hair, we could see the lice writhing from the burn of the peppermint oil. The oil was also going into the nit larva and frying them too. I was pleasantly surprised that her hair was not coming out in my hands also.
“Let’s give this a minute and then you get back in the shower and rinse the soap out of your hair really good. Then we will see how your head looks. Make sure to keep your eyes closed tight. Mom will help you with the water.”
Five minutes later, I heard the shower come on and Cheryl helped Kalene rinse the soap out of her hair completely. The bottom of the tub was covered with dead lice and nits. It worked and made her smell like a Life Saver mint.
Knowing that she would have a hard time sleeping the night without her two bedmates, I came up with another brilliant idea: I’ll coat Mr. Monkey and the Wooley Bear with Dr. Bronner’s which will kill any lice and then I’ll throw them in the washing machine. Oh, Mr. Mitchell, your brilliance amazes me!
With the monkey and bear lathered up, I tossed them into the wash. When they came out, the sock monkey was no worse for wear. The bears long fluffy coat was matted. Perhaps, I should have let them air dry, but bedtime was near, so I tossed them into the dryer. In thirty minutes, I pulled out the sock monkey who had the same smile on his face letting me know that he was just fine. Mr. Wooley Bear came out looking like a sheep. This shouldn’t have surprised me since I have also made many of Cheryl’s wool sweaters into doll clothes.
Now in a panic. I wondered if Kalene would believe me if I told her that I gave Wooley Bear a perm.
She is now 37 years old and has moved multiple times across the country with her husband. They have no children or pets, but they do have Mr. Monkey and the Wooley Bear who will follow her forever. And for guests who ask if Wooley is a sheep, she answers with, “No, he is a bear with a perm. I can thank my dad for that.”
Faith Family Life Getting Older Growing Up Misadventures Music Patriotism Pets or Pests? Snips Tributes
They were the best of mimes; they were the worst of mimes. Having seen enough, we decided to leave the Arts Festival and go on a bike ride.
My wife, Cheryl, and I had just purchased E-bikes — Aventon bikes to be exact. Since having recently retired, we were using every opportunity possible to ride 15-to-35-mile day trips. Out of Anacortes, Washington we had taken ferries to ride Guemes, San Juan, and Lopez Islands. These were all nice day-rides capable of being done without exhausting the batteries.
High school kids and Friday nights. Nearly always a bad combination. Friday nights mean parties, mischief, or both. I woke up at my usual late time on Saturday morning and staggered to the bedroom window to check on the weather.
Author’s note: In 1990, I wrote this bedtime story for my two year old daughter. Tucked into the covers next to her were Mr. Monkey and the Wooly Bear and on her bedroom floor, the biplane. I hope that your children and grandchildren will enjoy hearing it too.
Rocking horses and Teddy Bears are scattered around the floor in her room upstairs and little Kalene lies sleeping in her crib. There is an airplane mobile flying overhead, protecting the airspace above her bed and a music box across the room plays gentle music.
Set up on a grassy bluff at Bowman’s Bay State Park, the band looked out across the water flowing through Deception Pass under the two spans of the bridge. The breeze off the water swept hair across their faces and threatened to tip the music stands over. A crowd was gathering on that sunny Sunday to hear the Dunton Sister’s Bluegrass Band play through their repertoire of music and debut the new song, Deception Pass Blues. Besides the noise of the wind in their microphones, the Navy EA-6B Prowlers could be heard and seen departing Whidbey Island Naval Air Station, honing their skills in readiness for their next call to a conflict somewhere in the world.
Sitting on a log at Bowman’s Bay,
Believing that today would be the day,
That I’ve waited for so long just to hear him say, “Be my wife”.
And the sun was so warm, and the waves were bright,
As they rolled to the shore in the morning light.
The current was running in the pass so strong,
That it looked like a river and it flowed with a song
And the sky was filled with the Navy’s roar.
My eyes saw beauty, but my mind thought war.
And the sea bird’s cry makes me wish that I was with you.
Deception Pass Blues
A military family, he traveled all around.
Saw all the bases and lived in every town.
And now he is a pilot, to emulate his dad.
A member of a squadron at Whidbey N.A.S.
I met him at a party at Bowman’s Bay.
He asked me on our first date, a year ago today.
It’s here he said he’d meet me, but he’s so late,
And he told me there was something that he really had to say.
And the sky was filled with the Navy’s roar.
My eyes saw beauty, but my mind thought war.
And the sea bird’s cry makes me wish that I was with you.
Deception Pass Blues
I hear footsteps behind me and then I turn to see,
A Navy man in uniform walking down toward me.
Respectfully he asks my name with envelope in hand.
Handing me the message he said, “Sorry about this ma’am.”
The note was very simple. There wasn’t much to say.
“It’s three a.m., I’m on the run. The squadron’s called away.
To rendezvous aboard a ship somewhere out at sea.
Sorry that I stood you up. Will you wait for me?”
Sitting on a log at Bowman’s Bay
The sun is going down, it’s the end of the day.
So, I head back up the trail with his message in my hand,
And I pray that God will watch him, cuz I really love that man.
And the sky was filled with the Navy’s roar.
My eyes saw beauty, but my mind thought war.
And the sea bird’s cry makes me wish that I was with you.
Deception Pass Blues.
© 1999, Marty Mitchell. Written for the Dunton Sisters Bluegrass Band.

Faith Family Life Getting Older Growing Up Misadventures Music Patriotism Pets or Pests? Snips Tributes
It used to be that when I was young, strong, and had hair, just walking in front of a group of women would make them stare. Now when the women stare it is usually because something is wrong. I’m not saying that I look bad in a swimsuit but last year while walking on the beach in Cancun the women secretly dressed me with their eyes. It’s because I have fashion blindness.
I am standing in the kitchen looking out the window at my garden. There are two Blue Jays on the bird feeder, eight finches hanging from the suet block, two hummingbirds fighting for supremacy at their feeder, a two-point buck and a doe feeding on apples in the orchard, a black cat that hides in the garden hedge and four squirrels on my front porch. I feel like Snow White.
My counselor thinks that I should lose the dress and identify with another Disney character.
It was a scene reminiscent of an Elmer J. Fudd hunting cartoon. My granddog Milton Barry and I were stalking wild game. I was wearing my plaid hunting cap and my wool coat. In my hands I carried a 12 gage 1897 Winchester pump shotgun. We were walking on tiptoes. I had never seen a dog do that before.
Saturday, June 4th, 1988. Just another typical weekend morning for me. I was reclined in my lounge chair in front of the TV, sipping a cup of coffee and watching Garfield and Friends. These were the Saturdays I enjoyed. Totally relaxed, no socks on, not a care in the world.