Author: Scabs

Scabs is a mother, best friend, and storyteller, especially around a camp fire. She grew up in the farm country of the midwest. Her first job was picking strawberries. Now she is the Program Director for the Bloom Retreat. She also runs Bloom's podcast Love Rice. In college she studied Dance and Human Development and spent 18 months living among the people of the Philippines. She lives in a dusty old historic home in Arizona with her two children, two dogs andthe meanest old cat alive. She is also basically the heart and soul of Bloom.

The Bathroom Theory, Part 1: Dr. Jennifer Finlayson-Fife

Sex is so confusing in love, deception and marriage…throw in a little dash of porn or an affair and who the hell knows what’s gonna happen. This interview with Dr. Jennifer Finlayson-Fife is full of double-take and re-wind moments.

Accountable Families: Ron DeHaas

It was years ago, when I installed a filter on our household computer for the first time. I was pretty proud of my work. It was a bit complicated but I followed the instructions, installed the software, logged onto the dashboard and set the parental controls. With a bit of satisfaction, I tried to log onto my kids elementary school website and was … denied. Access Blocked. Frustrating.

Podcast: New Brain Cells with Dr. John Ratey

This Love Rice episode, New Brain Cells with Dr. John Ratey, is about much more than enlarging our brains. We talk with Dr. Ratey, a top neuroscience Researcher, Speaker, Harvard Professor, Author and Clinical Psychiatrist about decades of science that teaches us how exercise turns on and balances our brains.

Love Rice… It’s a Podcast

There’s an idea floating around out there. It’s an idea about rice. And what’s even weirder is that it’s an idea about talking to rice. Supposedly, if you tell a jar of cooked rice how worthless it is, it will quickly mold and disintegrate. While if you tell a jar of cooked rice how lovely it is, it will maintain its structure and shape with little or no mold.

Waking The Dead

In the stillness, the brilliant emerald moss seemed to breathe up the crater wall. The diamond water dripping from above appeared like fire or stars falling from an inky sky. In the silence, each diamond fell in slow motion then ker-plopped on the azure surface. Lying back with my hands behind my head I float weightless, my feet dangling, cradled, as if in mother earth’s belly. It’s a strange kind of safety; an exercise in surrender.