Wow! So little blogging on my part, and so many changes to report! What happened to the coast and plush greenery? It's been replaced by huge mountains, rock formations and sunshine! Yes, I have up and done it again! I swore off moving but here I am with a new zip code and a new city map. As Martha Stewart would report "it's a good thing". I am equiped with a song in my heart and enjoying that melody. Here I am safe and sound... tucked into a beautiful town house feeling like I princess. Next thing on the list... makes some friends and plug into my new community. Hmmmm..... think I'll start with a diet Pepsi at the mini mart down the street. I'll keep you posted.

A glimpse of Oregon...

Gracie.... the original queen bee who is now currently planning her escape route away from Flea hopper.

DYNA REPORT

"Warm wooly mitten and soft fuzzy kittens... these are a few of my favorite things...." This the song that was interrupted by the sharp little teeth that just chomped down on my ankle!" Here she is... Little Dnya. Oooooh don't let the innocent expression on this fuzzy, little, flea hopper fool you! Our house once invaded by her introduction of fleas, has now been taken over by some crazed, hopping tasmanian devil! A.K.A Dyna.... She's been here only a few weeks and it is good that she has these "cute" moments that steal our hearts! I'm becoming all to used to my new "kitty tattoos" and rather fond of Dyna as my new hair accesory! I am addapting to sleeping with a pillow on my head to prevent the unexpected lion like attacks that randomly occur as one has just found a comfortable r.e.m. pattern. Even with our new fish breathed accrobat invasion... she still provokes and "ahhhhh....." Who could pass this face up?

I Scream you scream we all scream for ice cream!

Oregon is finally over 80 degrees and bursting with sunshine! Wouldn't you know it... the local ice cream man is in full swing with plenty of sweaty faced children seeking popsicles! Once again his selected tune to encourage ice cream consumption is ringing through the streets. "We wish you a Merry Christmas....." and let us not leave out "Dashing through the snow...." How does this man ring in his New years or celebrate the holidays I wonder? Does a family gather around the tree and sing "I've got sunshine... on a cloudy day...." or mayb a little Louie Armstrong.. Ah.. perfect.. "I see skies of blue... red roses to...". I'ts people like the ice cream man who unintentionally put a smile on ones face... even if they are serving up more then popsicles. So, here is a hats off and a toast to you Mr. Ice Cream Man for making the day a little more then sweet .

Flea Hopper....

Report from the flea hopper A.K.A DYNA: "It'a a fantastic day in the neighborhood!" The sky is blue and the jar... full of skittles! Ahhhh... isn't she precious? Looks like you'll be seeing more of me.... he he he. Ms. Left of Center... she's got a new toy thanks to the other lobe! Watch out world.... SMILE... and don't forget to say CHEESE!

Plastic People....

"It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all...." I can clearly visualize the little, plastic people. Their large eyes emphasizing the painted on and polished smiles. Each movement a monotonous and clearly predictable template of the last. Their deaf ear completely inanimate to the world around them. Each country represented by it's cutely pollished figures contained within it's own whimsical environment. Being an on looker within this ride's little world, I always wanted to climb out of the boat and away from the certainty of the boats predictably fixed course. The subject's intentions are clear and neatly arranged with precision. I often imagined escaping from the boundries of my boat onto the little islands and what I would do once there? Perhaps my intentions were to get a mere close up of these quaint little plastic people? More often then not, my thoughts were fixed on the idea of rearranging their little worlds. I often wondered what the onlookers would think if they were to approach the ride and see the cute little dutch girl hanging out with a member of the Motley Crue or the Chinese little boy dressed in drag and singing to a beat of his own? Don't get me wrong, I am all for the encouragement of a world where everyone can sing in unity. What I find myslef perplexed by is the accepted tune we all appear subconsciously assingned and expected to fit within. We all hear the tune. Everyone seems happy as long as the plastic little people all line up in neat little rows. I find that the song is unanimous as long as we stick to it's notes. But what if the little drummer boy was smiling because he heard a different tune? Maybe there is something more within the small world of this ride? What if for once we climbed out of our predictable boat and listened to the tune? Within that tune and amongst the line up of smiling faces is a voice to be heard. It may be unpredictable or in a different language but it's desire is to be heard all the same. Can we be capeable of hearing more then one tune? Or will we settle with the monotony of it's repeated verse turning our deaf ear to it?

For My "Dusty Play Mate"

Leaves of orange, leaves of yellow, bold and bright dancing with delight.

Softly swaying. Harmoniously playing. Music to my ponderoud mind.

Leaves of season without apparent reason take the stage in the morning light.

Perched on trees until a calming breeze sends them hovering high above.

Floating free, come down and dance with me as we play without a bother in mind.

A beautiful pageant, shimmering bright glowing with the morning light.

A carefree playmate of leisure, welcomed for the short season

dips and twirls what a spectacular sight!

A dance once for two have added anew

leaves from all over the once silent neighbor hood.

A spectacular ball fit for a queen

with embellishments built on imagination and daydreams.

Blissfully floating, dancing, delighting.

An artistic display keeps me running away with my wandering immagination.

Untitled...

You told me not to leap from star to star

Said to take the subway instead of my car

You hustle and bustle with the rest

Ignoring the answers to past the test

Love one another wasn't your game

You made disciples of your very own name

Lost little man in this very big place

Eating ice cream never taking a taste

Telling the sun it shouldn't shine

Asking the pigeons if they know the time

They look like you

all clones of the same

with leaches for pets bearing fancy names

Your mother would shake in her very own grave

seeing the monster that's come to play

Lost little man

thinks he's the one

bright enough to steal my sun

Lost little man in this very big place

Never knowing life

Never taking a taste

Circus Cookies....

CHA CHING! CHA CHING! CHA CHING! Ahhh... the all to farmiliar sound, not of a slot machine's pay of but of the clanking grocery cart which reasonably appears to still wobble about on it's three wheels instead of four. "Welcome to Wallmart" enthusiastically stated by the blue vested indvidual who is watching the clock for shift's ends. My son hates Wallmart. It's noise, bright lights and the screaming megaphone children who seem to be very common to the Wallmart experience. On some days I would agree with him. Today however on one of my senceless and aimless bouts to the well adventured local Wallmart, I saw more then the "Smiley yellow faces" offering the ever so popular "lower prices." Perhaps the journey started with the chinese woman next to me who was carrying on a cell phone conversation that sounded more like the clang and clatter of one of my previously owned delapidated vehicles? Maybe it was the well bronzed fellow who wore the permanately inked "Brown Pride" across his body while proudly holding his brand new baby and walking with it's pale skinned, blonde haired blue eyed mother? Wallmart seems to contain more then it's promise of low prices. At any given moment you can find a wealth of experiences to be had. Some sights are well farmiliar like the hefty gal who seemed to not only have forgotten enough clothing to cover her well rounded figure but allso seemingly left her manners at home to. There are also the well groomed young men who are sure not to be missed by the trail of cologne waiting to entice some young and unexpecting female that passes by. Beyond the faces and the people the treasures they collect in those clanging carts can be rather interesting also. Perhaps one could make a quick assumption into their world by the contents of their carts? There is the nice looking young man who has carefully sellected an array of freezer goods... quick and easy to prepare. To be functionally enjoyed with his chosen pop beverage. I assume he is single at the easily prepared contents he collects. There is the gal down the freezer aisle who in my mind is sure to have gone through a recent break up of a loved one by the sweet and abundant collection of frozen arrangements placed in her cart. Her posture relaying that the sweets aren't that inticing. Her down cast head stares dissappointed at the ground perhaps collecting more ice cream then she would on any other day? Today was like most days. Perhaps my perspective was jaded at my consideration of purchasing the pink and white animal cookies... you know... the ones with little, colorful sprinkes on the top? Maybe it was that today I had no time restrictions and was able to appreciate the quietness within myself amongst the usual chaotic establishement? It could have been the smiling elderly woman who needed help reaching the can at the top shelf? To tell you the truth, I'm not really sure what it was that entertainingly captured my attentions so well today in Wallmart. I guess it could be that in everything there is a Wallmart experience to be had. We could listen to the clang and clatter of the world around us or put the pink and white animal cookies in our carts. Guess it all depends on our perspective. It could be that my Wallmart trip is a mere reflective from one who was in her own strange and of beat world today? Whatever it be, if I could share my Wallmart experience with you today, my hope... Is that along your way even in the mundane today, you picked up the pink and white animal cookies. The ones with the little colorful sprinkles on top.

More Bananas....

Out and about one day on a casual afternoon drive, I was captivated by some rather large windows. These windows appearning on the front of some town houses in a neighborhood that overlooked the city below. "For Sale" sounded like a reasonable invite. These windows on the town houses were grand and I'm sure offered a clear and beautiful perspective of the city below. Although I was not in the market to purchase any property my curiosity enticed me to come in. There was a bold and large surrounding metal gate that ran the length of the town house's perimeter met by a high and solid brick wall that allowed no visibility to the property within its borders. I approached the gate in my old and "hand" painted car (litterally for those who remember this page in my journey) whose make and model were so unimportant that I can't recall it anymore. I was met by a well pressed and suited man whose title said "security". I smiled and offered a warm and friendly greeting. I was surprised when he firmly asked me to turn my vehicle around making it clear that I was not welcomed nor invited behind the gates. I cooperatively pulled away feeling a bit rejected by this man and his quick assumptions. None the less, I headed back down the road along the length of its high brick walls. We are all alot alike as individuals. We are strong and independent. We put up large walls surrounding ourselves evaluating the world around us and those who approach our gates. I'm quite certain that these town houses would have been beautiful as property goes, but I couldn't help but to question those windows looking out over the city. Would the perspecitve look any different from behind the gates? Aren't we all the same at times? Do we not all desire the safety of these borders? Are our borders to keep others at a distance away from our safe place or to keep us in from the world on the other side of the fence? I gather that the walls and fences will always be a part of our society and nature. Yes, many views are available, but I don't believe that it matters which side of the gate you are on. Instinct tells me our desires are all the same. We all want the security of that guard that turns away intruders and ivites the welcomed guests in. It is my hope though that this well pressed and suited man knows me well enough to desiphre who to open the gates for, whom to close it and that he will not turn someone away on quick assumptions.

Bananas from Tonya's brain...

I have this ever nagging request within me the majority of my days to seek out adventure, freedom and the unknown. It's usually a welcomed and perpetual whisper that stirs inside of me. On other occasions though this whisper, although intoxicating can become squashing. It's a reminder that no matter how hard I may try to break free from the society I live in and it's demands, they are ever present and at times smothering. I find that there are those occasions where I become "stuck" in this life like a fly on sticky paper. The voice is hushed and lost amongst the noisy crowd of "have to's and musts" that fill my agenda. Ignored, these whispers soon follow with shouts to slow down or to just "be" still, reminding me to appreciate the moment. Some of these demands are not always my own. They may require my time or efforts, perhaps for a bigger purpose then myself? None the less, they'll still mask the longing to follow my heart and to find my much loved freedom. Thoreau once said that "men labor under mistake. Most men, even in this comparatively free country, through mere ignorance and mistake are so occupied with the factitious cares and superflously coarse labors of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them." I'm well aware that my bank account will not find me this freedom no matter it's ballance. The brand of running shoes I place upon my feet will not give me this entitlement either. Although something I enjoy, neither my travel destinations, my kayak nor my random collection of CD's will sufice. These are not the "fruits" or freedoms in my life that I cherish. This freedom I seek and long for is a gift. It's a gift that I already have. It's understanding the value of my faith and the freedom that comes with it. It's sharing a cherished moments of good company with another. It's the joy found in an e-mail from a long lost friend. It's these "plumbs in my life that wake up the soul freeing my wings from it's sticky paper. It's the adventure of knowing that the fruit is there and available for it's taking. Adventure awaits for me around every corner. It matters not the demands of my day or the places they may bring me to. I'ts simply a matter of seeing the fruit trees in my life and knowing which of these fruits is the sweetest pick.

What year is it?

Michael J. Fox watch out! I think Tristan just stole your DeLorean! Here we are folks... looks like Tristan has returned from his journey in time! It was a "radical" trip I'm certain! Hey... at least he didn't come back with Freddy Kruger or leg warmers!

Toll Free?

The mere existence of this ringing device both pleases and annoys me! My home is no different then any other when it comes to the usage of a tool well known as the "Telephone." When thought about, it is a rather unique and interesting object. We string lines of wire across our cities like spaghetti for the ammusement of what? Us as meat balls? We carry cell phones to allow for our ever increasing mobility. We can be reached on mountain tops, across sea, in war zones and even while locked up or incarcerated. We view our phones as a "freedom". It doesn't matter where we are. We could be five miles away or five thousand and yet we have connection. We have call waiting, caller I.D., phones in our restrooms on our planes. Just about any where we can imagine. We desire this availability! In my own home, my phone bill costs more then my necessities like power or water. It is a service that I voluntarily pay a hefty bill for. What I find most entertaining though is that the telephone also has the ability to bring great joy or a complete dread at the sound of it's ringing. Maybe I should not admit this publicly but what becomes puzzling is that my calls are rarely answered. Yes, I admit that the majority of my callers find their way to "the answering machine." Rarely do I return calls. I screen through what I desire to answer or not to. The sales calls always ditched, the bill collectors to. A cherished few will recive a call back from me, some with a timely responce others may take longer. I am sure to pay my telephone bill monthly to be sure that my service is guaranteed. I want to know that the phone is available, accessable and here at all times as it seems other do also. Why is that? Why do we makes ourselves so accessable yet at the same time so unaccessable? Does it make us feel better to collect callers as though we are collecting votes? Does it make us feel loved and appreciated to see another reach out and seek to call on us? Maybe it is something bigger? Maybe it's the anticipation of that one special call to come? A caller like Ed McCmahn or maybe a lost love or a future friend? Maybe that one special call is different to each of us? What ever it be I am continually marvled at the capeabilities of this ringing in my ear. So, I will continue to put the check in the mail for another month of service. Even if it does make me feel like a meat ball.

Harley Davidson

I nervously arranged my composure drawing nearer to him as he enticingly whispered to me. His low voice beckoned me to draw closer to him. "Touch me" he encouraged. I fumbled forward as my stomach churned with the anticipation of where the encounter may lead. His alluring boldness was becoming although unfarmiliar. I fidgeted nervously wondering if my inexperience was illuminating making me as transparent as I felt. The sun sparkled off of his reflective chrome. The rumbles that echoed behind tickled my sences alluring me to reach out. I ran my fingers along his smooth and newly painted surface. The smell of rubber penitrated the air, available and ready. My personal encounter with Harley Davidson suddenly interrupted! I shyly recoiled as the interrupting stranger approached me. As he spoke unaware that I was a foreigner to the Harley store I felt less intimidated that my presence was not unwelcomed. Although he spoke kindly, I wondered if I had tested his patience due to my lack of understanding his motorcycle vocabulary. I wished that I had an interpretor with me although I cherished the fragments that I was able to pick up from this leather laden stranger. Alligned in gleaming and colorful rows each Harley spoke of a different adventure awaiting it's partaker. One by one I marveled at the unknown. The orange and black dwelling place showcased more then the exibit I was expecting. I was beautifully overwhelmed as the door sprung fourth releasing hidden treasures not only within it's walls but within my own. Murals and photos filled the walls with back drops that revealed my own personal hidden dreams and imaginative visions. How could this be? How could some place I had never been reveal something so personal and unshared? I have yet to uderstand this strange phenomenon or even to desiphre it's meaning. I'm glad that in it's revelation a new door opened. Where it will lead me to? I believe only time will tell.

Dedication to Tristan.

The old man across the way is at it again. Every day he finds his way out to the front lawn with a bucket and a minerature shovel. His straw hat positioned just enough to prevent the expression on his face from shining through. His task is obvious. The same yesterday as is today and sure to be tommorow. He cautiously combs through his lush green lawn looking for what must be viewed as villans, Dandelions! Their bright, little, yellow faces sparce, but never the less poke up randomly as though they were small, smiling faces lost amongst the green crowd of strangers. Every day it is the same. This man determined to see nothing but green in his front lawn. Every yellow spot is quickly removed and disregarded. To most the dandelion is a weed. It does not have it's place amongst it's green companions. As a small child would relay that these are "flowers" to be shared with mom or golden opportunities to be picked and played with. Friends or foes? Is that the question? The old man will always continue to want to rid his lawn of these foes with the belief that they will "choke" out his lawn. I find the same to be true in a society with so many choices and so many beautiful faces. There are those yellow spots of sunshine that pop through. Some will appreciate them for the smile that is brought to their face but most will continue to look on at them as weeds that need to either be made "green" like everyhing else or done away with and disregarded. I can not change the old man, nor would I attempt to, but I will continue to hope that one day as he faces that front lawn that he will set down his shovel and bucket and sits amongst the grass along with it's dandelions. Perhaps just once, he'll tips his hat to reveal an expression of appreciation and joy.

Neighborhood Predators...

I hate to admit this to you, but this subject has been viewed as such a disgrace and avoided for far to long. Today I feel as though it is time to openly come forward and to bring this subject matter out into the light. My hope is to address the issue and to prevent anyone else from losing their innocence as I have experienced. My world has been shaken and I am afraid that it may never return to normal. Yes, I was naive to the type of predators that stalk our families, homes and neighborhoods. It started rather innocently, a meeting of a stranger in a Wallmart parking lot. An exchange of a few kind words and smiles. A stranger being brought into our home. Yes, I believed that there was a level of trust between us. All it took was looking into those addorable blue eyes and I knew the kitten had to be mine! She was welcomed into my home with open arms. What I didn't understand and perhaps was a bit child like upon discovering was that this precious little one was full of fleas. Fleas? I had never come across the experience of these nasty little culprits. No, in my hometown of Nevada we did not have fleas. Quite honestly, I had never even seen a flea before. I took it upon myslef to make this rather quick diagnosis and to resolve the problem at hand. With a desire to snuff out any possibility of harm or threat in my home, I quickly headed to the source of fix-it sollutions. As I enterd my neighborhood Wallmart, I became quickly aware that I might have a bigger problem then I had once assumed. Within this well equipted establishment were flea collars, flea powders, flea sprays.... Having never experienced such a tragic dilema I decided that a nice bath for kitty might do the trick and came out with some purple shampoo that had a lovely grape aroma. I was well prepared. The kitchen sink became the sight for kitties first spa experience. I was sure to have the temperature just right. What I neglected to understand was that these nasty, flea psychos had an incomprehendable jumping ability. I had jumping bean fleas bungeeing all over my kitchen! Poor kittie by now was lathered in her grape aroma wrap and the fleas were insistant that today one of us was going down the drain and it was not going to be them! I'm ashamed to admit that kittie's first visit to the spa was not a positive experience. I panicked when kitty began to release something into the bath water. As the bath water changed colors I naturally assumed that kitty was bleeding to death although this strange matter was being released from her back side and I could find no visible wounds on her. In a panic and with effort to not drown kitty nor have her bleed to death, I put my new sudsy friend in one hand. With the other available digits I was squashing those manic maniacs that were bouncing all over my kitchen! By this time I had annialated buggies between my finger tips, sudsie kittie and a kitchen floor that has apparently become the latest hot spot for these partying punks! I quickly lost control of the situation to these invaders and was taken hostage in my own home! Out of desperation I fled to the nearest neighbor for help but in his attempts to help me find my freedom, I have to report sadly that he to became a part of this sick and twisted situation and left with and "itch". There was no mercy to be had. It was completely apparent that these bouncing vulchers were not going to let me win! Even still as I relay my tragic experience my skin twinges and I feel a need to scratch. Kitty made it through this living nightmare but it is discouraging to relay that she was not left unscarred. We still will have a continued battle as these invaders continue to haunt kittie. I'm sure that the grape aroma will continue to be a haunting memory lingering in our minds but we have a full bottle and will know better next time to go in well armed. I hear they have Flea bombs...shhh!

It's A Hairy Debate....

This morning my eleven year old son and I revisited and ever evolving debate. My well rehearsed "mom speech" spontaniously applied itself with it's typical motherly enthusiasm of "no, you may not get a tatoo, pierce or put any holes in and body parts." It of course evoked the all to farmiliar melodious tune of an eleven year old whining which was sure not to help his case. Today however, he dropped the bar when he presented the issue at hand with "mom, I want a mohawk." Yes, a favorie for those of us whose laugh lines point to the all to farmiliar era of Aqua Net, studded bracelets, white washed jeans, the Rocky Horror Picture Show and let us not forget our favorite, the woman who sang about her virginity while pleasuring herself on stage. Ahhh the 80's. For those of us who understand that once this era has been visited, it never truely leaves you. It lives deep inside earning citizenship among those who know who George Michael is, will always remember the little red hats of the "Safety Dance" or can take the stage with the steps to "Thriller." To those of you who know her, we are also farmiliar with the fact that this eleven year old boy's mother is known to sing to her own tune and is no straner to nor would she object to the thought of "let's see what happens when we put glue in our hair," but here we are. It is 2007 and I am being revisited from the past. I've presented his case. His voice has been heard. What do you think? Would you allow your eleven year old to have a mohawk?

Shiny plastic bobble head people....

As I pulled up to a red light this afternoon, my vehicle aligned behind a shiny, white convertible BMW. What captured my interest for the moment, aside from the loud music escaping the vehicle was the two young, teen age, blonde, bobble heads that were driving it. Their heads bounced to the the beat of the music as if they were spring loaded and without a care in the world. I couldn't help but to conclude that daddy or mommy must have purchased this gem of a vehicle for these two young Barbie impersonators. As I watched the bobble headed driver glance into her rear view mirror I couldn't help but to wonder if she took notice of the couple next to her with a run down vehicle crying it's last plea for driving mobility. This dilapidated vehicle full of children bukled in for the ride sputtered as though it was on it's last breath and determined to make it's destination. As the light gave it's signal to move onward I watched as the two young bobble heads glanced over and mockingly laughed at the car next to them and sped away. Was this young bobble head aware of the world around her or did she look into her rear view mirror only to see a child's game of "Candly Land" whose players were nothing more then mere gum drops or tokens to be tossed playfully like dice across a board? I wonder as time rolls forward, will she ever be blessed with the opportunity to be placed in the driver's seat of life with a broken down Ford?

Bring on the Slim Fast!

While sitting in Fred Meyers and eating a pastry, accompanied by a diet Coke I scanned through an article written in USA Today on the subject of obesity in America. As if the pastry I had just consumed alone wasn't glazed with enough guilt. Expecting the article to be the typical ho hum and encouragement to put the pastry down, I read on. I was surprise to find a new take on the subject. The article suggested that our infulences around us would statistically predict who was or was not going to be over weight. In ther words, If I am a fatty my family will have more of a tendency to be fat. What surprised me though is that the influence did not stop there. It suggested that it did not matter how far away the friends I associated with were. They could be five miles or five thousand miles away. If they had a tendency to be obese, I would be influenced to to gain weight. If they were to lose weight I to would be encouraged to lose weight. The writer suggested that we choose our friends wisely when it comes to eating habits. Hmmmm..... The question that I couldn't help but to ponder??? Which one of you is going to pick up the jogging habit first?