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?