One Year at a Time

Disclaimer: Those are not my hands. They belong to one of the nail techs at Claws.

I am a massage therapist. My fingernails are short, round and natural. No one appreciates

a therapist with nails like those. No matter how pretty they are, they are scratching weapons.

When you learn something new, the best place to start is the beginning. So it is with blogging. I gave birth to Ronda's Wonderland on New Year's Day, one year ago, for no other reason that I wanted to give it a go. My first few posts were read only by my best friends and sister, who I also count as one of my best friends. I'm really glad because they were awkward and tenuous.

Somehow, I don't mind my friends seeing me as I struggle to learn something new. I know that no matter what weird stuff I try, and believe me, I have a taste for the eclectic and esoteric, they are always there to put a bandage on my knee.

Reya, of According to the Cosmology of Reya, and Mrsupole, of Mrsupoles' Place, encouraged and supported me with my first teetering, baby blogging steps. They, and the rest of you, nudged me into toddling along on my own. Through the process, I eventually, began to find my "voice." And, to pay it forward, I've helped other new bloggers get started.

One of the things that really surprised me about blogging is that it is one of the final frontiers. Not like outer space or the brain, but in the sense there are no rules. Like the wild, wild west, we do what we want out here. The freedom of personal expression and access to an immediate audience that exists in Blog World is unlike any other. I've never understood the appeal of reality shows but, I think I just got the concept. Being a blog author is like being the star of your own reality show. And you know what? It feels great!

So, please help me commemorate my first year in Blog World. Stop by and have a glass of Champagne, a bite to eat and nice visit. For your sustenance, I offer a fresh, green salad with tangy, Italian dressing, a pasta salad with feta cheese and black olives, soft, warm homemade rolls and cheesecake for dessert. The Red Queen says, we'll leave the light on.

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In the Mood

I've been in the mood lately. A very domestic mood. But, don't tell the Wonder Husband. I really like him thinking that it's not my A-game. A woman is not as interesting as when she veils herself in a little mystery. Some women hide their shopping addictions, proclivities for ecstatic substances or sexual fantasies. Me? I hide my Martha Stewart moments.

I go in and out of domesticity like most people go in and out of bad moods. Don't get me wrong, after over 30 years of marriage, the Wonder Husband knows that I'm adept at making home and hearth. I just don't want him expecting it on a regular basis. Fix dinner? Not tonight, honey...I have a headache.

The truth is that there are times I really enjoy a good house cleaning rout or a day long, cooking extravaganza. But, just as often, I enjoy getting out in the world and knocking down some mega bucks. Or being the accountant and bookkeeper for both of our businesses. Or spending the day writing and living in a fantasy world of my making. Or maybe I need to get a massage, a pedicure, my hair done and an eye brow wax. I'm learning that a good brow shaping and the plucking of a few rebellious, downward growing, brow hairs can erase years. So it is with domesticity. After all, I am in my maintenance years and need to gain every advantage I can in every area I can.

I think it's good for a woman to keep herself from getting pigeon-holed into any particular role. I mean, I've been studying men for years and they are quixotic and hard to pin down. And now I know why. It can definitely be an advantage to the game of love. As a young wife, I was eager to be seen as a good home maker. I grew up in a generation that was infected with the tainted archetype of Donna Reed, the perfect wife. As a seasoned wife, I'm inoculating myself against that virus. No longer craving adulations for my culinary and domestic coups, I prefer to bask in anonymity.

So, that's why I'm sitting here seriously considering buying some take out containers and using them to present this beautiful meal I've prepared. Shh, mums the word. There'll be no tattling to the Wonder Husband about my tasty, little deception. Thankfully, he only sneaks over and reads my blog once in a while. Oh, yeah, and I can always tell he's been here by the little words he lets slip. He has his secrets, I have mine.

Ronda Has Horns Beneath Her Halo

Just thought I'd sing you a little Christmas carol. Yes, the song is about me. To my friends, I've long been the object of admiration and adoration. See how they laud my many abilities and capabilities?

(sung to the tune 'Deck the Halls')

Ronda is a workaholic, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
She's always at Smith Chiropractic, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Patients come and patients go, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Still she's there with her hello, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

Most people think she has a halo, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la,la, la
Big and bright and shining yellow, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
But she has horns that grow below it, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
And there're times when she will show it, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

She is turning 50 soon, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Her insurance rates will zoom, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
In the mail she'll find an AARP card, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Still, she'll plant in her back yard,Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

Yin and B.B. are her friends, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Randy pinches when she bends, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
She teaches her nephews bad things, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Such as lap and pole dances, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

She was great as Mrs. Claus, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
The kids thought that she was from Mars, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Give her just a bit of Schnapps, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Just keep her away from cops, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

All in all, she's quite the woman, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
She massages boobs and tusches, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
For all kinds of weird patients, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
But she does it with such graciousness, Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

Since I am closer to 60 than 50 now and I am long gone from Smith Chiropractic, this was written about 8 or 9 years ago. It was written and sung to me by my friends as they passed the Sacred Unicorn unto my keeping. You don't know the legend of the Sacred Unicorn? Ah, that is a story for another time.

Until then...Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la!

After Glow

Bodies press together.
Feverish. Meeting. Mashing.
Falling away. Meeting again.
Twisted and tangled together.
A tingle...rising in an, as yet,
unfulfilled promise.
Tension building.
Holding back.
Surging forward.
Over and over again.
Giving. Taking. Receiving.
Fast, abandoned acceleration ignites
a juicy, exploding orgasm.

Spent.
Nothing left.

My shopping frenzy...
over for another year.

This is my first attempt at telling a story in 55 words or less. Friday Flash 55's ringleader is g-man. Go see him on Fridays to read more or give it a try. I know it's Tuesday and not Friday but I'm not much for coloring inside the lines. I'm a rebel without a clause.

Here Comes the Sun!

Here we go again! I can't help but start to get a little excited as we draw near the winter solstice occurring this coming Monday. For us, in the northern hemisphere, it signals the end of fall and the beginning of winter. While our southern neighbors are enjoying the holidays at summer solstice. To some of them, like Baino and Lily, it's a great "time for an ice cold Horton's Semillon and a leg dangle in the pool . . ." From that day forward, it will start to get a little bit lighter each day for us and for them, darker.

It's always darkest before the dawn. That's how I feel at this time of year. My physical and emotional bodies just want to follow the ancient rhythms of life. To draw my energy inward just like the wise, old trees and hibernating animals. At the height of the holiday season, with all its activities and socialization, when all I want to do is hunker down and write or read a book or watch a movie, I have to fight to make myself get out in the world. It just seems to go against the order of life. Well, mine anyway. Am I the only one?

I sometimes think, after all my many years of celebrating the holidays during winter, how weird it would feel to experience them during summer. But, truly, it would probably better fit my energy pattern. Anyway, just a few more days until I start counting down to the coming light and energy packed, warm days. Time to make a wish and spin that wheel of life again in the power of the new born year.

So, if by chance, you happen to be at a party and you see a middle aged woman wrapped in a fluffy, white, spa robe wearing crocheted, patchwork, granny slippers, sipping out of a Crown Royal whiskey bottle while using its purple, velvet bag for a purse, say cheers. I'll wave back and offer you a knock off the 'ol bottle. Of course, I'll wipe the top off with my sleeve first. After all, my momma raised me to have manners!

Here comes the sun, (du-du-du-du)
Here comes the sun
And I say
It's alright

George Harrison
Here Comes the Sun

Sugar and Spice

It doesn't take a lot to make kids happy. Well, maybe it doesn't take a lot to make people, in general, happy. A little thoughtfulness. A kind gesture. A few minutes of your time and attention can change the course of other's lives in immeasurable ways.

The meditation group I belong to is overseen by Humanity in Unity. We look into the heart of our community with special eyes to see where we can help. And, sadly, there is no lack of need for support. This holiday season, we adopted a family and provided what we could.

We also have a transitional program, Faith Works, that we've worked with for a couple of years. It has a very high success rate. Almost all of the funding goes to the people involved and not to administration. Families who've been blown apart have a chance to pick up the shards of broken lives and move on together. Parents, who've lost their children due to drug use or imprisonment, get to live with them as long as they comply with the rules of this two year program.

They get to reside in a decent apartment complex. There is a social worker on the premises and the rules are strict. Drug testing is enforced. They have mandatory educational classes on child care and life skills. They have to be in their apartments for the night by 10 p.m. They have to get jobs and pay a nominal rent. For those that survive the program, the rewards are great. They get to have their children and spouses back. The money they pay for housing is returned to them at the conclusion of the program. They'll be able to afford to start their new lives in a place of their own.

The other night we put on a party for the kids. One of our members, Susan, made these charming graham cracker houses. She had them all ready for the children to gussy up with all the candy we brought. It was a fast and furious hour and a half filled with flying, royal icing and sticky, happy fingers. The kids had a swell time! Each house was a thing of beauty and a joy forever. One little boy took the house he had so carefully crafted and gave it to his babysitter.

Even those having next to nothing can find a way to extend a charitable hand. He was proud, generous and filled with love. That is, until the instant he realized the party was over and he had no more time to make himself a candy house. The tears welled in his eyes. He boo-hooed like a five year old. Oh, wait! He was a five year old. We quickly found one last house. Smeared it with icing and "snowed" sprinkles over the top. His eye-clouds-and-rain cleared. A smile came out. Sprinkles can fix most anything, it seems.

Sven, the Snow God

And, now, for our first look at the InaccuWeather forecast for Redding. Some places in the valley are already down to the 20s at this hour...if you can believe it! Chico is at 26 degrees right now and we've still got a long way to go before the night is over.

It is cold across the north state and it's going to stay that way for the next couple of days. Remember the snow I've been telling you we were going to get for the last couple of days? Well, it went to Sacramento, Stockton, Lodi...unusual places. It was cold enough for snow in the north state, the north part of the valley. But the moisture was just a little too far to the south, and it stayed to the south, so we didn't really get anything as far as snow is concerned. But the temperatures are really agreeable for a little snow tonight so we could have some by morning.

So, why, when the weather man promises snow in the a.m., do we always wake up to not a cloud in the sky? We have sneaky snow here in our little corner of California. It falls in when we aren't looking.

I met Sven, the Snow God, when I was a mere child praying for a snow day. He's quite the little trickster having a good laugh at our expense. Sven loves a good round of Peek-a-Boo I Got You or You've Been Pranked. Just like when someone points to a spot on your shirt with their index finger, you look down and then you get poked in the nose, I fall for his promise every time.

Okay, Sven, I have always been, and probably will always be, your sucker. I'm gonna look away now...k?

***The answer to last week's Theme Thursday question in the post Happy Birthday, Friend : The Birthday girl is third from the left.

Uranus Unleashed?

How I came to arrive at this specific point in time was, seemingly, a series of random incidents. Now, in the ever darkening slip of day into night, I see that this alignment was no accident. A fissure in the dimensional ordering of the universe had opened. Energies were streaming through ruptured space with a feral ferocity that rendered the people nearest the opening at their mercy. Their will was no longer their own.

As he turned the corner, another driver plowed through the intersection hitting him. Their cars kissed with a smack. Pieces fell like amputated body parts from the two cars. The rocking wheel-well liner marked time like a metronome for the chrome bumper. Shimmering with the rainbow of the flashing signal lights, it skipped across the pavement like a stone off of water. The low speed impact left both drivers unharmed. Their vehicles clattered and steamed off the main road coming to rest on the side street.

Information was exchanged. Denials of fault were, hopefully, tendered. Each sought the sanctuary of spotlessness. They took my name as witness. Looming like a backdrop in a 50s, B movie, the silver diner flashed its neon 'WELCOME' sign. Like a sign of welcome at the gates of Hell, I find no solace here. I surrender all thoughts of control I once held about how this night would unfold. I wasn't going anywhere soon. In fact, I wasn't going anywhere for quite some time.

From across the street, I hear the dull "thunk" of bone covered flesh smashing fleshy gut. Shouting. Scuffling. Two shadow-men circle each other. Watching. Gauging. Punching. Kicking. I call the criss-crossed street sign of Market and Trinity streets into the holy service of protection. More shadow people surround them trying to break up the fight. Voices yelling, "Just take a walk, guys. Take a walk. The cops are coming." Like two animals posturing, neither wants to be the first to signal weakness. Finally one turns, sets a metal cigarette sign swinging with a ringing blow of his fist and is surrounded by his homies. The other lets fly a primitive shriek on the sky, "A-R-G-H-H!!!!" Frustration hangs on his shoulders as he walks down the street.

Her Botticelli body moving with amazing speed, a young woman chases him down. "Call me c**t!," she dares him. "Call me a c**t again! CALL ME A C**T," she screams. He wants to. Oh, he wants to real bad. Nose to nose, they stand. Her hand raised. His body rippling with the energy of restraint. If he lets one syllable of that cacophonous word loose, she'll rip into him with carnivorous delight and devour his slight frame. The red and blue flashing lights of the PD cruisers bring an end to the stand off. She vanishes like a magician.

Screaming like a wild animal, his battered body lumbers through the intersection. Unsteady hands fumble. Metallic clanging resonates upon the ground. The glint of oncoming headlights spark the foil on the asphalt like a star in the night. A knife? A piece of metal off one of the cars? Finding it first with his boot, he picks it up and hobbles down the sidewalk screaming "F**K" to the night.

Cruiser after cruiser roll by. Some stop for the accident. Some stop for the fight. Some light up and roll, with their siren's screeching, in hot pursuit. Ambulances arrive to carry any torn, shaken or injured bodies. EMTs offer assistance. In disbelief, from the cold, stone walkway under the nearly full, winter white moon, I watch this apocalyptic scene erupt. At any minute, I expect fires to flare and tidal waves to crash on this beach of destruction consuming the insanity. In contrast to the ugliness of the night, a cute, female, fair-haired officer, ponytail swaying, warns us to go inside and lock the doors. The hunt is on for a bad guy. Someone was knifed during the fight.

The next morning this vortex of energy is still wide open. As I approach that same corner, something seems odd. Shielding the sunlight from blinding my view, I can see a ball cap. A ball cap and a shoe lie in the middle of the road. An old man, pulled off to the side of the road, leans against the open door of his white, 1992 Chevrolet. Gray hair standing in the breeze, lined faced even more furrowed with bewilderment, he stares down the road. The scene is set. He's hit someone. But there is no body. No body at all. Vanished. Usually it is the hitter that runs not the victim. I wonder how much longer this area will be under attack as the search helicopters thump-a-thump-a through the air. Weird. Freaky weird.

Later, I learn from the pony tailed officer that the stabbing victim was the guy who had the knife. Some how he had stabbed himself becoming both the villain and the victim. And the missing body, well, he'd been running from the police who were searching his car for meth when he got hit. He kept running until they finally found him down by the river. Whether this flux comes from the "direct" energy of the planet Uranus or the full moon, I don't care. Enough is enough. I pray at the cross of Market and Trinity, "please close these portals quickly because the chaos that is reigning supreme is too strong for mere mortals. Way too strong. "

Happy Birthday, Friend!

My, my, my...life comes with a synchronicity that knows no bounds. The topic of this week's Theme Thursday is "FRIEND." As today is one of my best friend's birthday, I'm sure the theme selection was made in her honor. She is one of the people in the above photo. Like Waldo, she likes you to try to find her. Go on...the lucky winner gets a prize. Y'all like Limburger cheese, don't cha?

I guess I should start out by telling you how old she is...well, maybe not. Let's just say she's older than her daughter and younger than Mick Jagger. She is a self confessed "word nerd." She'll spank your apple bottom to a rosy red at Scrabble and challenge you to a race through the telephone book to look up a number. Man, woman or child, you better know your alphabet, because this is one win you'll have to earn.

She's been spotted drinking a bottle, or three, of Coppola wine and then hitting the gift boutiques on grape-buzzed shopping sprees. Okay, it was me that spotted her, but someone had to help her with all that wine. And friends don't let friends shop alone.

She once went here and dropped her cell phone from the third story balcony of the hotel. It is unclear if wine was involved in the brutal slaying of cellular technology. In true Tiger Woods fashion, she denied 'rumors' but explained little. Well, until she had to, of course.

She recently became a MIL. Yes, I meant MIL, as in mother-in-law, and not MILF even though some may see her as such. If you don't know what MILF is, watch the movie American Pie 'cause I'm not gonna explain it here. This is a picture of her grandpuppers, Love and California.

She's had many, many songs written about her by the man who "rocks" her world. Not to mention the unforgettable, although I'm sure she's tried, Oh, God, How I Love My Cabernet written by yours truly. I tried to find a copy of it but couldn't. I'll keep looking because I'm sure she'd love to see it here. Wouldn't you?

She loves books, chocolate, Cabernet and her "kid."

Although she's a good wife, she kinda has a "thing" for Cal Ripken, Jr. and Bruce Springsteen. She acts younger than she does old and she's old enough to have fun. She's a member in good standing of the Birthday Club, a group of us dedicated to getting together to celebrate each members special day.

Happy Birthday, dear friend.
And call the fire marshall...there's about to be one towering inferno of a cake!

*Members of the Birthday Club, their family members (living or deceased), pets and Smart cars are ineligible for the Where's Friend Contest.

I'm a Soul, Man!

Photo: God's Eye

By: Jim Tomsich (my brother-in-law)

This is the time of year when I start to look closely and introspectively at who and what comes into my life. Who is on the phone when it rings? Who do I encounter? Who contacts me through the various forms of communication? The last few weeks, I've observed that the people coming into my life are a part of my Soul Group.

From the very beginning, the universe developed with a variety of speeds and stages. At points during this evolution, different Star or Soul groups formed. As they grew into advanced civilizations and societies, their physical and spiritual sides came into balance. Guided by the Divine (I like to believe) or as a natural part of evolution, they brought a specific purpose to the universe.

Our Soul Group is comprised of beings who started out with us at the beginning of our creation. They are from the same star, universe or loca where our incarnations began. People from the same Soul Group have the same life, or rather, lifetimes purpose. Different groups have different missions. Some are concerned with art and creativity generation after generation. Some are concerned with peace or healing or teaching. Some have spiritual messages to bring out on Earth.

I've been recognizing members of my Soul Group for a while now. We have common goals and like mindedness. There is an ease of communication even though we are newly acquainted. But the last few weeks, those I've recognized are starting to recognize me. Now, it's not like they say, "Hey, Ronda! I'm from your Soul Group." It's more like, when I recognize them, I know it and send out an unspoken signal asking for a response. I usually think, " Gee, it's so good to see you again. I've missed you. When you remember who I am, give me a jingle." I hadn't gotten much response. But all of a sudden, bam! From across the country and across the globe, they have been contacting me.

I am as excited as an electron meeting a proton. I have received several phone calls, e-mails, and even some CDs from members of my group. I'm not sure what we all have in common yet except that we are highly creative, possess largess of vision, love of humanity, universal (and I mean that as in the Milky Way and beyond) philosophy and humor. In time, our mission will become clear. Until then, it is enough for me that we recognize each other.

So the next time someone you can't place looks familiar to you, there may be a reason other than forgetfulness. Stop for a moment. Think. Send out a vibe that says you recognize them as being a part of your Soul Group. Wait for a response. Although it can sometimes take a while, when the person responds with an answer that confirms your thought, it will be well worth the wait. Have you heard from anyone lately that makes you stop and think about your connection to each other?