FREEEZE...MIAMI VICE!

It's hard to believe that it's been long enough that the 80s are considered nostalgic. How can 30 years just "poof" out of existence? Seems like only a few months ago that we were Flashdancing like maniacs in leg warmers and head bands while singing Betty Davis Eyes.

This is 80s Ronda wearing her patented 'big hair'. This is 80s Ronda being glad she opted for the perm instead of a mullet. What 80s Ronda really wanted was a Pat Benatar haircut, but I think she's glad now that she didn't do that either.

80s Ronda was big into bowling. The paparazzi caught her immediately after she threw this shot. If you look closely at the end of the alley, you'll see there are no pins left on the deck. In this photo, she's trying to explain to Crockett and Tubbs that she did NOT steal that strike. She keggled it fair and square. That's right, keggled as in bowled. Not kegeled, as in pelvic floor exercise. Big difference...now and in the 80s.

You remember Crockett and Tubbs don't you?



Crockett and Tubbs, played by Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas, are two Miami vice detectives from the Metro-Dade Police Department who go undercover to stop drug trafficking. It was one of the first television shows in many years to look really different. It is considered by some to be one of the most influential television series of all time. Unlike the standard cop shows, the creators used 1980s New Wave music, culture and visual effects to tell a story. Former lead singer of The Eagles, Don Henley, was often featured on the show. 80s Ronda really liked Don Henley.

For several years, every Friday night, 80s Ronda and her rowdy little band of miscreants met at 9 p.m. to watch the show. 80s Ronda always posted a lookout by the door so she would never have to hear:

"FREEZE...MIAMI VICE!".

Since she lived in California, that would have been badder than bad.

If you have 80's memories you'd like to share, post 'em up. Thanks, Kat for getting this retro blog theme going.

For the Love of Heaven and Earth

Skimming out of sight with the fading, fractional moon, my favorite day of the year, Summer Solstice, is gone. Done. Over. Fini.

I awoke, sitting straight up in bed, at 4:25 a.m. yesterday. A few minutes later, I felt the tumblers clunk into place as the planets aligned for solstice at 4:28. As always, I surfed the energy of the cosmos. I welcomed the additional boost, that galactic kick in the pants that comes from the shifting of time, into my work day.

The ancient Druids' celebrated solstice as the wedding of Heaven and Earth. What a hot, passionate union this couple ignite.

Happy summer, my friends! It's official now.

Daddy Sent My T-Bird Away!

Here she is, our white, pearlescent bird. She wasn't always so lovely, oh, no. We adopted our '62 T-Bird in 1989. She was wearing old, weathered red paint and we parked her, unceremoniously, on the back lot. For a long time we just ignored her. Ever so often we would stop and gaze at her sleek lines, assuring her that her time of renewal would surely come.


Nearly a dozen years later, the Wonder Husband towed her into the shop and started working on her. Completely dismantling her interior and exterior. He sanded her three f***ing layers of old paint down to fresh metal...his words not mine. He would know. The hundreds of hours he gave to that woman should make me jealous but they didn't.

He gave her new life for me. He gave her new life because that is what he does. A career? A passion? An obsession? At times, the lines blur. He chose her paint and fabric colors carefully with me in mind. Thinking about how I would look driving her. Thinking about what colors looked good on both of us. He made her sturdy enough for any man and stylish enough for any woman.

She was difficult, leaning toward temperamental at times but he never, ever quit on her. Like he never, ever quit on me.

She and I became fast friends. We had lots of adventures and cried together when she had a breakdown. Such is the way with vintage ladies. For four years, we tooled around town looking cool and claiming lots of admirers. And then a couple from Seattle said they wanted her. They wanted to give her a new home in a cooler climate. They wanted to drive her beautiful body cross-country to their 50th anniversary celebration. It was hard letting her go but they can give her the kind of life we can't. We have more cars, that are in the same sad shape she was when we got her, that need tender attention.

We said our goodbyes and watched her tail lights as they rolled off into the sunset.

Fly, little birdie, fly away to your new home.

Massage Marathon

Yesterday was another one of those really, really long days. Doing 12 to 14 hours of massage is definitely a marathon. Ask any therapist. During fall and winter, I pull those on a regular basis and get in the zone. But as spring and summer come, the warm weather invites outside activities. My clients are swimming, hiking, boating, vacationing, and taking care of kids so I get a little softer schedule. Then SLAM***ZAP***POW, out of no where, I get my gluteus maximus kicked.



The Force is strong right now with the Solstice wheeling into view. Over time, I've learned to manage my energy better, to not let it buck me off my path and slam me into the ground. I've learned to stay in the now and not moan and groan and fret about all the kinked up bodies that are lined up waiting to lay on my table and receive the undivided attention of my kneading hands.



People can feel it when we therapists are not centered. Even if they can't put their finger on why, they don't like it at all. It makes them feel unsettled. For me, meditation has come to be in every breath, ever second, and every heartbeat. Yesterday I uncapped a bottle of Lavender essential oil, took a big snort and let the the good vibes flow.



Yee Haw!

Stinky Stats

The following is excerpted from an e-mail that is currently making the rounds:

Are you aware that the Saudis are boycotting American products? In addition, they are gouging us on oil prices. An appealing remedy might be to boycott their GAS. Every time you fill up your car you can avoid putting more money into the coffers of Saudi Arabia. Just purchase gas from companies that don't import their oil from the Saudis.

The following gas companies import Middle Eastern oil:

Shell..................................... 205,742,000 barrels
Chevron/Texaco....................... 144,332,000 barrels
Exxon /Mobil.......................... 130,082,000 barrels
Marathon/Speedway.................. 117,740,000 barrels
Amoco................................... 62,231,000 barrels

Here are some large companies that do not import Middle Eastern oil:

Sunoco............................0 barrels
Conoco............................0 barrels
0ASinclair........................0 barrels
BP / Phillips......................0 barrels
Hess..............................0 barrels
ARC0.............................0 barrels
Maverick.........................0 barrels
Flying J..........................0 barrels
Valero............................0 barrels
Murphy Oil USA*................0 barrels
*Sold at Wal-Mart


My sister, Bichy Mama (BM), smelled some stinky gas statistics in this e-mail. Being sleuthy, like her big sister, she had a clandestine meeting with Deep Throated Rock Star (DTRS) to get the real poop on this story. DTRS has long been a mole in the gas biz. He definitely knows the difference between his gas and a hole in the ground.

"Bichy Mama:

This information is about 25% accurate. Valero is the only 100% American company using the most domestic crude oil, but they buy crude on the open market from all sources. Exxon/Mobil is number 8 on the list of companies that own crude oil. Numbers 1-7 are not companies at all they are countries like Saudi Arabia, Venezuela, Russia etc... Wal-mart buys from all sources which, undoubtedly, includes imported oil."

My friends, be careful about getting too caught up in these viral letters written to stir up the pot. I would have re-printed the entire letter but it was quite long. It was written to evoke fear, anger and was also very pro Wal-Mart. This one belongs in the toilet, and I'm going to give it three flushes.

Thanks sleuthy BM and rockin' DTRS. You've done your part to make this world a saner place. Your secret decoder rings are in the mail.

Bad Boyz

Photo: Google Images

In the cool of the evening
When everything is getting kind of groovy
I open the door
And ask you if you'd like to go with me and do some weeding
First you say no, you've got some plans for the night
And then you stop and say all right

Then the world gets kinda crazy when a big ol' cop has his gun out.

He keeps us guessing
We never seem to know what he's a-thinking
A bad guy's hidin' from him
And for sure his flack jacket buddies are helpin'
I get confused cause I don't know where I stand
But then you smile, and say "get back"

The world gets kinda crazy when a big ol' cop has his gun out

Someday cops and robbers will stop this game they're a-playing
Til then, leave the weedin' to when the copter's done straifing
Just like a ghost, that bad boy's haunting our street
And hopefully, he'll soon get beat

The world gets kinda crazy when your quiet 'hood's over run by a gansta
Friday night's kinda crazy when you're caught off guard by a crime war

*Just a little unexpected Friday night excitement in our quiet, little neighborhood. Just a couple hundred yards out my front door across the field a cop with pistol out, two flack jacketed buddies, a helicopter and narc car were scouring for the culprit. Willow would say, it's that Ol' Devil Moon kickin' up his heels.

News From the Weird

Awards and memes, Blogtopia is rife with them both. I must admit I'm not much good at complying with their rules. Shame on me, but most of my aversion stems from the fact that rules call for including a few people while excluding many.

I'm a laid back kinda gal and feel more comfortable spinning parts of me out into cyberworld little by little rather than in big eBlasts. If you read my blog, you'll get to know me as I shed my skin, layer by layer, over time. But, as I read TechnoBabe's post the other day, she made the point that this is how we get to know each other in Blogtopia. Since she's honored me a couple of times on her righteous, little, hippie blog, I wanted her to know that I noticed and appreciated her kindness.

One award she gave me was the Blue Award. Blue reminds me of water, calmness and tranquility. It also reminds me of the throat chakra which is associated with the color blue, communication and speaking one's truth. And thus, is the perfect time to peel off another layer of my eclectic, esoteric self.

My work history is eclectic. I've been a fry cook in burger joints, a secretary, seamstress, upholsterer of both furniture and automotive, bartender, bowling center manager, semi-professional bowler, school cafeteria cook, medical back office manager, massage therapist, light worker, energy worker and ascension seeker.

I am also esoteric by nature. I've studied and worked with hypnosis since I was 12 years old. I have a transcript of every session I've ever done except a couple. And of course, they were the ones that most blew my mind. Past life regression and soul retreival are passionate interests of mine. Occasionally, a psychologist friend of mine calls me into her office to help her move a patient beyone a point where they've become stuck in their progress.

I am probably the most normal "different" person you will ever meet. Different is what people say when they try to sugar coat us oddballs. I used to try to hide it, but no more. Now, I embrace my lust for the unusual. As the card my neice gave me last year for my birthday read: Another year older, another year weirder. Who knew they had a card for such things?

I've given up worrying what others think of my esoteric practices. Hey, if I can figure out how to teleport myself from California to New York, as far as I'm concerned, so much the better. And when I do, I'll let you all ride along. Until then go check out TechnoBabe's groovy blog.

Scotty, beam me up. Wait...let me try doing it myself first!

The Beautiful Damsel and the Paralyzed Man

Barbie and Ken got married on Saturday night. It wasn't hard to tell they meant everything to each other. She, a beautiful damsel. He, a paralyzed man. Not completely paralyzed. He'd done a lot of physical therapy and, now, it was mainly just his right side and, in particular, his leg.

He'd suffered a stroke following a chiropractic neck adjustment. Three times, he died on the chiropractor's table, finally being revived and hospitalized. A very small percentage of the time, a manipulation can split the inside walls of the vertebral arteries, causing the walls to balloon and block the blood supply to the lower part of the brain resulting in a basilar vertebral stroke.

But, this story isn't a treatise against chiropractic. Quite the contrary. Although I worked in the field and knew that a stroke was a possibiltiy, in over 12 years I never saw or heard of one case. I have two nephews and two neices who are chiros. In our family, we know, firsthand, how the techniques can aid healing. Besides that, even a simple thing like extending your neck back over the basin for hair washing at the beauty salon has been known to cause a stroke.

Rather, it is more about the good and bad that happens in life. The unexpected. Ken's neck adjustment was performed by his friend who was trying to do him a favor and make him feel better. His friend was a healer; this was the last thing he wanted to happen. In an instant, both of their lives were changed forever. Ken has yet to forgive his friend.

But because of his fateful injury, he met Barbie, a physician's assistant. The time came for their first dance as man and wife. With white satin, pearls and tule crushed against a black wedding tux, they swayed, not moving one inch on the floor, to a love song. It was the most beautiful dance I'd ever seen.

Do you Believe in Miracles?

Do you believe in miracles? I don't just mean wanting or praying for something to happen, but really believing you have the power to effect change. More precisely, that the Divine can work through you to create miracles like we read about in the Bible. Stories where Jesus walked on water, healed the sick, and raised the dead. Stories about Moses parting the Red Sea and Elijah calling down fire from Heaven on Mt. Carmel.

We don't see those kinds of miracles now days. Why? Can they truly not occur or have we simply forgotten how to manifest our Creator's instructions. Usually, I find myself in the category of "hoping" a thing will change rather than "knowing without a shadow of a doubt" that I am an instrument of the Divine. But in a meditation the other night, that all changed. I had an epiphany. The veil dropped and I remembered what it felt like, 100%, to wield the sword for the Master.

The science of Quantum Physics supports the idea of miracles happening. In Quantum Physics, material is supported by subatomic particles, one of which is the quanta. Meaning, or intent, changes the function of that particle. The mind can literally overrule matter. And Bell's Theorem proves non-local communication at a distance between atoms, which makes psychic channeling scientifically possible. If subatomic particles can change function, and non-local communication is possible, then it's possible for intent, or prayer, to change subatomic particles non-locally at a distance. Which means that atoms, molecules and cells, that are composed of subatomic particles, can change.

Miracles aren't only possible, they're probable. Just as today's scientific miracles of computers, microwave ovens, televisions, and gaming platforms are possible because of Quantum Physics, so are walking on water, raising the dead, healing the sick, calling down fire and parting the Red Sea. I'm trying like crazy to not let that epiphany fade back into darkness.