Aries (3/21 – 4/19): When R. was home over Christmas break, he noted all of the pamphlets and charts about the geologic time scale hanging in the bathroom.
"What's that about?" he inquired.
"I'm trying to re-learn all that."
"Mom, the part that makes me laugh the most is your impulse: 'There are undoubtedly other people who want to learn this too! So when they come over and use the bathroom, the information will be available. To others. Who come here. And need to use the bathroom. And want to learn the geologic time scale.' Yeah, I totally see where you're coming from. Trying to make the world a better place in your own freaky way."
Aries, I'd like to proclaim that there's absolutely no shame in offering secret home-study courses in your bathroom. For free. Do that this week. Or come here and take a class, if that need arises. (You don't have to say which need.)
Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): My new customer. Where to begin. He e-mails, "Please call ASAP. This is urgent." I do, of course, because I'm so damned obedient. And he wants to talk about how the one neighbor who's the former son-in-law of the other neighbor (the one who fell off the roof) is angry at him, but there are lots of other bits, like the day sleeper and the web cams, and the well radius and the one who offered to do grocery shopping, and a bit of clear-cutting interspersed. I won't bore you with the whole thing. While he talked, I drew one of those matrices, like a logic puzzle you'd buy in the airport. "The man in the blue house is not gluten free, but could be the former son in law of the person who's property is in the flood plain." I was kind of enjoying it, but eventually, he came around to his point. "I get the sense you're good at this stuff. Can I straighten these relationships out so it will be fun to live there? Or should I sell the property?" And I'm pretty sure I have nothing at all to offer in the relationship department, but I try, and feel a combination of touched and annoyed. Like, really? Does anyone ever have questions about a wetland? Taurus, just be grateful for the moments when you're needed, even if what people need isn't what you wish you had to offer.
Cancer 6/22 – 7/21: I've suddenly noticed this unfortunate thing, which is that I'm operating at about the third grade level. I've been trying to learn the ukelele. I started by trying to watch videos online, and downloading beginner books, etc. and didn't get anywhere at all until I borrowed a book titled, "Kids Ukelele, for Ages 5 and Up". I'm heavy on the up, let's just say. I'm all over it now, though. Page 30, not to boast. We could write this off as a fluke, but I notice that I'm also reading a 32 page biography of MLK (written at the 3rd grade level). I'm sad to say that it took me more than one sitting to read. (Do I have to actually tell you how many sittings? No, I don't. This is my blog.) I know. Cancer, you guys are smart. Should I be worried?
Leo (7/23 – 8/22): Can I tell you how annoying it is, Leo, that on the income tax return, you have to say if you're married, divorced, or single. Um, can I ever just call it single again? Right? It's like, can you ever just be called a vegetarian? Or are you always a former meat eater? Leo, just be in the present with whatever it is.
Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): I was talking to a small group of young people today about the Big Questions (for example, would you rather be a ballon or a candle), and it occurred to me that maybe there's a reason that Unitarianism hasn't caught on with the masses. (Even though candle is the obvious choice.), But even if you picked balloon, you are welcome here at this blog. Wherever you are on your own obscure path to your own shaky little truth. I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to suggest you shine your light this week, because it's really dark, and we need that.
Libra (9/23 – 10/22): One of the other Big Questions we explored is this: If you were a natural disaster, what would you be? Libra, I'd be seismic liquifaction. Duh. I'm the sort of calamity that sneaks up on you in a quiet non-Newtonian way. Like, wait, I thought it was a solid, but it's now liquid? Huh? I'm not proud of that. At all. But the truth is the truth. Libra, this week, try to avoid calamities of all types. If you must be a natural disaster, choose fire or something flashier that has a bit more fun.
Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): I don't exactly want to go on a big tear about Turbo Tax, partly because it would look like I'm showing off (I've at least looked at my taxes, right?) Anyway, to make a long rant into a short-ish horoscope, I'd like to conclude that using a $70 program should be easier than downloading blank forms and filling them out by hand and doing the math and checking it twice and finding a stamp and a pen and an envelope. Should be, I say. And this could lead to a secondary rant about how no one is creating software for Mac OS X anymore, and that's just wrong. Scorpio, when will I ever see you? I miss you like an opposable thumb. (I mean, if I didn't have a thumb, but had some sense of what it was like to have one. Kind of like an Algernon of the opposable digit variety. That's the way I miss you.)
Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): It's not as wrong, though, as the boy who was observed eating a combination of nacho cheese tortilla chips, animal crackers, and M & M's. Also a crime, but I'd say the bad snack mixing is victimless, and we're okay with that.
Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): The world is a pretty messed up place. Not much happens, and then eventually, after some amount of struggle, it's over, but in between, we try to live the most authentic lives we can, being decent, kind, truthful. And it isn't always fun, but I'm glad of the chance for it. So anyway, back to my new customer. We're at his site, and he says, "Hey, can I show you what's in my storage locker?" The answer to that question, if there's any doubt, should always be no. Right? What could possibly be in there? Bodies? Tools? Rats? But of course I said yes. Of course I did. Turns out? A shipping container full of old-growth cedar beams. Things sometimes do turn out okay, just maybe in a different way than you imagine. Blessings, Capricorn.
Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): Okay, back to the geologic timescale, if you will. The rise of angiosperms is thought to be associated with the rise of invertebrate pollinators. Because relying on random wind patterns to make your mark, my friends, isn't necessarily the best strategy. Use bugs too. (Did you know that 90 percent of horoscopes are actually written for the horoscope writer herself?)
Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): The other day, C said to me, "I can hardly see your clavicles."
"Are you suggesting I'm fat in the collarbone area? Does this scarf make my clavicles look big? And seriously, eyes up here," I said, bringing my fingers to my eyeballs. Anyway, if there is any doubt about why women have taken to wearing scarves, mystery solved. It's about modesty, Pisces. Cover up a little bit this week. Oh, but don't hide your light under a bushel.