Horoscopes: the "It's the water" edition

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  I tried to go to the long-heralded movie about our town last night but it was cancelled due to weather, the lamest excuse ever.  If you can't watch a movie on a dark rainy night, um, what?  Are we supposed to go hiking?  But anyway, it's a retrospective of our first 100 years, and there was much looking forward to it (say, for 98 years), only to have hopes dashed.  But Aries, we're used to the dashed hopes by now, and that make us stronger, silenter, taller, more prone to believing in psychics, etc. There was a woman in the parking lot of where the movie was supposed to be, leafletting about a radio station she's trying to start.  (Can you call it leafletting if it's just one person handing out papers to three people? Yes, you can!  Is "leafletting" a real verb? No it's not!)  Anyway, the point, Aries, is that the movie is still in the future!  Yes, we still have that to march towards!   This week, it will always seem like the present, even though some of it, in fact, will be the future.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I recently found myself in the middle of the night in a room full of people I love, eating corn dogs paired with red wine, and thought, wow.  This is the life.  It was my first corn dog since 1973 (we don't have them in the east, because duh, hotdogs don't travel well.  Oh wait.  Irrelevant, but the point is that my corndog-hood has been in remission.)  The part of the corndog that's good is the corn, Taurus.  (And the dijon, but I don't think we get to count that.)  What makes a corndog eat-worthy, besides the cabernet, is that the crusty corny exoskeleton is comforting and yummy, and then you get into the horrible hotdog part, and it wakes you up, reminding you yet again -- life isn't all the outer part, people!  We eventually get into the hotdog, and it kind of sucks, but in a good way, if you see my point.  

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Back to the radio station -- they're looking for all manner of volunteers.  It's about time someone started a radio station, was my first thought, because we don't get radio out here.  And then I remembered that we do get radio, lots of it.  But, this one will have the farm report and local happenings. I don't know where you'd get that stuff otherwise.  (Besides the internet.  But who uses that?)  Mostly, though, I'm completely on board and feel like it's been Radio Free here for much too long.  My worry is that it will sound too much like Welcome to Nightvale, (my new favorite podcast.)  Science fiction, sort of.  But this radio station will be real, it will be our actual town sounding like science fiction. Gemini, I'm thinking of volunteering.  What do you think?  Do radio stations need horoscopes?  Who, pray tell, will do the "Elderly Wisdom in the Valley" bit?  Yikes!  I'm afraid the news will be stuff like, "someone saw a weird red light on the hill last night."  And after much investigation, it will turn out to be someone playing with a cat and a laser pointer.  Be a cat-pointer conspiracy theorist, Gemini.  It's better than thinking that Stanley Kubrick staged a fake moon landing.


Cancer (6/22 – 7/21): I went on a festive water tour of Washington this week, starting with the artesian well in Olympia.  What's not to love?  The water is 1,000 years old, and has been through a lot.  
As a friend said, 

"It's sort of a bench, but it's not a bench.  sort of a bathroom counter, but on a sidewalk.  sort of water coming out of the earth, but not really celebrating it, more like pulling it from the earth, putting it in a pipe, and letting it bleed back in.  Sort of like an earth bleed.  Like a pin prick."

But the other part of it is that it's in a parking lot, and has a weird day-drunk hippy vibe, with ukeleles and hacky sack and homeless teens.  And people line up to get the water, so in a way, there is celebrating where the water leaks out.  Cancer, celebrate the water this week.  Do a little jig when you find some.  

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Stop two on the water tour was Point Roberts.  I invited myself along (is that tacky?) on the LA's field work because its time to get water to make salt, and if not from Point Roberts, where from?   (Hillel the Elder said that, I think.)  

There are four border crossings involved in getting to Point Roberts.  One of my many problems is border crossing anxiety, because I'm usually the one they pull out of line and search with dogs. Now, when they ask the questions, I feel like I'm lying, even though I'm not.  (Does anyone else have that?)

 "What's the purpose of your visit?" the angry unsmiling man says.  The LA is super cool.  "Work," she says, cheerfully.  He looks at us suspiciously, and I'm thinking, I know!  We don't look at all like people with jobs!  It goes like that for a while, and he asks if we have any equipment for our "work".  He doesn't actually use air quotes, but I feel his judgy little air quote vibe.  "No, we don't have equipment," says the LA.  He looks at my knitting, and says, "Not even a tape measure?"  Anyway, we get through it four times, and smuggle 10 gallons of seawater back into the US, and salt-making is underway.  Leo, this week, try something new.  Or try something old again, as if you have dementia and never did that particular thing before.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  As you may have noticed from my last post, I spilled on yet another computer, rendering it useless.  I know!  Good thing I'm both rich and unconcerned with money.  so this is my second new computer this year.  There are slaves in china working their asses off so that I can drink and write, and I don't feel good about that at all, so I got the keyboard covering this time, which makes me believe I could open an auto repair shop.  If only I knew how to fix cars.  Virgo, learn how to fix stuff this week.  And then stop by!  There's lots to do here.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):   When I bought the new computer, I was cajoled into doing the Thriller dance through the Mac store to get a measly discount.  (I was willing to do it for $3, which makes me, well, let's not name it.) But after I did my awkward little zombie dance, I got $37 off, which is paltry when you're talking about buying computers, but significant if it's your first professional dancing gig.  Right?  This week, Libra, dance dance dance!  Don't let Mississippi mud touch your fingers.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Have you heard about the fake ski tan trend?  Personally, if I were going to fake a ski vacation, I'd rather put a cast on my leg.  Less skin cancer, more people holding the door for you and writing good wishes on the plaster.  But Scorp, with the sun spots in Virgo and the second house in the third moon, you're in for a confusing week.  Carry a roll of twine and unravel it as you go.  (Don't fall for the trail of popcorn thing -- it doesn't work.)

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): At some point, I came up with a list of my parenting goals. I thought if, when my kids left home, they knew how to listen well to friends and loved ones, try not to judge, apologize and mean it, be interesting, and be kind whenever possible, all would be well.  They can do all that and more, far exceeding my wildest dreams, because through the luck of the draw, I birthed some exceptional humans.  But if I were making the list today, I'd add "learn how to forgive" to the list, because I think that's the hardest one of all, and that's what the world needs. (I know, you're thinking, wait, who are you to decide what the world needs?  Hmm.  I'll get back to you on that.)  Forgiving each other and ourselves over and over again, because we'll keep failing and disappointing our loved ones and they us, and there's no way around it.  And we need to keep loving our people anyway.  Sag, baby steps.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): I had a dream a few minutes ago that I went to a new yoga studio, probably because I'm about to in 20 minutes, but when I got there, it was a dark greasy parking garage, and everyone was talking during the class, and no one used yoga mats -- just downward dog on the slippery oily pavement -- and it was sort of horrible.  And then, after the class, I discovered that my wallet and phone had been stolen while I was doing modified plank (because in the dream I  had to put my knees down.  Seriously.)  When I told the yoga teacher, she gave me the, "well, shit happens" look, and flicked her hair back.  Probably because I put my knees down.  I was so disturbed that I sat down in my kitchen and smoked a cigarette, and then I realized that my house would smell like cigarettes FOREVER, so I opened all the windows and doors, realizing that even in cold times (I've taken to calling that season "cold times", because it doesn't fit so tightly with the word "nuclear, right?), I can never close the doors again.  Ever.  Then I woke up.  You'll wake up too this week, Capricorn, to lilies blooming and fairies flying and beautiful songs wafting through the air.  Paint it for the less fortunate among us!  

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):   I have this game that I play when I'm in a group, which is asking for confessions, victories, or recommendations.  The basic thing I'm trying to do is give everyone a chance to say something, to talk about what they want to talk about without summoning some weird and transparent segue.  (Like, oh wow, did you say your car cost $14,000?  That reminds me of the population of Neanderthals at their height!).  The game is a way of saying, "hey, I'm interested in what you've got to say, you've got the floor, we're all listening.  But it's come to my attention that people just feel put on the spot.  What's up with that?  At any rate, I had the occasion to dine with my fine son and his buddy, and they both had confessions, recommendations, stories and more, suggesting that it isn't time to give up on the game yet.  This week, Aquarius, feel loved instead of put on the spot whenever possible.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Oh, you Pisces.  So much stuff, so little plate.  The waves are coming fast now, but they'll subside, and things will get easier and easier, better and better until you won't even remember this week.  But I'll tell what wasn't easy:  my out-of-valley-experience.  I went to yoga with the hard-asses, and sweat enough that it was harvestable.  I suspected it might be challenging when the friend who invited me said, "Here.  I brought you a towel.  You're gonna need it."  Right?  He knew that?  I know, it sounds creepy to sweat a harvestable amount, but you count on me to tell the truth, so there you have it.  (For the record: I didn't harvest it, but I could have.  I could have made salt and packaged it and sold it, but I didn't, and that's what counts.)  The room looked like the future and smelled like testosterone and I had tons of fun in a self-abuse, I-can't-wait-to-go-home-and-take-a-nap sort of way.  May your week have some naps.  Oh, and a drink with your astrologer!