To Do List

To do list

1. Communicate with rabbits.  I held a tame but terrified white bunny last week at the request of S. before his surgery, before they knocked him out and cut his throat with a sharp blade.  I obeyed because it was S.  But the soft white rabbit snuggled in to my chest and I could feel his gentle rabbit breath and whiskers touching my arm, and I was certain, at least for a second, that I’d like to spend more time holding this particular creature.  If I knew how to communicate with him, I’d support him in pursuing his tiny rabbit goals.
2. Drink whisky.  I discovered that I love the smoky, boggy peat flavor, the mild cauterization that occurs in my throat and heart, the way it wakens my nose, and it's appearance in a glass: amber, intense, full of angry mystery.  (You can tell this is a poem becauseof the word “wakens.”  Dead give-away.)
3. Figure out what else is in the suitcase with my dad’s ashes.  Winter clothes?  Christmas decorations?  Seven years of tax files?  This, I've learned, is what we do in our family:  we put our dead in a suitcase in a storage locker.  (You can tell this is a poem because it has dead people in it now.)
4. Dissect the dream I had last night where the mean HR lady at work had me moving hoses around so they could water stuff that's out of reach. I spent the night crawling around under people’s desks, hooking and unhooking hoses from spigots, believing it was worthy.  (You can tell this is a poem because now it has a dream in it.)
5. Work on my outside voice.  (This doesn’t belong in the poem. At all.)
6. Make sure the rent continues to be paid on the storage locker.
   
7. Imagine what happened to the family photos my mom pitched when she moved last week.  Are my sisters and I those people now, the black and white children peering from scallop-edged curled photo-paper in a shoebox in a thriftstore?  Or did we go directly to the dumpster?

Horoscopes: The friend edition

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  Yesterday I had dinner with the gals, and we started talking about (I have no idea who brought it up, absolutely none) mercy killing when the time comes.  The Nurse, who seems like a good candidate to do the deed, was all, "Whoa, I could get fired for that shit!"  She didn't waver when I said, "Wait, compare these:  The Librarian suffering versus your dumb job?"  But, in a surprise turn of events, The Author revealed that she's been stockpiling pain meds since 1989, and has a giant shoebox full of drugs for the apocalypse.  Aries, your entire week will be like a giant shoebox full of whatever you need.  It's all in there.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Of course, The Author doesn't want to share this Box of Empathy, I think because her primary allegiance is to address the suffering of her flesh and blood first.  

"So, where do you keep it?  I'm guessing upstairs bathroom?"  

She just laughed vaguely, the kind of laugh that could mean, "oh, they're onto me, shoot," or possibly "Ha!  They will never find it!"  I'm sure she went directly home and moved it to a new secret location, possibly off-site, because 5 acres isn't a lot of area to hide a giant shoebox.  Taurus, prioritize this week.  Be clear where you want to put your primary resources (time, talent, affection), and then do it!

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  I'm pretty excited about the Area 51 news.  Not because anything really happened.  But it's What We Do, as Americans.  We dig around for Jimmy Hoffa, we see DB Cooper and Elvis in the grocery store, we endlessly speculate on what happened on the grassy knoll, and we think about Area 51.  
I love those stories, and if they want to dig for Jimmy Hoffa in my back yard, sure, I'd let them.  (They'd have to dig through my vast caches of money and gold coins, though.  Oops!  I said that out loud!)
But what I love here is that they take scary bad stuff, like organized crime or renegade secretive parts of the government, and make them not just manageable, but fun!  I'm for that, Gemini.  And I'm for your week, too, which will also be manageable and fun.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  After dinner, we went on a miniature walk because it was so gorgeous out, and I thought about how long we've all known each other.  And there I was on this beautiful evening with these lovely people who've stuck it out together through all kinds of stuff, and I was suddenly a tiny bit teary with gratefulness.  Our four daughters have grown up together -- our daughters with the matching tattoos of swallows, because swallows mean home, and that's what they mean to each other.  And they're still growing up together, as are their mothers.  There was an imperceptible point when all these friendships started; none of us noticed it then.  We didn't know that 20 ish years later, I'd be lurking behind them on a bridge, taking this picture.  We didn't even know that something was unfolding, not to mention how, but I'm glad it did.  And if any of them needed it, I would totally hunt down that shoebox and do whatever was required.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  So, on my way home, I came upon an upside-down pickup truck.  I was the first person to arrive.  I stopped and got out, and I'll admit I was a little afraid of what I might find, but a young man climbed out of the cab and said he was okay, and asked if I had a light.  I'm not sure if we were about to take up smoking or flashlights, so I just said "maybe."  And I stood there, scoping him out to see if he really was okay.  A bunch more cars stopped, and one was driven by a young lady whom I've known since she was five, but haven't seen in several years, so we greeted each other with gladness and a hug.  One of the other people standing around walked over and said, "Oh, I love reunions that happen on the side of the road next to car accidents!  That's my favorite thing!"  And I'm skeptical, because that can't possibly be someone's favorite thing, can it?  Favorite things are pizza or the sound of crunching leaves -- things that repeat.  This event was sui generis. [I've been wanting to use that for a while, and you can probably tell, because it sticks out badly.  I know.  But I hope I used it properly.]  

But you're with me, right?  What's your favorite thing?  "Oh, mine?  It's when I stop because there's been a car accident on a small back road, and other people have stopped, and two of them know each other but haven't been in contact lately, and they hug, and I watch, and meanwhile, there's a person crawling around inside a flipped over truck.  That's my absolute favorite thing." Anyway, Leo, I think you'll come upon much of your favorite stuff this week, your birthday time of year.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  So, the person who was in the accident says, "Anyone going up to Margaret?"  And I'll confess that my first thought, and I'm not proud of it, was, "Wow, I've lived there for 22 years, and I wouldn't dare to be on a first name basis myself -- wouldn't that be 'Lake Margaret' to you?"  But I don't want to be such a prig -- as in, "GET OFF MY LAWN, KIDS!"  I don't want to turn into that, so I asked if he wanted a ride.

"No, I don't want a ride, but you know that house with two jeeps?  Could stop by there and ask them to come tip my truck over?"

"Um, I guess I'm not exactly sure which house has two jeeps...."

"Okay, so you know where the party spot in the woods is?"

In fact, I do know where that spot is, because sometimes I clean it up a little, and sometimes, when I'm feeling charitable, I'll leave a few cans of beer out there, the way you might leave a salt lick for the deer.  An offering for the wildlife.  

Virgo, without going overboard, offer something to the wildlife this week.  Be generous, and try not to judge.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I go to the house with two jeeps, and I suddenly feel shy, because it's after 10:00 p.m., and I don't know these people, and I don't remember the kid's name who flipped his truck, and I predict awkwardness ahead.  But I pull up, and two grown men are sitting in the garage, huddled over a table under a glaring flourescent light.  I walk up, and do some air-knocking at the open garage door, but they're engrossed in a discussion.  "Okay, so if the plane comes in from the south..." one man says, as he sketches something on a paper.  I start thinking about Area 51 again.  I didn't know hanging out in a garage was a thing grownups did.  It took a while for them to notice me, and when one man finally did, he looked up, nodded, and then resumed his focus on the table.  

I walked into the garage.  "One of your friends flipped his car over down the hill.  He's fine, but he was wondering if you could help him get it straightened out."

As if they had been waiting for just this very opportunity, they walked directly to their matching jeeps and pulled away.  

I don't really know how to pull this into a horoscope.  But Libra, when is the last time you hung out in your garage, planning military strategy?  See if you can do a little planning this week.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  The nurse told me yesterday that she plans to spend the winter at my house studying.  I'm a fan of all of that.  Studying, my house.  Oh, not winter though.  Scorpio, can we make a plan to get out of here for a bit?  Maybe an island in Greece for a month?

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  For the past few days, I've been saying to friends, "Do you find my sexy toe ring incredibly distracting?"  And they say, "of course I do.  In fact, it's a little hard to think about anything else." I'm all, "hey, eyes up here, people!"  You can see why the lump in my throat forms when I realize how lucky I am to have these friends who humor me.  Sag, be grateful for all the amazing people you've collected into your life this week.  Treat them well.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  So C just called and said, "These are your choices:  you can come over now and we can go swimming, OR, you can come at 5 for dinner."  
"How 'bout if I come at 8 for a beer?"
Then she got that voice, the patient one that she uses with her 9 year old -- the voice that says, "THESE are your choices, and there are exactly two, and I'm doing my damnedest here to make you happy, but there are ONLY TWO choices."  Reason 63 why I love C.  Capricorn, always pick the meal when offered a choice.  That's what I did, at least.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  I've been thinking about changing my business emphasis from environmental consulting to environMENTAL consulting.  R. says I should have people pay me to tell me their secrets, which is kind of what keeps happening.  I dunno, though.  I'd keep secrets for free, but personally, I'm not a big fan of secrets.  Transparency, Aquarius.  Strive for that this week.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I joined a choir, which is quite fun, except that I have to lip synch some because I don't really know what I'm doing.  When there's the AOUOUA stuff going on that's all notes.  But one of my favorite Pisces might don chaps for our next event, which makes the whole thing, even the awkward lip-synching parts, worthwhile.  Your week will be so worthwhile, Pisces.  You won't even believe it.

100 things I love or at least have an opinion about. Okay, only 16.

1. Mushrooms that pop up from blank spots in the dirt into giant pillowy masses in a matter of hours.  Especially the ones I can eat.
2. As you can see by #1, I’m trying to find reasons to look forward to fall, but I’m not looking forward to it , not one little bit.  It gets dark and rainy and the swimming stops and the people go back inside.  I'm not for that.  It's not that I don't like candles, I truly do.  But really, daylight is way better.
3. Water for swimming and drinking and sitting in.  Especially the swimming part.  Moving through the water as our ancestors did. 
4. Those letters I used to write from summer camp.  Oh wait, I didn’t go to summer camp.  But if I did, it would have been like this:

Dear C,
Camp is really fun.  Today we went swimming and did archery and arts and crafts.  They are making us write letters home now. Who’s your teacher next year?  I hope we’re in the same class.  I really do.
Your friend,
Betsy

1. The use of, “I really do,” above.
2. When did signing things, "your friend" go extinct?  
3. Food that requires effort at the table, like crab or fondue.
4. I hate fondue, actually.  I like the idea of it, but it's soggy and gross.
5. The clean-hearted uncomplicated salty tears that come from caring deeply about something, and even if it's messed up and complicated and totally cul-de-sac-ish, if that's a word, caring is still a good thing.  Because I do believe that it changes people, entirely for the better, to be cared about.
6. Maps.  In fact, I've been longing for those blank worksheets they give you in social studies class where you color each country with a different pastel color.  Should I take that up again, or would it be too weird?
7. Getting stuff done.  Which I do far too little of.  I can spend a whole day and get jack-shit done.  (Or is it “not get jack-shit done?  Is Jack-shit hyphenated?  Capitolized?  Is Jack shit what we should be doing, or what we do instead?  These are the type of thoughts that I waste way too much time on.)
8. When someone walks in to the coffeeshop and says, “76.”  And I know without asking that he means the temperature of the lake water, one meter deep, which I like on so many levels. 
9. Turns out I don’t really have 100 things.
10. 
    
11. I so wish I would clean my windows.  I am wishing that so hard that I am almost thinking about putting it on my to do list with all the other stuff I haven't done and probably won't.
12. The book of short-stories, The Tenth of December.  And, I'm turning into a general fan of George Saunders, who says his biggest regret is failures of kindness.  That's a good kind of regret to have.  Add it to the to-do list:  "Avoid failures of kindness whenever possible."
13. Did you know you can purchase contact lenses that are purely cosmetic?  RIght?  If you want to look angry, for example, you can buy some red bits of plastic and wear them over your eyeball.  Who knew?
14. Speaking of cosmetic surgery, Little S. is having his embarrassingly large tonsils removed this week, and I hope that goes well.  I'm told that the view down his throat will be vastly improved, and what's not to love about that?
15. Headlines like this one:  "Is Economics More Like History than Physics?" Right?  That's not even a real question, in case you were wondering.  That's like, "Is yoga more like reading than cooking?"  Right?
16. People who have a firm and appropriate grasp of the use of the inside voice.  
17.  This claw that I found when cleaning out my barn:

Horoscopes: The Merit Badge Edition

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  So, that "Go Left" post that never really appeared?  I wrote something and put it up here for about five minutes and then it just seemed kind of odd.  It was about how when you hug people, you should always go left.  Some people, I've discovered, don't know the rules of the road, and you're going left, and they're going right, and it's just awkward.  And then I learned some good things about going right, but sheesh, really?  Who wants to read a blog about that?  But here's the other thing:  horoscopes are a way to write about what I know (my tiny life) but make it about you, which appeals to me.  But the problem is twelve.  Right?  I can't just write one little thing, I need twelve little things.  It takes a while for twelve things to happen in my life, even the tiny things I write about here.  And by the time I get up to seven, for example, I've forgotten the first three.  So "Go Left" was an idea I had about just writing the one thing, and posting it.  But it didn't work.  So.  I might have to just do the four elements.  Aries, let's see if we can improve all of our memories this week.  I hear this book is good for that.  Let me know how it goes.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I was telling a story to a few people the other day, and someone joined the group after I'd started.  "Wait," she said.  "I missed the beginning.  Is the guy who wears the camo blood pressure cuff all the time someone you're dating, or a customer?"  Taurus, I wish it were way more obvious which category that person falls into.  But anyway, have you checked your vitals lately?  It might be time. 

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): I just finished this book.  It was a sweet and predictable little read, but the gimmick that made it more fun than the "girl meets boy, drama, disappointment, she's blind to what's in front of her but then realizes, followed by eventual happily ever after" is that they communicate with flowers, each flower with it's own precise meaning:  betrayal, passion, remorse, etc.  It made me want to make up a language of my own and incorporate it into the planting plans I make for people.  Right?  Secret messages in mitigation plans?  The guy who lost a son and has a deep sincere gentleness that seems carved out of grief: cedar.  For the guy who, as soon as his wife left, told me his secrets and showed me the backhoe he built from scratch:  cedar.  That anxious woman who calls every day because she wants to get her remodel done before the baby comes:  cedar.  Oh wait.  I guess I'd just give everyone cedar anyway, because it seems like that's what we all need more of.  At least I do.  Gemini, western red cedar is probably the best thing we have going here, and that's saying something.  Enjoy it even more than usual this week.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I've heard that some of the young girls are soaking tampons in vodka and inserting them.  Um, is it just me, or is that really, really sad?  "Hey, don't mind me, I'm just getting drunk in the privacy of my own vagina."  Cancer, for the most part, I don't think we should regulate what goes on in women's vaginas, but I will cop to wishing for better things than that.  

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  A friend of mine was reading a 1965 edition of the Boy Scout Manual the other day and reminiscing, and it caused me to wish we could still work on merit badges.  Remember that?  How about this for a business plan:  Merit Badges Aren't Just For Kids.com  We'd list out proficiencies, and you'd get your neighbor or your cat to sign that you did it, and there'd be an actual badge, or probably an e-mail that you could sew onto a sash.  Leo, are you in?

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Here's the deal.  It could be a way to develop apocalypse skills.  Maybe Cabellas would advertise, making this a very lucrative endeavor.  I explained this to R., who said, "You know what you just invented?  xBox Achievements.  You accomplish things, and then get prizes."
"But R, there are no prizes! That's the big difference here."
"Ok.  So you know what you just invented?  Every video game ever."
"But there is no video!"
"Do you see my point, Mom?"
Virgo, your week will be about trying to see the point when everything looks pointless.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  The badges could be for things like fire starting, snaring rabbits, catching crabs and squid, making salt, making friends.  Basic survival things that we don't know how to do anymore.  

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I've had about three men from The Past recently contact me to say they were so sorry for their behavior.  My sister thinks that's good, like, wow, who does that, you must have really made an impression.  Me, I think it's kind of hmm, what's the word? to be the apologize-ee.  They're all about the same:  "I'm so sorry I lashed out at you x years ago, I acted poorly and you didn't, and I'm in a great relationship now, I learned a lot from you, so thanks."  I could probably start a very tiny museum of apologies.  Which isn't really such a bad idea for a museum, but it's tiring to be in the role of museum curator.  Scorpio, this week apologize when you need to, but more importantly try to accept all apologies with grace.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Oh, there could be an apology merit badge!  Some of the elements of a good apology:  
1.  It never has a "but" in it.  "I'm sorry for being a jerk, but ..."  Yeah, that's not gonna fly.
2.  It's best if you really mean it, and don't find yourself apologizizing for the same stuff again and again.  Although sometimes, that's the best we can do.
Sag, see if you can get through the whole week without a need to apologize.  Be kind, be strong, be funny when you can.  I heard that on the radio the other day, and thought it was a good motto.  Funny when you can, Sag, not funny at all costs.

Magical salt lamp

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Last week I had dinner with an old friend whom I haven't seen in 20 years or so, and it was fun and within moments we were laughing as though not a minute had passed.  But she told me that her mother, who suffers from a bunch of maladies, things like lymphoma and gout, is always saying, "I'm so lucky!  I've never been sick a day in my life."  So I guess denial isn't so terrible if you're the one in it.  I keep thinking it's a good practice to be as honest and vulnerable as is humanly possible, but denial looks like more fun, in the short term anyway.  

This is the most beautiful hand made lion
puppet from the best local puppeteer.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  I had this day, maybe a week ago, when I kept getting gifts out of the blue.  It wasn't even my birthday or anything.  But someone gave me this lion puppet, pretty much for doing nothing, and someone else gave me the magical salt lamp (which I only have licked a very tiny bit).  I have no idea how I got so lucky.  But here's another merit badge:
The Empathy Badge, where you learn humane ways to kill your mother if needed.  I mentioned this to R., who said, "I could take you out right now.  Just say the word and I could choke you to death."  
We'll want to be sure the merit badge develops the skill of knowing that it's absolutely the right time.  Aquarius, speaking of the right time?  This is it!  This week is your time!  Enjoy it.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I was at my booty call work job today, and as soon as I arrived, E-bro offered to poke me with a sharp needle and tell me my blood sugar level.  Of course I said yes.  I know.  Yes!  Please do minor surgery on me for no reason at all, because I'm curious what my number will be.  Turns out it was 92.  That's your lucky number for this week too!  See if you can do 92 of everything.  Or maybe count 92 blessings.