Horoscopes: the no plastic edition

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):   I'm trying to participate in a project, "100 Days Without Plastic".  A week into it, yesterday, and I woke up to find a creature that I'll call a large mouse in the toilet, dead.  Suicide, I guess  -  I saw no evidence of foul play.  Anyway, that's the kind of incident that makes me grateful for plastic.  I had an old bread bag that I had squirreled away and I was able to wear it as a mitten while I fished the creature out, and then turn the bread bag inside out to form a little tomb.  Rest in peace, large long-tailed rodent.  I wish you'd been able to find the help you needed. Oh, and Pisces?  This is our life.  Time is getting short.  Live well.

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  I can't wait to read this book.  Mostly because I want to learn more about Maeve Boyce and Edna St. Vincent Millay.  Isn't it strange, Aries, how most of the people you know who read or write are women, but most of the famous authors are men?  Let's change that up.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Ok, while we're on that theme, I just started this book by Megan Daum, which is excellent.  "People who weren't there like to say that my mother died at home surrounded by loving family. This is technically true, though it was just my brother and me and he was looking at Facebook and I was reading a profile of Hillary Clinton in the December 2009 issue of Vogue."  
That's how life goes.  All these potentially momentous moments, but we sleep through them or play solitaire, or god forbid, read about Hilary.  Taurus, focus focus focus.  Try not to miss a thing.  

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21):  In Norway, they've been having precipitation involving earthworms, which is amazing.  For the worms, especially.  To spend most of your tiny little alimentary-canal-dominated life crawling around in the dirt, and then, suddenly, to fly.  I so wish I could speak earthworm.  Those annelids know something that we all dream about.  Do you think earthworms dream, Gemini?  Do birds dream about crawling in the dirt?  Or do they just dream of invisibility? So many questions.  

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21): That picture above is the air traffic control tower at SeaTac from the cemetery across the street, which for some very sad reason has a whole section devoted to babies and children.  There are tiny fresh graves with offerings of breast milk.  The heartache that lives in this world, Cancer.  I can't stop thinking about that breastmilk and the earthquake.  In an instant, people's lives changed and ended.  Poof.  Ride's over.  It's amazing anyone gets out of bed at all.  But keep getting up, day after day.  It's all we get!

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): About the plastic fast:  it's for the obvious reasons.  And of course, it's nearly impossible, because if you need to purchase or protect anything, there's plastic involved.  Unless you're ultra conscientious and make everything from scratch, like bread and tortillas and cheese and yogurt.  And you save your leftovers by wrapping them in organic cotton that's been painted with beeswax.

I've mostly been eating stuff that I can find around my house because I'm too lazy to milk a cow, make cheese, yogurt, crackers, blah blah blah.  Of course, I'm not going to eat Geoffrey, my imaginary pet rabbit. But he's the only meat around that isn't wrapped in plastic.  Dinner has been a head of red cabbage with chopped walnuts and artichoke hearts from a can that was probably lined with plastic. Leo, please join me in trying to reduce plastic use.  Every little bit matters, they say.  The average American throws away 185 pounds of plastic every year, and it ends up in the ocean.  Each little bag, Leo.  It matters to that starfish, which is the punchline of a whole different story.  But you get the gist.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):   I saw a job description today, and I would like to announce that  if I ever have to take a job that involves the keywords, "coordinate", "facilitate", or "oversee", I think I'd rather just do what that poor rat did.  Drown in a small body of water.  If it's a good job, I think the verbs used to describe it should be in the active vocabulary of an eight-year-old.  Like, "stir", "dig", "crawl", etc.  

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Here's why you shouldn't write a memoir, Libra.  Because, when you tell people you're writing a book, they'll ask what it's about, and you tell them it's a memoir. They'll say, so it's about you, then?  And you know they're thinking, um, what makes her worthy of a book?  So it's awkward, but you'll admit that yes, it is sort of about you.  Then they'll say, "So, is it interesting?"  And so on.  Awkwardness heaped upon awkwardness.  Be one with the awkwardness, Libra.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Tomorrow is Poem in Your Pocket day!  You know what to do, Scorp.  Bring extra, because everyone isn't prepared, like you.  (We all wish we were, but that's a different horoscope.)  Enjoy.  And hey, check this out!

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  If I had a postage scale I would have weighed the large mouse, because it weighed a lot.  But speaking of Stamps dot com, which is the way I know to get a free rodent scale, has anyone ever actually ordered from Zabars like all the other shut-ins?  Actually, I'm more interested in ordering this, because crickets are the new kale.  (Don't you hate it when someone says one noun is the new other noun?  Me too!)

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19): "Character," Joan Didion said, "is the willingness to accept responsibility for one's own life -- the source from which self-respect springs."  Damn, she's brilliant.  So here's more: 
To live without self-respect is to lie awake some night, beyond the reach of warm milk, the Phenobarbital, and the sleeping hand on the coverlet, counting up the sins of commissions and omission, the trusts betrayed, the promises subtly broken, the gifts irrevocably wasted through sloth or cowardice, or carelessness. However long we postpone it, we eventually lie down alone in that notoriously uncomfortable bed, the one we make ourselves. Whether or not we sleep in it depends, of course, on whether or not we respect ourselves. - "On Self Respect", Slouching Towards Bethlehem
Cap, you've got everything you need for a great life.  Live it! Treat your loved ones, including yourself, with love.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):   The sweetest thing about massage school is that it looks like an orphanage drawn by Bemelmens: rows of little massage tables, made up with sheets.  Well, actually first it looks like a rag-tag grownup sleepover, as we all bring our sheets and pillows, and then we learn, ever so slowly, the names of the muscles and how to take care of them.  As if each muscle were a different kind of special pet that has distinct needs.  There's something about a twin-sized bed that argh, is so damn sweet. 


  1. I promise you that I will think about my plastic use in a more determined way. I promise, Betsy! Maybe it will help me with my self-respect. But I doubt it.

    1. Yay. You already to a ton for your plastic, though, Ms. Moon. But keep going!

  2. 100 days without plastic? Is that even possible? You can't even buy bread without a plastic bag, and I NEED BREAD. Yikes.

    And I don't need the bag for fishing mice out of the toilet, either, I just need it to take the bread home from the store. I am rather reluctant to just throw it in the trunk naked. The bread. Not me. Yikes again!

    1. No, it's really impossible unless you have all the time in the world. But bread, we do have a nice bakery in our town that sells bread in paper bags. I know, then there's the freshness issue. I'm not really going plastic free, but I'm trying to reduce where possible, and think harder about every bit that I just use once and throw out.

    2. I'm just now remembering that our grandparents used to use breadboxes for their bread storage. Forgot all about that. And yes, I need to stop my dependency on Saran Wrap ...

  3. Honey, it was a rat. But don't despair. Johan the rat man (really, he's a green exterminator) said, and I quote ,"No rat dies a good death" as he placed peanut butter laden traps in my crawl space. And because I've seen many many rat parts lately, I consider myself an expert in rat demise, ala Hugo, the murderous thug if there ever was one. BTW, go see Wild Tales if you can. XXX B

  4. Honey, it was a rat. But don't despair. Johan the rat man (really, he's a green exterminator) said, and I quote ,"No rat dies a good death" as he placed peanut butter laden traps in my crawl space. And because I've seen many many rat parts lately, I consider myself an expert in rat demise, ala Hugo, the murderous thug if there ever was one. BTW, go see Wild Tales if you can. XXX B

  5. We don't call them rats, Ms. Coyote. Bummer, looks like Wild Tales isn't around for long, I think I'll miss it. I'm glad you're a rat demise expert, among other things. xoxo


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