Horoscopes.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):   If your needs are within the bell curve, it's reasonable to expect them to be met in a group setting, but if they're in one of the tails, not so much.  Manners for the 21st century, according to me, dictates that if you have challenging food restrictions, you manage it on your own to the best of your ability, and don't expect the whole world revolve around you and these particular needs.  Pisces, I believe I'm correct on this.  Your week will involve you being correct about all manner of things.  

Aries (3/21 - 4/19): I'm grateful that I don't have a serious illness, but if I did, I think I'd want one of these cards. (Tuck that away for future serious illnesses, Aries, just in case).  But back to you: aren't we all so lucky you're on the planet?  A resounding yes! This week, look out at the moon and stars and remember how much you love space.  And then take up more.  Breathe big!

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I've been trying to understand my attachment to the little honeybees that live outside my bedroom window, three little hives, each with 60,000-ish bees.  Ok, two hives with lots of bees, and one that's the bee equivalent of young adults that just moved out on their own.  (As in, light on decor, heavy on joy.)  Thing number one that I love:  the noise and activity.  A constant, busy little hum in the day that fades into stillness as the evening comes on.  Taurus, don't fad into stillness!  You are not a bee!

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21): Speaking of manners for the 21st Century, there are people in the library using their outside voices.  Here's a rule of thumb: If you look up and see a ceiling, 65 decibels max!  If you look up and see a ceiling, and look straight ahead and see books, 30 decibels max.  If you don't know how big a decibel is, it's smaller than an avocado and larger than a thrip.  But don't worry about it; just get the app.  This week, let's help the planet quiet down just a bit.  What if, the way Jerry Brown did with water in Cali, we were all required to cut our decibel useage by 35%?  I know.  Sigh of contentment.  If only.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21): You know that thing when you're about to offer someone a ride to the airport and then you learn that they need to leave at 3:00 a.m., and thankfully, you haven't opened your mouth yet?  Me neither.  I don't know that thing at all.  Tips:  1.  buy a Rolling Stone for the plane.  People will think you're hip.  2. Don't bother with the ridiculously overpriced neck pillow.  3.  Enjoy what you can.  Traveling mercies, my friend.  

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): One of my favorite radio journalists has a podcast now.  Or maybe he's had it for a while and I'm late to the game. But sheesh, he's brilliant.  And so are you, Leo!  May this week be full of your shiny open heart.  Off leash.  Let it go!

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):   I'm about to order my crickets from the internets, and try to make some high protein snacks.  I know, it seems a little cruel, but it seems like I should try to kill my own meat.  The mammals I've killed in my life time:

  • 9 roosters, Amarillo, Texas, 1981.  
  • 1 deer, east of Duvall, 2010.  Accidental.
  • 9 chickens, Carnation, 2014
Oh wait.  Chickens aren't mammals.  But they do have a face and a family.  I've eaten way more than that, and it seems like I should woman up and start eating protein that I kill.  Are you in, Virgo?

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Here's the plan:  order a bunch of crickets.  Feed them some organic grass or something that they like for a few days.  If possible, see what they'd like.  Maybe use rosetta stone to translate.  Freeze them.  Because isn't that how we all want to die?  (Or is that just me again?)  Roast in the oven.  Grind into flour.  Make food with it.  Come over for some brownies soon!

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I was listening to my podcasts, the way I do, and realized how much the advertisers cater to shut-ins, and then I realized, uh oh, that could me me.  Mattress delivery?  Bagels?  Razors?  (Right?  Who orders razors from a podcast?)  What do you need, Scorp?  There are people hovering outside, ready to bring you stuff.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  It's a little hard to get honest feedback on a massage, because no one is like, "Wow, that was a bad free massage.  The part where you were working on my back?  Creepy."  No, no one says that, so we must look for clues, like deep breathing or snoring or, if it's going badly, wincing.  Sag, look for clues in your own week.  They're all over the place.  Don't wait to be told the truth, because it's hard for the humans.

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19):  There are about two or three people on the planet that I'll miss forever, not just because I like to think we understand each other that feels rare, but because there's a particular brand of brilliance that I don't get a chance to interface with, and missing is just the way it will go because it's irreplaceable.  But when a friendship is a one way street, and the other person is enduring it politely but didn't ask for it and doesn't want it, it's best to try let it go with as much grace and humility as you can summon, and not be that pain in the ass person who clings and doesn't get the message.  Message received.  Blessings, Capricorns.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):   Did you realize that the age of aquarius is like, 2600 years?  Me neither.  You get a long turn, my friends.  Make good use of it!  It doesn't even seem like they hold elections, you're just in.  Forever.

Comments

  1. I like that moody photo - it could be someplace near me. I even have the dead trees. I'm too old to fool someone into thinking I'm hip - I'll stick to the Kindle on the plane. I DO like quiet in libraries - is nothing sacred anymore? I'm the bee but not too busy lately. No brownies for me, thanks...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I think the kindle is probably hipper than a Rolling Stone!

      Delete
  2. I always try to breathe deeply during my massage, because it helps those pesky stubborn muscles let go. And I read a lovely blog post once by a longtime massage therapist who said that a client falling asleep on his massage table was the highest compliment he could imagine. And sometimes those winces happen because you've gotten deep down to something important and tender that isn't used to the attention. I'm pretty sure you've never given a bad massage. And Capricorn made me sad.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, sleepers on the table. That's good!

      Delete
  3. So very often, when I read these horoscopes I am so knocked out that I don't even know what to say. Today is one of those days. You pack so much whimsy and humor and wisdom into each one of them. Thank you. I feel so lucky to be able to come here and read what comes out of your gorgeous mind.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Oh dear...we've all had those Capricorn moments in our lives, alas!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, we have. It's all part of the ride, I guess.

      Delete
  5. A long time ago, I used to write horoscopes for a magazine. It was torture each month because even though I knew astrology, I didn't really know how to explain it. I was just way too earnest. Now I see how it's done! I love your horoscopes. There's a kernel of wisdom and whimsy in each sign that we can all use. Thank you for this. (P.S. You should be paid for these. They're wonderfully good!)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh, you had my dream job! I don't know the first thing about astrology, though. And I imagine that if you have to produce on a schedule, it might take some of the appeal out of it. . .

      Delete
  6. Cricket flour? Um, ok. The accidental deer must have a story, I wager. As a Pisces, my needs are quite modest at the moment. Because everything is mostly not about me.

    I love your bees. I'm so happy to think about their little humming song outside your window. Praise be to bees.

    XX your pal Beth

    ReplyDelete
  7. I love that you would take the time to discover what the crickets really want to dine on and translate their language and offer them the best and easiest sort of death you can imagine before they get ground into flour. That feels sweet and kind and full of what we need to make this world the kind of place that we want to spend the next 2600 years tending. BTW did you hear that thing about slowing down the recording of the cricket's song until it resembles the speed of human speech? Turns out it sound like a choir of angels singing. I don't know if Rosetta Stone can translate that.....angels song, I believe, needs no translation.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Wow. I'm glad the crickets sing like angels. (Way better than saying, "Paul is dead," don't you agree?)

      Delete
  8. Come to think of it, freezing would be a pretty good way to die, wouldn't it? Once you got past the part where it's so cold it hurts.

    I am terribly sorry, but I'm allergic to ... uh ... chocolate ... so I will have to give those brownies a pass. I'm sure they're delicious, though. Report back.

    I'm with Ms Moon - often I don't know what to say because there is so much goodness in your posts. SO MUCH goodness.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, freezing is the way to go. The humans, at least, have some mechanisms to make it more pleasant -- the sensation of warmth, for example.

      I'm so sorry you're allergic to brownies! My crickets are fattening up as we speak! :-)

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Upleveling Our Badassery

The Dowdy Church-lady Post

Carry on, my friends.