Horoscopes: The Going to College Edition



A friend mentioned something the other day about trying to cram in all the important life lessons in before her son goes to college.  I thought I'd try to figure out what the bare essentials are for being a grownup, so here goes.  

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):   Everyone going out into the world should know how to chop and saute an onion.  Here's how:  just do it!  Wear goggles if you must.  Or, wad up a piece of bread and stick it under your upper lip when your chop. Pisces, the main point is this:   never avoid real tears, because connecting with our tenderest parts is what makes us human.  And that is why we're more likely to starve than eat our loved ones.  (And do avoid chemical exposure to the eyes.  When's the last time anyone talked about macular regeneration?  The reason?  Because that's not a thing!)


Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  I went to look at property for someone recently; it was really cheap because the owner died inside the house, went unnoticed for a week, and her cats ate her.  I know.  I can't promise I wouldn't do the same -- if I were locked in a cinderblock house for a week, hungry, well, maybe I'd eat my imaginary pet rabbit named Geoffrey after he died of natrual causes.  (Though I don't know if there's much nutritional value in imaginary pets.)  Adulthood requires this, Pisces:  If you'd like to live with a non-human, get a dog!  They may eat you after death, but will leave your face alone, unlike the felines.  (Wait, maybe we don't care about our faces after death? I'm unclear on this, like so much else in adulthood.)  

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):   The real question is why should you chop and saute the onion?  Here's why: everywhere that's worth going, culinarily, begins there.  The sauted onion is the building block of flavor, the core flavorful sweetness of anything worth eating.    Soup? Stir fry? Omelet? Mirepoix? Please don't let the young people leave home without knowing how to build flavor.

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21):   Have a solid opinion about time travel.  Do you think it's impossible to travel back to a time before you were born for physical reasons, or because it's a paradox?  Do you believe in the kind of time travel where the word "yet" is key?  As in, no time traveler has prevented the holocaust yet.  (Though, of course, there may be other atrocities that were prevented; we just don't know about them.)  And so on.  Be able to defend your position, if needed.  (And, if you go time travelling without me, leave a note, Gemini!)

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21): I stayed in a weird hotel in Tumwater recently where the sweet young desk clerk said, "Yeah, Tumwater is the hub.  I mean, if you're going to the ocean, it's on your way.  Or Portland - it's on your way?  Or Seattle.  Or, if you're going to Chelan, this would be on the way."  She kept going on and on with all the places, and they got increasingly far-fetched, although I don't think she was trying to be funny.  I wanted to play too, and add, "Or Paris!  It's on the way to the moon as well!  And Cairo, for sure."  But I didn't.  Adult Skill:  Know where the hub of your own life is.  Is it Tumwater?  A relationship?  A spiritual practice?  

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): People who lie will lie to you too.  A man who cheats on his wife, for 
example, will lie to everyone else, even about the smallest things.  Try not to judge; it's the only way he knows.  Summon compassion, because his life will be tangled and lonely, and he wishes, more than anyone, that he could tell, and more importantly, live with the truth, but he doesn't have that particular muscle.  Feel pity, not anger, Leo.  The liar needs forgiveness more than you know, but do keep your distance.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  There are two troubling large giant blobs in the ocean.  One is a band of warm water 1,000 feet long, and 5 degrees F warmer than the surrounding area.  The other is the Great Pacific garbage patch, which is maybe 270,000 square miles, a unit of measure that's also known as, "about the size of Texas."  Which brings me to the point, Virgo.  Every adult should know where they stand on using states as units of measure.  I fall on the side of using square miles or meters for area, and furlongs for distance, but that's because I don't really know how large Texas is.  Or even a football field.  

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  You should know the origin and insertion of the sternocleidomastoid, and what each of the major organs in your body is responsible for. Ok, you can probably get by without that.  But here's something important:  don't resolve issues via The Silent Treatment.  You'll look like an emotional midget, and on that day that happens once a year when peoples' physical size is altered to match their emotional size, you'll slip unnoticed into a crack in the sidewalk. (Wait, is that really a day that happens every year, or is that merely a dream I had? And while we're at it, is library book amnesty day a thing?) Instead of silence, speak your truth kindly and directly.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  NEVER run out of toilet paper, olive oil, coffee or half and half.  Why put yourself through it?  Oh, and this:  keep prawns in the freezer.  If you already know how to saute an onion, you can instantly whip up a simple yet delicious dinner for a drop in guest.  Staples, scorpio.  Know your staples and keep them on hand.  Be sure to cultivate friendships with people  who eat prawns, or the whole thing falls apart.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): You should know why Greece is in so much trouble. I know, you don't care, but you should, so it doesn't happen to you!  Here's a quick tour:  
  1. Greece hasn't done a good job at collecting taxes.  The government collects only half of what it should.
  2. Greece used to borrow money from Germany and other wealthy nations, but  there were terms and conditions that kept borrowing in check.
  3. When everyone switched over to Euros, Greece had way more borrowing power, because they were suddenly on Germany's team.  Germany, in a sense, was insuring Greece's debt.
  4. Let the good times roll!  Greece kept borrowing and borrowing, but not having a way to pay it back.
  5. Germany finally said, um, guys, you can't borrow any more money until you go on austerity measures and make a plan to get things under control.
  6. Austerity never works.  (Have you tried it?  It sucks.)
Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19):  When you get offical-looking stuff in the mail, open it and deal with it.  Things that come in official envelopes never improve with time.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): Never swerve for revenge, as William Stafford said.  Let people who disappoint go without a fuss.  They're doing the best they can with the tools they have, and it won't serve you to retaliate in any way.

Comments

  1. I sure am with you on the onion thing. Yes m'am. And avoiding liars. As a woman I used to know said, "Do you know what liars do? They lie."
    Wish I was as compassionate as you.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ha! Yes, I think the onion will carry us through many situations.... xoxo

      Delete
    2. I'm with Ms. Moon. I am not compassionate when it comes to liars. I don't think that they are doing the best they can. Lying is a choice.
      But I agree on onions---I'm still trying to learn to dice them the way I see tv chefs do.

      Delete
  2. I used to eat onions in everything. And always had acidic stomach. Finally had an especially bad bout after eating raw onion in a salad. Light bulb! My stomach feels so much better but I miss my onions sadly. (For those more interested in the acid thing, I also had to cut out citrus, tomatoes, etc. - but onions? who'd have thought..?)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh, that IS a sad malady, an onion-less existence. I wonder if shallots would cause the same problem.
      I hope your summer is going well!

      Delete
  3. Planting Onions
    -Jane Flanders

    It is right
    that I fall on my knees
    on this damp, stony cake,
    that I bend my back
    and bow my head.

    Sun warms my shoulders,
    the nape of my neck,
    and the air is tangy with rot.
    Bulbs rustle like spirits
    in their sack.

    I bury each one
    a trowel's width under
    May they take hold,
    rising green in time
    to help us weep and live.

    XX Beth

    ReplyDelete
  4. Oh Betsy, I couldn't read past Pisces right now, I've been a crybaby all day, all week, really - a hormonal weepy crybaby, and I cried chopping onions for dinner too, which I cooked all sad and morose and put upon, and I cried in the shower some more because sometimes our kids just aren't nice at all to us, and then this post - its is almost too much. Your horoscopes have some scary timing. Synchronicity? Serendipity? One of those S words.The word your post made me think of was lacrimate. I have been experiencing a lot of psychic lacrimation lately, not the reflexive kind, what with all the empty nest and breaking away turmoil around here.

    OK, I lied. I went back and read them all. I loved them all, as usual, and read all sorts of things into them as usual, and laughed a little, as usual.

    Your writing never disappoints, thank you. And if I do nothing else, I will teach my kids to chop and saute an onion.

    xo

    ReplyDelete

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