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.

Dead Letters

I've been having this problem with my PO box which is that I never get any mail.  I assumed it was the ordinary version of that problem (no one mails me  anything), but then someone contacted me, asking if I'd received a check he mailed a check 10 days ago.  

There's only one problem you can have with a post office box.  If you have a car, you might have windshield wipers that don't work, or a weird rattle at a certain speed.  Or even a phone, which might be a little better metaphor, could have various problems.  But there's only one thing that can go wrong with a PO box.

And, if you have that problem, you can either have to just suck it up and just go to the post office every day to read the obituaries on the window, knowing you won't get mail, or you can tangle with the weird bureaucracy that is the federal government.  Neither option looks good.

I decided to test the system by mailing something to myself.  I rummaged around in my car and found an envelope and a stamp.  It seemed like I should put something in the envelope.  Right?  Because, even if it's self-addressed and turns up in my box in one day, I know that I'll want to open it.

So I rummaged around in my car some more, and found a poem that a friend gave me recently.  It's been kicking around in my vehicle for a few weeks, and I read it at traffic lights.  I think his point, or at least the point of the poem, is that it's good for the world to struggle and be honest, even though it's not always fun.   It matters and changes things the way roots making their way through dark hardened soil change things, even though it isn't obvious for a long time.  That seems like a good thing to think about when I'm waiting for the light to change.  

Anyway, to get to the point -- I folded it up and put it in the envelope addressed to myself, and thought sheesh, now I've become that person, the person who mails love(ish) poetry to myself.  The only thing that could make this any worse is if I decorated the envelope. But the second thing I noticed is that I felt tiny bit sad when I dropped it in the box.  

Goodbye little poem.  I hope I see you again, or if I don't, I hope you find your way to the dead letter office or somewhere else where you'll do your quiet magic.

Horoscopes: The Skull Edition

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  Here's something fascinating, Aries:  this post.  Don't you want to do the DNA testing now?  I bet I can find a groupon.  In fact, someone told me he could hook me up with a groupon, because his son, the product of a sperm donor, used one for DNA testing.  When someone tells you that, do you get to ask questions?  NO!  Aries, NO.  That's how someone ends up learning way too much, being a human listening post.  (What is a listening post anyway?)  See, I'm only on the first one and I'm already headed off to google something.  I'm thinking of a genome party, where we all spit in a vial, mail the kits back, and reconvene for the results, presuming they aren't too sad.  In or out?  Aries, if you do DNA testing, I promise to create a chart or graph of some sort with the data.  It's going to be a good week for you.  I can just tell.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  A while back, maybe in February, there was a bad smell in my

barn, the smell of something dead.  I call it a barn although there aren't animals in there, at least none that I've invited.  It's filled with junk important stuff that my ex-husband gathered, empty-ish paint cans, two kayaks, lots of bicycles, a recycling and garbage bin, potting soil, a million plastic pots, like a gigantic junk drawer that hasn't been cleaned in a decade.  But back to the smell.  I ignored it, the way I do, because bad smells are related to dead things, and dead things rot and the problem goes away, right?  My favorite thing about bad smells is that they are quite possibly the only problem that gets better with ignoring.  So I went out there the other day and looked in this gigantic bucket, and there was something dead and formerly fluffy in there.  I'm soaking the skull in clorox and we'll see what it reveals.  I'm not good at keying out skulls.  Last time I found one in the woods, I keyed it out and ended up at polar bear.  I'm pretty sure that was wrong.  But Taurus, find the silver lining in things this week.  There's even good news about bad smells.


Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Last week, a friend said this to me about a guy who rents her basement apartment:  "The only time he leaves his house is to go to his electroshock therapy appointments."  It wasn't one of those funny exaggerations; it was just a sad, true fact.  This makes me feel super together, Gemini.  I'm not that guy!  And neither are you.  We leave the house for other stuff too.  If you can't find anything else to be proud of right now, be proud of that.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I'm stressed about work for the first time in about 25 years, because a dear friend has entrusted some huge projects to me while she's galavanting in Europe, and every few minutes I think how bad it would be all around if I screw up. Men on backhoes call to ask questions that mystify me, and I make stuff up provide solid answers, and hope I'm not fucking things up too badly. But I guess that's what we do in our lives.  We just do the best we can with the tiny bits of information we have, and try not to mess things up too badly. Rock on, Cancer.  It seems like you never mess stuff up.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Back to the skull: So, I realized that I should probably reassemble the whole skelton and figure out what it is, right?  So that I can make a shallow grave, marked with, for example, "RIP, Weasel."  That seems like the right thing to do, and not only that, but how often do you get a puzzle with all the pieces definitely still in the box?  Right?  This animal died in a bucket!  Leo, take on some fun puzzles this week, but don't agonize.  Set that rock down.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  There's been a tiny blanket miracle recently at yoga, which is:  there used to be two blankets with the red/pink color scheme, and now there are three!  I know!  I've studied the blankets quite a bit, as some of you know, and I can't quite figure this out, but I guess some mysteries are meant to be enjoyed, not studied, and this is one of them.  That's what your week is for, too, Virgo.  To be cherished, not studied. 

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I was in the coffee shop, taking attendance, and trying to decide if it's creepy or flattering that I privately take attendance, and make tiny comments in my head or, uh oh, out loud, like, "Oh, so, you're late today."  And the weird thing is, people I don't know tell me why.  Like, they look kind of alarmed, and start saying, "well, my wife and I [there's always a big to do about mentioning The Wife] decided to have pancakes this morning, because blueberries are in season...."  Anyway, it gets boring quickly, and makes me wish I were like the parents of the 5 year old I was hanging out with recently.   She started telling a Very Long Story that took maybe 15 minutes, and the parents kept saying, "could you get to the interesting part, honey?"  I so wish we could say that to the adults, Libra.  Really.  But do your best to not bore the other humans this week.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  It turns out I have an imaginary life in my head that's way bigger than my real life, where I get a huge kick, privately, of taking attendance at a coffee shop, for example.  I also share a cubicle with a coworker whom I rarely see, because we stagger our time.  I started doing this thing, and then restrained myself, of playing out an imaginary shitty relationship on the white board we share, because I'm only going to be sharing the cube for a limited number of weeks.  Like, "Hey, welcome home!  Would you mind taking the dog out for a walk a little more often?"  And then the next week it would be, "Hey, it's great to have you back again, but the dog?  And is it in my head, or does it seem like I always do the laundry around here?"  And maybe the next week it would be, "Look.  I'm sure you have a lot on your mind, but the dog?"  And so on, til I eventually move out. And I was cracking myself up but decided it would just be too weird for my coworker, and that very day, I learned that my daughter, who's a farming intern, has an imaginary intern named Claire. Anytime M. is asked to do something, the thought bubble over her head says, "Jeez, why is it always me?  Why don't you ever ask Claire to do anything?"  And so on.  Claire's kind of a slacker, I guess. Anyway, Scorp, enjoy your imagination this week.  It's all we have, in the end.  Instead of LOL, let's start, "LIH" (Laughing in head.)  Oh wait, we are so not those people!  We leave the house for other reasons than shock therapy.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  So, R. dropped by yesterday, and we talked and swam across the lake and before dinner, I made him a gin & tonic because that's what civilized people do in the summer.  He said, "Hey, I have a bottle of Bombay gin at my house in Oly!  My boss bought it for me at the end of the year because I was the best worker."  I will say right out loud, unashamedly, that I was proud of my son not just because he was the best worker, but because he selected top shelf gin when offered a choice.  (Why would I even care about that?  RIght?)  "It's kind of cool, Mom.  Every day, we go adventuring around Oly, we ride our bikes all over, like to the artesian well or the beach,  and at 8:00, I make a round of G & T's for the boys.
"Do you know what we believe in, R," I asked.
"Yes, Mom.  We believe in being decent to the other humans."
"Yes!  AND, we believe in adventures, and in celebrating, and making fun out of whatever's around, and making things festive where you can."  
"I know, Mom."
It is indeed good to have adult children, especially ones who are honest and kind and fun and know what we believe in.  Sag, be that again this week.  Honest and kind and fun and clear with what you're about.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Your horoscope, Capricorn, is the beautiful intersection of me having all of these bones, and at the same time, wanting to come up with some get-rich-quick scheme.  How's this:  Sell-a-patella?  Right?  You have to agree that it's catchy.  It could be a multi-level thing, with other representatives selling too, working for commission.  Because I have, I believe, eight weasel knees, and a quick search of Craig's List suggests that no one else has had this idea!  Capricorn, your hard work will pay off, some day.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Back to the skull.   (Does it seem like I'm obsessed?) So I'm at a party, and mention to a friend that I'm soaking the bones in clorox.  He looks panicky.  "Never soak a skull in clorox because the bones deteriorate."  He looks like I should probably leave the party right away, but I decide another hour or two won't hurt, but you can bet that I rinsed the bones off before I went to bed.  "You need to put it in a bucket with water and horse manure.  Two horse apples in a bucket of water."  I don't know why I brought that up.  Maybe to distract from what else was happening at the party, which is that I was getting a lot of flack about my hair, of having the look of someone who drinks a glass of wine and watches a youtube video about cutting hair, and goes for it.  Which is exactly true, but I don't really see a problem with it, myself.  But really, back to the skull.  There are two!!  I know!  Two complete weasel-ish skulls and bodies, plus another tiny mouse-like skeleton.  It's like CSI Lake Margaret.  This week, Aquarius, will be CSI Your Life!  Yikes, I hope that doesn't sound too ominous.  I just mean there are mysteries to solve, so have at it.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I was on a tour of some mitigation sites the other day --we walked around this giant field of grass, to which some fish restoration people had added about two logs to create fish habitat.  One of the elected officials, who I won't name, but you can guess, said, "So.  About those logs.  My husband is a fisherman, and comes out here all winter, and he tears his hip waders on those logs.  You surely aren't going to do more of that, are you?  We need to show more concern for the fishermen and their waders."  That picture is kind of boring, but you can probably gather that it would be fairly easy to avoid logs, since there are only about 3 in 200 acres. It was one of those moments of irony, like, "could we be a little more about the fisherman, and less about the fish?"  Pisces, be ironic in an interesting way this week, not a ridiculous way.

bones and the universe

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  I started volunteering at a museum cleaning newly excavated Triceratops bones, which is a crazy mix between tedious and awesome.  After a few hours of carefully scraping rock off the bone under a microscope, during which I cleaned about one square centimeter, the man teaching me said, "You get it, right?  This is painstaking tedious work with no pay off.  Are you in?"  Of course I'm in.  Duh.  Because the payoff, Aries, is shiny bones!  Keep your bones shiny this week.  Suit up.  It's going to be a long one.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Our town has a FaceBook page where people post things of local interest.

The piano that's about to
be dropped being played in
a most awesome way

 I read a post yesterday about a guy on the trail who approached a car in the round-about and knocked on the window, while holding what we call his "universe".  After a few concerned comments, someone posted, "Oh, I know him.  He's harmless.  He just lost his phone and was agitated, but the phone has been found."  Taurus, see if you can use better strategies than showing your private parts to strangers, should your phone get lost or you suffer any other minor setback.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  I've been noticing the phrase, "crowd-sourcing" cropping up a lot lately.  Gemini, I don't like it one little bit.  It doesn't define anything new.  You could use other words, like "collaborate" or "make a group decision", or "talk amongst yourselves".  And really, do groups make good decisions?  Think about it.  This is hopefully the last time you'll find that term on this blog, Gemini.  But your week will be full of good decisions.  Now that you're a year older, everything is going to fall directly into place.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I was talking with a friend about my chronic single-hood (is it chronic, or terminal?  Hard to say.)  She said she knows someone.  "And," she added excitedly, "He has a new kidney!"  I know.  The weird coincidence here is this:  I have a kidney too!  (Though mine is well-used.)  But still, we take common ground where we find it.  Or common organ, as it were.  Cancer, enjoy your kidney this week.  I know -- you do that every week.  But this week, seriously enjoy it.  All that cleansing is happening unbeknownst to you while you carry on, laughing and playing.  Miraculous.  If we could figure out how to design houses with kidneys we'd be all set.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I went on a picnic the other night and was inappropriately smug for bringing a pepper grinder, a table cloth, and flowers for the table.  Because, not that I'm proud of this, but I'm usually the sort who stops at the store for a bag of chips on my way to the picnic.  Every few minutes all evening, I would say, "Does anyone need fresh ground pepper?"  No one ever did, but that didn't diminish my joy in the whole pepper grinder situation.  Because I was prepared.  For a pepper emergency.  Leo, be a little bit prepared, but don't over do it.  I'd recommend preparation that involves a hammock and a book.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Speaking of the universe area, one of my yoga buddies returned hurriedly to his matt from the bathroom just as class was starting yesterday, leaned over and whispered to me, "So, I was using the soap to wash my hands and it splurted out all over my crotch. I tried to wipe it off with a paper towel, but it got foamy and I didn't want to come back out here with a foamy crotch for the obvious reasons, so I used lots of water, and now it looks like I peed in my pants.  In case you're wondering."  I started laughing so hard that I couldn't breathe, (which is the opposite of what we do in yoga -- it's all about the breathing.)  "I think you have toilet paper stuck to your foot," I whispered back, because it was true.  Virgo, be careful in the bathroom this week. But see if you can laugh so hard that breathing ceases, because that's as good as it gets.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Acting on a tip, I made my way to this pretty spot.  It was hot and grueling and involved bushwhacking to such a degree that when I next saw R., bloodied and sweaty, he gave me that look that says, "None of the other moms are coming home half dead, dripping with sweat, bleeding, with twigs in their hair, from their little outings.  You know that, right?"  I'm okay with that.  If I were 98 years old and someone wanted to bring me to Nicaragua, sure, I'd be grateful.  Diapers and imodium.  And that's how your week will be, Libra.  Fun adventures, but not without blood, sweat, and tears.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  The person who's teaching me how to clean the Triceratops bones is the man who actually found the dinosaur in the dirt in Wyoming.
"Wow!  What was that like?" I asked, because it has to have been the highlight of his career.  "Saw some bones," is all he said before turning back to the microscope.  
Be that understated this week, Scorpio.  It's quite becoming.  Oh, and if you're wondering what part is mine to clean?  The frill!  I know!  Rhymes with thrill, not coincidentally.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  This week, Sag, you'll be the quintessential manic pixie dream girl.  Enjoy it.  Some of you are still wondering why I have such a problem with "crowd sourcing".  Well, it's exactly like this horoscope. Throwing a term out there as if everyone knows it but you, like you're the only one who has to click on the link.  Using terms like that basically says, "I'm kind of an asshole, and I like to use phrases that will make you feel out of the loop."  Language, people, is about communicating.  Including, not excluding.  Keep that in mind at all times this week, Sag.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  This is a grand poem, Capricorn.  And a reminder to not turn into vacant effective people.  Which, and I mean this in the fondest way, you Caps are at little risk for, not that it serves you well.  The vacant effectives are a happy lot, but it doesn't go very deep.  Take comfort there.  

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  I read an article last week in the NYT about daydreaming (oh, wow, I just realized how ridiculous that sounds.)  They had some rules -- among them:  Never day dream about: celebrities, being heroic, or being efficient.  They had to make that a rule?   Who daydreams about that stuff?  Sheesh.  Aquarius, daydream about cool super powers.  Which is completely different than being heroic.  And is the only real daydream when it comes right down to it.  Report back.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Acting on a different tip, I made rhubarb honey syrup, the key ingredient for this drink, which sounds festive and summery, right?  Stop by for one.  Although I'm nearly out of gin, which is the smell of my childhood.  (Oh, did I say that out loud? Oops.)  But for my faithful Pisces, who read to the end and sometimes get gypped because I'm tired, here's something else:
I was sitting in the coffeeshop, taking attendance the way I do (yes, almost everyone is accounted for. Phew.)  A woman I don't know asked me if I'm Patty.  "No, I'm not," I answered, even though I wanted to follow it out as if I were.
"Oh.  Well, you look just like a woman I know named Patty.  Or maybe not -- I'm usually drunk when I see her."
"Well, you be drunk and I'll be Patty," I replied.
She agreed to the plan, so we'll see what tomorrow brings.
See if you can use that in a conversation this week, Pisces.  I dare you.