G.A.

One great thing about being a Unitarian is that, bottom line, we believe in making this world a better place, not because we're trying to get to heaven, but rather, because many of us don't believe there is a heaven, and it's our sacred duty to do what we can right here, right now.  This is it.

Anyway, I'm in Phoenix at the UU General Assembly with a couple thousand other Unitarians, travelling with a couple other adults and eight youth.  What's amazing about this group of young people is just how kind they are toward one another.  They're checking in with us regularly, taking care of themselves and each other, and allowing themselves to be inspired by the events.  They're attending workshops and worship, laughing, being moved, and generally, getting along.  Seeing them, and hundreds of other fine youth from around the country, makes me optimistic for the future.  

There's also plenty to spoof on here as well.  Garrison Kielor would have a field day.  But I won't go there at this moment, because it feels a little wrong -- like going to a party and laughing at the hostess behind her back.  Let's just say that it's the kind of event where, after a talk by one of the foremost experts on water rights and water issues in the world, someone stands up and asks us all to stop flushing the toilet while we're here.  That sort of sums up the sweet, naive energy that is easily spoofed, but I guess I'm more in the mood to be grateful that people care that much.

There is language here, I guess its religious language, and it feels awkward to me.  Rather than going to a street party, we had a "community celebration with our partners".  This evening, we're going to "bear witness"  at Tent City, an outdoor encampment of people being held by Immigration and Customs Enforcement.  It's currently about 110 degrees outside, and people are being held in un-airconditioned tents in the desert for the crime of moving to the U.S. to be with the rest of their family, or for economic opportunity.

When my ancestors moved here escaping the potato famine, they were greeted on Ellis Island by the Statue of Liberty.  It's a whole different deal now.  We aren't so excited about the huddled masses, yearning to breathe free anymore.  Two people die each day crossing the desert to get into this country, and volunteers who leave water out for immigrants are arrested for littering.  And the wall, oh, don't even get me started.  But it's heartening to hear from groups who organize volley ball games across the border, using the wall as a net.  People who are taking big risks to save lives.

At any rate, I hope it goes well this evening, and youth aren't overwhelmed by the injustice of humans being held in such inhumane conditions.  I hope counter-protesters don't show.  There are rumors circulating that the detainees will be moved before our vigil.

Our youth are keeping a sense of humor through it all.  Some of them are hoping to have dinner at Hooter's first, to bear witness, first-hand to the obectification of women.  They're quick and funny, and have caught on to how people can claim religious language to justify just about anything. 

Okay, standing at a cyber cafe, surrounded by people wearing shirts that say "Standing on the Side of Love", which, according to Bill Sinkford, is our location.

Peace.
Betsy

The End of the Rat Race

First week off and so far, so good.  I’m not writing nearly as much as I had imagined.  For a long time now, like 20 years, I’ve been too busy to manage my house and it’s environs, so there are little situations everywhere that represent something that’s eventually supposed to happen.  Half-completed knitting projects, mosaics, disorganized art supplies, garden projects.  Things that were almost too depressing to look at, because you don’t want to abandon them – giving up, and all that it means.  

But on the other hand, the projects never start where you think they should.  You see a half-completed knitting project, for example, and can’t just pick it up and begin to knit, marching steadily toward a beautiful new sweater. It’s more like, pick it up, try to remember what it was going to be, untangle the yarn that’s gotten married to three other half-baked projects, try to locate the pattern or at least remember where you were headed – was it going to be a sock, or a hat, or a blanket for some baby who’s surely grown up by now?  Try to remember why you stopped.  Was it simply a lack of time, or was there a fatal flaw?  Did that person break up with you before you finished the hat?  Locate the rest of the yarn you need, and the proper needles.  

This stuff is frustrating when you only have a tiny bit of time, because you get to the part of having everything assembled, and the bell rings -- time’s up, and the next time you get back to it, you have to start all over again. 

But now that I've got nothing but time as far as the eye can see, I’m all about pulling the couch out and vacuuming behind it, picking the slugs from my garden one by one and tossing them into the tall grass where they breed and send their babies back to the garden, making fresh rhubarb muffins for breakfast in the morning, creating lists of things I’ve always wanted to do that I might actually have time for now, like learn to play piano, grow trees from scratch, make flash cards of stuff I want to memorize, revisit the Dewey Decimal System, read more, knit hats for everyone I know, spend time with friends, take care of their babies, learn why worms don't care when the compost pile gets hot, create more with paper mache, build a scarecrow, sort the beads by color, hang out with Todd's puppy, read about crows, revise my whole iPod system, answer the phone when it rings instead of hiding under the desk, swim in the lake every day, ride my bike, build a beautiful yet functional deer fence, do yoga, hike, gather food, write write write… oh, yeah, and look for work.  

My last week at the job was the kind that made me so ready to be done.  On my last day in the Permit Center, a guy comes in, and he looks like a washed up professional wrestler.   I learn later that indeed, he is.  Kind of meaty but flabby, and missing a bunch of teeth. Strangely, he had the four in the front, but none in the back.  I don’t know much about wrestling, but you must get hit more on the side than in the front?  (And in a weird coincidence that I won't elaborate on here, one of the other regular developers who's also missing teeth, but the front ones, also came in to the P. Center at the same time.  Two big guys, who, between them, had only one full set of teeth. Right?)

“I want to know if there are wetlands on this parcel.”

I pull it up on the computer, and see that it’s within a city’s jurisdiction.  “I’m sorry, you’ll have to contact the city.”

“No, they sent me here.”

I never know what to say when people do that.  It’s definitely not true.  Like, you go to your hairdresser and say, “My faucet is dripping.” And the hairdresser says, “Yeah, you’ll have to contact a plumber.”  

And the person says, “Yeah, I went to the plumber, and they said to seek out a hairdresser…” You know it’s a lie, but how do you get it so you both agree on that? 

“Hmm, I’m not sure why they’d send you to the County.  We don’t issue permits for properties within the City limits, and they have their own regulations regarding wetlands, and we don’t assist with that.”

“Well, they said to come ask you if there are any wetlands on the property.”

What that would be like is, “Hey fox, why don’t you run over to the farm next door and see if they have any rules about eating chickens, and come back and tell us what you learned.  And whatever they tell you, we’ll honor, and not do any fact checking.”  But I can’t say that to him.  Maybe because he’s a professional wrestler, or maybe because it’s my last week and I feel oddly weepy, like if I tangle with him at all, it will end up weird.

 “Well, I can tell you what the inventory shows, but it’s nearly 30 years old, and isn’t considered very complete or accurate.”  I pull up the layer, and it doesn’t show any wetlands.  I give my little disclaimer spiel, “this doesn’t mean that there aren’t wetlands, but just that, with the cursory inventory effort that was conducted in the 1980’s using aerial photographs, none were identified, blah blah blah.”

“Yeah, you’re wrong.  It shows as wetland on iMap.”  He’s getting belligerent, and I’m in that short fuse part of my last week, like, really?  I have to take this, and then be unemployed?  Not to bore you too much, but iMap is just a different path to the same data.  Like, let's say you went down aisle 3 to get to the dairy section, and I went down aisle 2.  If there’s no half and half, it isn’t going to appear just because we back up and go through aisle 3 to get there.   But I do it, because I’m in the habit of placating the haters.  I open iMap, and it doesn’t show a wetland.  I go through the disclaimer spiel again, which, to be candid, represents a cross between being thorough and being passive aggressive. 

He gets really angry now.  “It showed as wetland on my computer at home.  Do I need to print that out and bring it to you?  Huh?  Is that what you're gonna make me do?”

I’m thinking, nope, I’m pretty sure I don’t need anything at all from you.  I want to give him a metaphoric scenario:  'Look, it’s like you called me as a wrong number, and now you want to show me the scrap of paper you were reading from when you misdialed. Um, really, you can just hang up.'  But I don't.  And since this is in person, where I can get a good view of the areas in his mouth where teeth should be, there is no hanging up.  

“Uh, no, I don’t really think that’s necessary.  Your question was, in the 1980's, did King County think there was a wetland on this property?  The answer is no.”  I try to have that definitive, move along buddy tone in my voice, but he's having none of it.

“No we’re not done here.  When I look this up at home, it shows up as orange.   Now I come all the way here and you tell me it’s not a wetland.” 

I can't tell if I'm just irritable in general, or if he's irritating, or if it's my inappropriate prejudice towards the untoothed, or if it's his aggressive behavior.  “Hmm.  What did the legend say orange meant? It sounds like you had another layer turned on.”

“Well, I assume it would be wetlands.  What else would it be?”

How do you move off the dime with someone like this?  I wish I could say I had been patient, and carefully turned on the 300 plus layers, one at a time, to see what made the parcel turn orange, and helped him interpret that, but I just didn’t have it in me. “Maybe you could go look at it on your computer, and then look at the legend to see what orange means.  I don’t know offhand.”

“Fine,” he says angrily, as he stalks out.  

I go back to my desk, and retrieve a voice mail that goes something like this:

“FIRST YOU MADE ME PLANT TREES, AND THEN YOU PLOWED THEM ALL DOWN.  YOU NEED TO GET OUT HERE RIGHT AWAY AND YOU CAN PAY FOR THE REPLACEMNTS.  AND PLANT THEM.  CALL ME.  IMMEDIATELY."

I do, I call her right back and leave a message:  “I'm not sure exactly what you’re talking about, but apparently you’re under the impression that I’ve damaged some trees on your property?  You might want to call my boss, because this is my last day…" 

I check my e-mail and see one from my attorney, saying that the guy who keeps trying to sue me is appealing the state supreme court’s dismissal of the case, and is continuing to try to sue me personally.  

Anyway, it’s fun to be off leash right now, and I’m hoping there’s enough fear of living under a bridge to propel me into action.  I can't tell if I'm more terrified of jumping into the rat race again, or living under the bridge. Okay, true confessions:  at this very moment, I'd choose living under the bridge.

Horoscopes: the Disturbing Scientific Discoveries Edition

I was looking at an article in the Smithsonian about the most disturbing scientific discoveries of all time, and thought, huh, now there's some horoscope material...

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): The Earth is not the center of the universe.  Some of these discoveries, while at first disturbing, become business as usual after a few prison terms and a long, long time, like 400 years (if you're Catholic).  Aries, we don't have 400 years.  Join up, and keep gracefully orbiting around whatever seems deserving.  Don't worry about whether it's the actual center of anything.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  The microbes are gaining on us.  They evolve so rapidly, Taurus.  But can't we evolve too?  Or at least try to get along with the microbes?  Why must we annihilate everything?  This week, evolve quickly, try to get along, eat locally, speak your truth with an open heart.  Don't worry too much about whether penicillin is effective -- something's gonna get you, whether it's that bus that's hurtling towards you, a resistant strain of tuberculosis, or a bad attitude.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  There have been mass extinctions in the past, and we’re probably in one now.  Wow, it's harder than I thought to make horoscopes out of this stuff.  Like, hey, have a great week, we're all going down!  But try to do just that.  As Hemingway said, "you lose, of course.  The point is how you conduct yourself while you're being destroyed."  Chin up, Gemini.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  Things that taste good are bad for you.  The theory is that historically, humans needed to quickly grab food with lots of salt, sugar, carbs because that stuff was was scarce and easily stored.  Now, it's not scarce at all, but we have those preferences embedded, leading to a rise in popup ads that say, "lose belly fat instantly!"  (Is that a shameless way to draw readers to this blog? Yes, it is.) But Cancer, we can learn to love stuff that doesn't taste great at first, like IPA, for example, and coffee.  I for one don't find this a very disturbing discovery.  Carry on your merry way.  Eat kale.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  E=mc².  The disturbing thing here, according to the article, is that when the constant is squared, and that constant is the speed of light, well, even the smallest multiplier creates a bucketload of energy.  I'm not disturbed, Leo.  Are you?  I think that was just a way for the Smithsonian to make you feel smart.  Like, "oh, right, I know that formula.  Einstein, right?  Yeah, I totally knew that."  But if anyone has a bucketload of energy, send some my way, wouldja?

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Your mind is not your own.  Is this even disturbing?  I don't think it really is.    What I think is disturbing, though, is this, which won't come as a surprise to any of you, but seriously.  Sabbotaging the economy sounds sterile and impersonal, but what it boils down to is greedy people messing with the financial lives of lots of hard-working people.  Right?  Now that is disturbing.  But, because you're you, Virgo, I'll follow that up with two pieces of good news:  Brandi Carlisle's new album is awesome, and Slate has started a new podcast about language!  Check it out!

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  We’re all apes.  I for one find this exciting.  We're all evolving constantly in large and small ways, or at least we wish we were, or could if we gave in to it.  What's disturbing is that my podiatrist iintends to cut me off from the steroid injections, because he believes I've had my fill.  It's hard to understand why that didn't get in the article, Libra.  The more obvious disturbing thing here, though, is that I even have a podiatrist.  I know!

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Cultures throughout history and around the world have engaged in ritual human sacrifice.  Did you hear The Moth podcast this week?  Rachel Dratch talks about going on a date with a guy who mentions that he wonders what human flesh tastes like.  That's taking curiousity to new and creepy levels, Scorpio.  Stay curious, but sheesh.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  We’ve already changed the climate for the rest of this century.  Yikes.  I think this is the scariest one.  There's gonna be a lot of suffering this century, Sagittarius.  Be kind.  Share what you have.  Give freely.  Come to me for salt, which I have lots of.  Oh, and a hat. I can make hats.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  The universe is made of stuff we can barely begin to imagine.  The uncanny thing here, Capricorn, is that your week will be made up of precisely that.  Forget the normal stuff, like Tuesdays and laundry and walking the dog.  Stuff you can barely begin to imagine will happen.  Hang on.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  John Edwards was flirting with the alternate juror.  Yeah, that wasn't in the article, but still...   A fatal flaw is a fatal flaw; you don't just get to turn it off because you're on trial, even if it is super awkward.  Don't let the fear of being awkward stop you, this week, Aquarius.  Just move along your merry way.


Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  The purported wonders of pomegranite juice don't hold up to rigorous scientific scrutiny.  But that's no reason to stop loving it, Pisces, and maybe discovering super natural powers that it may actually possess.   In fact, so much doesn't hold up to scrutiny, but don't give up on stuff.

I'll be back. . .

I've been busy creating this, and other tasks related to commanding the wolf to step back a few feet from the door.

But I do want to invite all of you to a special storytelling workshop this Sunday from 2:30 - 4:30 at the Woodinville Unitarian Universalist Church.  It's going to be really fun, and we'll learn more about telling stories and coaching the stories out of our loved ones, and it's free, and Jeannie Yandel will be leading it.

AND, I plan to make brownies, which will also be free, and with any luck, some of the Tent City residents will join us and we'll have a chance to hear some really interesting stuff.

Please come if you can.

The texture of invisibility

The other day, I had lunch with a bunch of engineers whom I don't know very well, and we got onto the topic of nuisance animals, like woodpeckers that drill into the roof, rats that hang around the cat food, and so on.  It was all very polite and ever-so-mildly tedious, when I mentioned that I follow the blog of someone who just rescued 11 baby possums.  (Go look at the pictures!)

There was a little silence.  "Really?  How did you end up doing that?"

I wasn't sure what the actual question was, but I replied anyway.  "Oh, I was following the blog for a long time before this rescue operation." I thought that sounded good, right?  Like, I'm not one to be home on the weekends googling, "possum rescue".  No sirree.

"Really?  You were already following the blog, and then the person rescued the possums?"

"Yeah.  But this week there were pictures of these baby possums.  Snuggled under a blanket."

There was silence while everyone looked at me, waiting for more explanation, but I kept my mouth shut.

"Why were you reading the blog in the first place?"

It seemed too complicated to go into it all, so I replied, "Oh, I guess I just like to see what's going on out there.  I read a lot of blogs.  This one's written by a woman outside of Chicago."

"So, she isn't someone you know?"

"Well, no..."  I didn't want to explain that she's become sort of an imaginary friend, the kind who I'll likely never meet, and I only know the barest sketch about, but I think we would be friends if things were different, and she thinks that too.

There was that pause again, and eventually someone said, "Well, I guess now you do know what's going on out there.  Women in Chicago are rescuing possums." There was hearty laughter among the engineers, and the meal concluded on that note.

I was going to come home and write about that when it happened, but I was afraid it would be weird -- it could seem like I was making fun of the sweet possum rescue and the little blanket.  Words can so easily be misconstrued, and sometimes, finding a joy in someone's quirky parts might be misundersood as making fun of them, which isn't the point at all.

But yesterday, I joined Cake Boss and her kids on a fun bike ride and when we returned to our parked cars, the lot was full of cottonwood fluff.  It looked like a small blizzard -- a few inches had accumulated in some areas, and we stopped to play with it for a while.  It was softer and lighter than I could perceive with my hands, which is eerie in a good way.  We played a game where one person would close their eyes, and another person would drop a fistful of cottonwood fluff into one hand.  The person with closed eyes would have to guess which hand held the cottonwood fluff.  It was surprisingly difficult.  It seemed like this substance represented what invisibility would be like, if invisibility were a texture.

This morning, Cake Boss texted this picture to me, which is a bird that she rescued from her wood stove where it had been knocking itself out, literally, trying to escape.  Her kids have gently swaddled it in fluff, like an army nurse might do.  Providing comfort with whatever's available.

At any rate, it all made me realize how fortunate I am to have my life intersect with these rescuers, who work to minimize suffering in large and small ways, mostly small, because that's how it is with suffering.  You can knock around the inside of a woodstove for a long, long time, and all that anyone can really do is cover you up with the gentlest substance available, be present while you rest, and wave when you fly off.  That's as good as it gets.

Paparazzi

Over the weekend, I went to an awkward gathering to take pictures of R. and his date for the Senior Prom.  One outstanding thing about R. is that at 4:00, he was standing in my kitchen in shorts and a t-shirt, making a quesadilla.  By 4:45, he had driven to his Dad’s (10 minute drive), changed into a tux, driven to the florist (10 minute drive), picked up a corsage, and driven to town to meet me (5 minute drive), where we caravanned to this photo op.   My point is not that global warming is our fault, (which it is), but rather, that he spent less than 20 minutes preparing himself for the prom.  I’m a fan of that.

Anyway, I followed him and his buddy to a beautiful home overlooking our incredible valley, and we were greeted at the door by parents.  It strikes me as a little funny that I'm arriving at the door with two young men in suits.  I’m on the “meet the parents” part of the date, but I am the parent, and the other half of the dates are nowhere in sight, so it’s a little confusing..  We introduce ourselves, and the adults seem mildly indifferent.  None of the “come on in, may I take your coat, what would you like to drink?” that I try to practice at my house. 

“I guess the boys don’t pick the girls up for a date so much anymore,” I say, to fill the air.

“Oh, the girls are already here,” the mother answers, but there’s no evidence of that.

We stand on the doormat for a bit longer, not saying anything, and eventually, the girls emerge from a bedroom.  The boys greet them, and the four young people move into the kitchen where corsages and boutonnières are traded.  I’m still awkwardly standing at the entryway, holding my sweater and camera, but after a bit, decide to follow, uninvited, into the kitchen to take pictures.

Let me back up and say that as a single mother who’s worked forever, I haven’t been very involved in the school since my kids were in about 5th grade.  By now, I’m pretty far out of the loop.  In fact, I’m not even sure where the loop is, or who’s in it.  I wouldn’t recognize the loop if I were snared by it.  There’s an enormous gap between the at-home mothers who sell candy at the football games, plan casino nights and car washes, and know the ins and outs of All Things School, and the ones like me who come home bedraggled after stressful days getting yelled at by random people, sitting in traffic, wondering who I could hire to fix the leak in the roof, what to fix for dinner, and how many yoga classes it will take for me to remain relatively sane.  The chasm between these groups is filled with guilt.

I have a vague sense of the big things, like, “hey, is there going to be a graduation ceremony?  Do I need to know anything about that?” but my understanding doesn’t go too far beyond that.  I believe that after a certain point, kids should own their school life, and invite their parents in where needed, but I believe that a little desperately, the way you do when if you’re wrong, the consequences are pretty bad, and it’s too late to do it another way.

That’s probably why I get a little anxious when I have to intersect with the actual loop.  Like perhaps I’ll encounter something that will cause my belief armor to crack, and I’ll have to live with the depressing knowledge that I’ve blown it on the most important thing ever.  There will be something I'm supposed to know that I just don't, and CPS will be contacted.

Once, many years ago, I tried speed dating, and one guy spent our whole six minutes together saying, incredulously, “Really?  You haven’t seen Moulin Rouge?  Are you serious?  You haven’t seen it?”  Like it was a condition.  I’m afraid of a similar moment when I tangle with The Loop.  On the one hand, sheesh, it’s just one freakin’ movie!  It doesn’t make me culturally obsolete!  But on the other hand, um, I am a little obsolete, so his tirade stung.  I know, right?  Like some loser spends 6 minutes berating me because I haven’t seen a movie, and I’m the one who feels bad? 

Anyway, I tried to take pictures while holding my sweater and camera case for a minute, and then just set them down on the stairs, not knowing for sure if that was the right thing to do.  Once I was hands-free photographing in the kitchen, I noticed three big platters of beautiful appetizers and some wine glasses, but no one mentioned them, so I looked away.  If you’ve ever paged through a Smith and Hawken catalog, you know exactly how this situation looked.

The mom ushered us outside to a gorgeous patio that sported a stunning view of the valley, and a fountain surrounded by lush perennials.  I snapped a million pictures of R. and his beautiful date, and then, to be polite, snapped a million more of the other couple, who, to be candid, I don’t have a need for pictures of, but it seemed like the thing to do.  After about 20 minutes, another couple and a few more parents arrived, so we took a great many more pictures.  I believe it would be calculated by 6 factorial, getting every possible combination of posed shots.

I try to strike up a conversation with our hostess, and ask about things, like, what elevation are we at, how deep is your well, etc. I see R. giving me the look, and I know exactly what he would be saying if he weren’t on his best behavior.  He’d say, “Sheesh, Mom, that’s not a normal way to strike up a conversation.  No one but you cares how deep her well is, and especially because you aren’t even asking it ironically,” so I was laughing at his comment.  (That’s when you know you’ve gone a tiny bit around the bend, when you’re laughing at something someone said, but they didn’t even say it.)  But really, if you were standing there, you'd be wondering too:  is the bottom elevation of the well below that of the river, and if so, what are the consequences for the river, and for the well...  I know you're on my side here.

I took 92 pictures of R. and his friends and their parents and their shoes and the valley and the table with a fancy clutch on it, and then the other parents said they were leaving.  Because of my issue with transitions, I used my most reliable exit strategy and just drafted like a lazy bicyclist, saying I had to leave too.  Which I totally wanted to; I just didn’t know how long I was supposed to stay.  I sat car in my car in their driveway, blocked in, for several minutes before I realized that I was blocked by the last couple, and not the other exiting parents, who by now had left several minutes earlier.  I had started listening to a podcast, and sort of forgot what I was waiting for.  

When I realized that I was going to have to re-appear at the party, 10 minutes after I had left, I had a flashback to a time when I applied for a job as a waitress on a 3rd floor restaurant.  After the interview, I exited via the stairwell, only to realize I was locked in, and after spending half an hour going up and down the stairs a few times, trying doors, had to pound on the door of the restaurant, and have it be opened by the man who had just interviewed me, but this time, I was sweatier.  I didn’t get the job.

So I walked back to the patio, asked the couple if they could move their car, and then remembered that I had left my camera case and sweater inside.  I walked awkwardly back into the house, and told the hostess why I was there.  

“Would you like some snacks?  I’ve made some snacks.”  As she gestured toward the beautiful trays, her manner was so sweet and disappointed that she reminded me of the mother in The Hours.  No one had touched the trays of tapas. 

As usual, I wasn’t sure what the correct answer was, so I said I needed to go.  I’m pretty sure that if you left 10 minutes ago, and only returned because you forgot something, you probably shouldn’t stay to eat.   

This future, revealed.

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  I have a thing for hardware stores, I guess because everyone there seems so purposeful.  They're all about to make something, or at least fix something.  Hardware stores and their inhabitants are fighting entropy with everything they've got, but they make it look effortless.  It's almost like they don't understand that entropy always wins.  I find it so hopeful and calming to be around all that industriousness, because I've pretty much surrendered to the inevitable deterioration of stuff, so sometimes when it gets stressful, I just go walk around and watch.

Yesterday, while I was wandering around Home Depot, an employee came up to ask if I needed help, and I thought it was Tig Notaro.  Luckily, I remembered about my facial recognition disorder before I said anything awkward.  She did have brown hair, two arms, etc., not unlike Tig, but odds are pretty low that it actually was Ms. Notaro, since she was in New York only yesterday.  Using incredible powers of deduction, I realized that it would be unusual for her to be an employee at Home Depot, so I refrained from giving her a super-friendly fan greeting.  But now I'm regretting that a little. I mean, really, if you were some brown-haired, two armed clerk at a big box store, wouldn't you be thrilled to be mistaken for Tig?  So Aries, just go for it this week.  Give everyone the adoring fan greeting.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Every so often I check to see what search items bring random people to this blog.  The biggest draws for all time are "fur slugs" and "ham in a can", which I try pretty hard not to think about.  But today, I got a hit from Armenia, based on the search, "Horoscopes in which Spanx are never mentioned."  I'm so glad I was able to help.  I had no idea it was a real problem -- like, some guy in Armenia thinking, 'sheesh, I'm wondering what my horoscope is, but I hope they don't bring up Spanx again...'  Anyway, Taurus, your week is going to be mysterious and awesome, and Spanx will rarely be mentioned.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Today, the boss came in and Ms. Pasta said, "hey, do you have a poem?"  He left the room for what seemed like a really long time, and we couldn't tell if he was just mortified and afraid of what might happen next, or if he went to get a poem.  He came back a long time later and said he was sorry, but he didn't have a poem.  (Not to stray from the topic, but how could he not know?)  He turned to me and asked, "So, did you give Ms. Pasta the same poem you gave me?"  I know!  He's still puzzling that out.  Sheesh.  Let it go already.  Of course I didn't give her the same poem.  That would be creepy, right?  Gemini, you're never creepy, so luckily, you can give out any poems you want.  Any time, any where, and no one will even bat an eye.  In fact, they'll feel lucky.  True dat.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  I keep getting laid off (three letters so far), and I'm beginning to wonder if they think I'll be like that stalker ex-girlfriend or something, not getting it.  (Better have The Talk again, there she is, lurking in the bushes...)  Just for the record, I'm not Bartleby or that stalker ex.  I get it, Job, we broke up.  At any rate, one of the worst things about the rat race is when they move the finish line.  Not fair.  You get all geared up to be released from the invisible fencing and they change your release date.  How this relates to you, Cancer, is that sometimes the thing that you fear turns into what you long for.  I can't figure out whether that's depressing or good, but let's go with good, at least for this week.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Speaking of work, I was talking to a someone the other day who said that years ago, when he started a job, each day he'd come home and mark his calendar with either a happy face or a sad face, and he decided that if there were more happys than sads at the end of the month, he'd keep at it.  He did keep at it, but I got the sense that maybe there was some mishap with the counting, or maybe its just that if he were to do the same thing today, it would come out differently.  But the point is, I'm pretty sure a whole day can't usually be summed up by one type of face.  Just for this week, Leo, put some sort of symbol on your calendar each day.  See where you end up.  Don't be afraid of using the side thumb when needed.   :-)

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  You may not know this, but there's a little internet phenom going on right now, where women are creating videos on the theme, "Tights are not Pants."  To keep you from wasting time, I'll tell you that Youtube has nearly 1,000 videos, and let's just say that the title says it all.  There aren't many places you can take that.  It's like making a video of driving towards a destination in Iowa that you can see plainly from the first shot.  This is only marginally related to your horoscope, but I wanted to catch you up.  Your week, luckily, is going to be full of all kinds of stuff that you so did not see coming.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I'm sitting in a coffee shop, over-hearing two young people planning a trip of some sort, and I heard this: "We're going to have some trouble getting the dogs up in time.  Lately, they've been sleeping til 10."  This is why I can't write.  I stare off into space trying not to show how hard I'm listening, and trying to refrain from using the internet to confirm my suspicion that there's something really wrong with a dog that doesn't get up early every day, and especially when packing is happening.  I'm sitting here thinking, "is it weird if I just go over to that table and start asking them questions about their dogs?"   Libra, don't be like those slacker dogs.  Get up early and plant yourself in the car when you suspect a trip is afoot.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Anyway, to make a long story short without even telling the story, I had to go back to the coffee shop today to pay, and different people were working when I returned.  I said I needed to pay for the two drinks we had earlier (oh, see, now I'm telling the story,  Sheesh.)  At any rate, the beloved cranky old man asked who I was with, I said M., and he said, "oh, right, a Scorpio.  Gotta charge you for two shots, because I'm sure she had them, or should have."  That's the kind of week you'll have.


Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  The other day, I was helping someone in, yes, the Permit Center (fortunately, not too many more posts will have that sentence in them...), and I asked if she had the bright pink form, and she didn't seem to, so I said, "oh, maybe you printed it out from the internet, so it's white?"
"Why would it be white and not pink?"
"Well, if you printed it from home on white paper, it would be white."
"So, why wouldn't it print the right color at home?"

Anyway, Sag, have patience.  You'll need it this week.

M & I in our 3-D glasses

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  My little M. told me that the other day, she saw a small, tissue paper hot air balloon floating towards the parking lot she was standing in.  When it arrived on the ground, she and two other random spectators approached it, and found that it had a love declaration in it from someone named Almond.  The three, who were now partners in awestruck-ness, went into the mini-market, purchased three scratch tickets, and taped them, along with a note, onto the balloon’s basket.  They pooled all the paper they could summon from their pockets for rocket fuel, lit it, and sent it off again.  I feel pretty proud of her – she obviously knows how to behave in a small hot air balloon situation.  I don’t know if all the young people would know to add the scratch tickets and to form a little adventure with the random people in the parking lot, but that was undoubtedly the right thing to do.  I was proud the way someone might be if your offspring had performed CPR on a heart attack victim.  Capricorn, do the right thing this week.


Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Believe it or not, last night was the first time I've ever been invited to a  Washington State Future Farmer's of America awards ceremony party.  Always the same question, what to wear, what to wear.  Spoiler Alert:   Lynden Christian High School seemed to be winning lots of stuff.  Your week will be like that.  Lots of winning, lots of recognition.  Be gracious.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  So we were walking around last night, and R. said, “Hey, my friend just got home from college, and she wondered if we could get together tomorrow afternoon, but we only have about half an hour.  If I text this, does it sound creepy?  “If we just have time to get together for a short time, I’d rather not. It’s like having one bite of cake and not the whole piece.”

Well, yeah, I guess it seems mildly sexual, if that’s what you mean.  Maybe substitute “potato chips.”

“But I don’t even like potato chips that much.”

“Yeah, but it’s kind of a cliché that people can’t really just have one.” 

“Mom, I’m not really a big potato chip eater.” 

"Does she know that?"

"I’m not gonna lie to her.   I had probably better skip texting food metaphors."

That is some good decision-making right there, Pisces.  Do that this week, if you can.   Avoid texting food metaphors.