The dog, the bees, the planets

Will I ever be able to stop drawing the bees?
Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Well, we've had a parade since I last posted, and it was super fun and I'd highly recommend it if you're down in the dumps about Trump and John B Macklemore and climate change and all the rest of it. There's no downside to walking around with the other townsfolk as a vegetable.  Have a look at some pictures.  And meanwhile, Pisces, be a vegetable next year!  

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  I have the rodent problem in my house again, which means that I lie awake quite a bit while the rodents move their furniture around in the attic, directly over my bed.  I think about Hanta virus quite a bit, and wonder if it's a terrible way to go, or just regular.  Aries, my attic, along with the rest of the country, has been going to hell in a bucket.  RESIST.  Be part of the "Not-going-to-hell-in-a-bucket" crowd.  

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I have a friend with a secret life in her hay loft where she artificially inseminates chickens and keeps pets that her family knows nothing about.  She has a secret rabbit that I think should be named Harvey, but it has it's own name that isn't Harvey. (I'm not telling you what it is, because duh, it's a secret!) I'm reminded of a true story I read about a woman who housed both German soldiers and six Jews in a closet for a few years.  Everyone lived.  Taurus, there's no shame in  practicing your hiding people skills.  In fact, it might come in handy.  Or, if you're feeling a little tired out, maybe just hide yourself for a bit.  

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21): I spend a lot of time thinking about my dog, and most especially how much I love her and what a good dog she is.  I like to believe she thinks about me too, although its mostly, "Does she have treats in her pocket?"  But that's okay.  Things are almost never precisely mutual.  Gemini, this week, be delighted to be the one with a lot to give, the one with lots of [metaphorical] treats in your pocket.  (I hope that's not creepy.)  


Cancer (6/22 – 7/21): I got a text a few months ago that still makes me laugh when I think about it, in a "it's not nearly as funny as all my laughter suggests" way.  I was in a room full of people, and my phone kept going off indicating a text or seven, suggesting that something really important was going on.  People around started noticing, and suggesting I see what's going on.  It was an important message: "What did you think of your sandwich today?  Mine seemed a little salty."  Why is that funny?  We don't know, Cancer, but it is.  This week, enjoy the salt and everything else.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I'm so sorry, Darwin.  We have a secretary of education who doesn't believe in teaching evolution.  Two hundred years later and some people still can't see the beauty in the fact that we're all connected, that we all came from star dust.  Leo, be a star this week. Shine bright; times are dark and we need your light.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22)I recently joined Twitter because it's part of the resistance.  For a long time, I had one follower. You might think we could have arranged it so I would call her up when I have something to say, but this is more fun, like the can telephone that was strung between my house and a friend's when I was about seven years old.  Then I got another follower, and had to text my first follower to see if we have poly-followry in our relationship.  We do.  Phew!  Virgo, this week, first think spaciously, and then distill everything down to 140 character nuggets of brilliance.  It's poetry month!

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I spend a lot of time trying to communicate with my dog, because English isn't her first language.  She looks at me and whimpers, and I say, "Use your words!" in a stern voice.  And she looks down, which makes me feel bad.  So I say, "Do we
Relaxing on a shovel

 need to talk about our relationship?"  And she wags her tail, and I take that to mean we're good.  I probably talk to her too much -- I ask her about stuff she doesn't want to think about, like "what should we do about climate change today, eh, Jaz?"  And she wags her tail.  She has a regular name (Jasmine Jones) and a name for fancy (Jasmine Cavendish-Palmer).  Sometimes I call her by her fancy name and then she does something decidedly not fancy, like drinking from the toilet, and I have to call her Jones.  Libra, be fancy this week.  Use your fancy name.  Don't drink from the toilet. 


Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  If I had to pick a conspiracy theory about my dog, I'd assume she's a super smart alien sent down in a dog's costume to study the ways of a random part recluse, part "let's have a parade" woman.  She seems eager to access the forest behind my house for research purposes.  Are you wondering why I think she's a spy?  Here's one reason:  sometimes, she leaves the room to jot down notes in her little notebook when she thinks I'm not looking.  I can't read the notes, because, as I've mentioned, English is not her first language.  She s particularly interested in pollinators.  So interested, in fact, that last week she swallowed 4 honeybees and threw up.  Scorpio, don't swallow pollinators, BE a pollinator!  Share whatever you have with your people and all the other people too.  

This is why we're all so tired and just a little bit grouchy
Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Has everyone finished listening to the S-Town podcast?  If not, you should.   It's heartbreaking and delicious, with a few disappointing parts.  Everything you want in a podcast.  Or in a life for that matter.  (Except the disappointing spots got pretty huge.)  Sag, be grateful that we live in The Time of the Podcast.  Life is good.    

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19): Here's something interesting:  the molecules in wine have no flavor; taste is created by your memories plus the emotions of your companions.  So, if your wine tastes a bit sour, change up your drinking buddies!

Aquarius (1/20-2/18):  I keep seeing people post about their loved ones, "I love you to the moon and back."  Is that a lot?  Are there people who's love extends to the moon, but not back? Which brings me to the actual point:  there's something going on in Antarctica. We still don't know why John Kerry spent election day in Antarctica.  Are pyramids being revealed as the ice melts?  Is my dog actually from Planet B?  Aquarius, let me know.

Comments

  1. I have frequently thought that cats are indeed the minions and spies of aliens to check on and report how their ape-alien experiment is going here on earth. What else would explain their nine lives? Aliens aren't stupid. Why waste good minion spies? Plus, they're always pretending to nap but actually they're just watching us.
    I love your writing, Betsy. You are a light in this world.

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    1. Yes, there's definitely something suspicious about the cats. The way they look at you, and how quiet they can be.... Thanks for your kind words, Ms. Moon. In switching to my new template, I've lost (temporarily) the links to other blogs, including yours. I'll have to fix that!

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  2. You have been busy! Sweet dog, art, parade, new blog look ... which is very nice, by the way.

    How do you artificially inseminate a chicken without a laboratory or something? And maybe more to the point, why?

    And yes, re Taurus, my people hiding skills seem to be focused on myself only, the last couple of years. I don't feel like coming out of hiding yet. I can't decide if it's an extreme reaction to pushing myself out of my comfort zone for the eight years before that or if it's aging or if it's just the way I am.

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    1. I know, about the chickens. I think a turkey baster is involved. These fancy chickens have so many feathers that, well, they need assistance.

      I think it's okay to be in hiding. Stay until you're ready. :-)
      Happy spring!

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  3. I'm not a Leo but that's sadly one of the truest. Wonder where cats fit in that conspiracy theory? I just know they're up to no good....
    Xoxo
    Barbara

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    1. Yes, cats have a plan, for sure. Maybe that's good. Maybe we can relax and let the cats figure it out!

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  4. Felix, my dog, as you know, is always billed as 'very intelligent'. I'm not sure which scale we are referring to here because he still can't read or do higher maths. He does stare at me while I'm eating (and I mean STARE) and I'm not sure what he's thinking. Does he want my kale salad (doubt it) or does he want me to pay attention that moment because he's going to speak a whole sentence. So far all he's mastered is 'bark'.

    He's above toilet drinking at least. But cat food is apparently ambrosia. To the consternation of Lola.

    Next year I wanna be a purple carrot. Or a sweet potato.

    XXX B

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  5. I'm a Libra and I definitely will not drink out of the toilet. Guaranteed. But I think I will be a temporary Taurus and hide a bit for awhile.

    I'll come out of hiding and ask, "Is Trump still President?"

    I hope not.

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  6. Is it strange that I wish you had written "BEE a pollinator!"?

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