Swim. Barbecue. Coffee. Capricorn.

Swim. Barbecue. Coffee. Capricorn.

> Holy Banshees… I just read my scope.
> Do you have cameras installed in my place?
[from a Cap, of course>

I’m a big proponent of another astrologer’s point of view. Before I hung a shingle that said I was an astrological consultant, before I started regularly publishing “oracular visions” as the “Fishing Guide to the Stars,” that one writer’s slim book made me think. There’s no hard and fast rule, no school for “Redneck, Shakespeare quoting, want-to-be bubba, sarcastic & sardonic, combined astrological schools” writing. Got to throw in a little Texas lore, a little common sense, humor, cartoons, old trucks, a variety of musical styles, and some new-age speak, too. Ain’t no place to learn how to do this. In other words, to do what I do best, I’ve got to feel my way along. This is flying by the seat of the pants [or shorts, really>.

I was finally getting towards a point of peace within myself, understanding that some folks just don’t like what I do. I can’t control that. Then, in keeping with my own belief that I should “walk the walk,” I was on the trail, headed towards Barton’s Spring for cool a dip on a hot day, when I came across a fairly common scene around here, two male grackles [crows> were doing their version of who deserved the most girl grackles. Two blackbirds, beaks straight up in the air, feathers all ruffled, doing a bird-equivalent of chest-beating. I took it as a sign. Just in case I missed the symbolism, a little further, a cardinal alighted on a bush’s branch, driving home the point.

Had some barbecue with my army buddy. We didn’t really discuss what folks might expect [beer & girls>. Okay, so maybe a little about that sort of thing. But my buddy was more interested in talking about a particular place to fish, and then we got off on a tangent. He’s got an advanced degree in psychology, and he was suggesting that I have enough hours from “counseling” to qualify for a license. “You probably have more hours than most legitimate counselors,” he was telling me. We were sitting out in Green Mesquite’s patio, partially my choice because I was still dripping wet from the cold water. We drifted off on a theological topic, back to Marcus Aurelius, then around some philosophy. I don’t recall everything, but I do remember getting a good belly laugh out of one comment.

Earlier, before I’d been awake for a full hour, I’d received four [4> different calls and requests for readings, all Capricorn. Met that first one at Jo’s. We talked for almost an hour and a half. Wandering home, I was still trying to return all the calls I had, the voice mail was full. My Capricorn buddy was having a “less than wonderful day” [some problem at the office>, and I suggested dinner then Hank Three. But I never got around to calling about tickets until way late in the day, and the show was sold out by then. “Oh well, how about the Hula Hut?” Sure. 2 hour wait for a table. She grabbed some chips and hot sauce, and we traipsed down to Mozart’s so I could get some coffee.

Hula Hut has fried ice cream. The Cap said to remind her to leave room for some. Mozart’s has “death by chocolate” and assorted other desserts. While I was line, the counter help was describing this one chocolate concoction, “It’s chocolate, layered with chocolate, it’s big, dick, creamy….” She realized her mistake a little late. The customer ahead of me ordered the “big dick” chocolate, then I got one for my Cap friend. I asked the employee with the malapropism what her birthday was. “Oh no, I’m not what you think I am….” I persisted. She was Capricorn. After an hour or so, at the “Hut,” a booth opened up in the bar area. Me with my coffee while holding the big dick chocolate, my Capricorn friend and I had enough appetizers to call it a meal. The waitress? I asked. Capricorn.

One week, I’m spinning along in some Gemini dream web, and the next week, it’s some sort of Capricorn theme. Figure it out? Why? I like it the way it is; I have convenient, easy to use terminology to express whatever energy is present at a given moment. Friday night, though, I suspect some things will shift yet again. I’ll be up in Dallas to surprise Ma Wetzel for Mother’s Day [as will Sister>. In fact, it was all Sister’s idea in the first place.

About the author: Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.

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