Being a dutiful son, not quite dutiful enough to scoot up to Dallas for Easter, and forgo the dubious pleasure of volunteering at the weekend event [conscription or press-ganged might be a better term>, I did call.
Long chat with Ma Wetzel’s Scorpio self, and mulled over many matters of some importance. Health, welfare and so forth. I try to neglect her deplorable voting record as that just sets up unnecessary tension.
She’s off, by now, to London, to go do what ever it is that she does over yonder. Pa Wetzel will be joining her soon enough.
I mentioned that I’d lost my copy of Pepys Diary, and she promised she would help further my education by picking up a copy for me, a real English copy as opposed to the annotated and relatively cheap American copy I’ve got. English book-binding always impresses me. Just feels more sturdy.
But since Mercury is stopped at 20 degrees of Taurus, as of now, I was digging through a backpack that I use from time to time. Mostly for laundry items that go the cleaners, or supplies for the office, like chocolate. A good fisherman always has the right bait on hand.
I hoisted it and wondered why it felt a little heavier than usual, I thought it only had one shirt in. In the outside pocket of the pack? My dog-eared copy of Pepys Diary.
Isn’t Mercury wonderful about dragging up lost items?
