“[You are] not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy: as a squash is before ’tis a peascod.”
Shakespeare’s 12th Night [I.v.156]
Mercury is, indeed, Retrograde. Started in Virgo but swings back into Pisces before it’s all said and done.
Aries: My computer “jukebox” was running and an old song popped into the speakers. It’s not like I expect high fidelity from a computer — although — I’m sure it’s pretty good. It’s just that this one song had me rocking back forth, and then I was nodding my head in an approximation of the rhythm. So I’m not the most graceful singer or dancer. I’m comfortable with that. Made me think about a guy I saw on the hike and bike trail, guy’s all lathered up in sweat, looks like he was just walking off the last part of a good run. He had on a “portable personal media center” — like an iPod. He was sort of singing along. Squawking, really. Sounded horrible. Sounded like a cat in rut. Or that growling noise a cat makes when she sees a bird, out on a windowsill and the bird is effectively out the cat’s grasp. It was ugly. The sound he was making. Then, whatever song was piped into the ear-buds? It spiked and had a high tone. He imitated that, sort of sub-vocal, sort of audible to me, passing on the trail. Sort of bad. Pretty bad. I winced. I was embarrassed for him. The vocal quality, the fact he was doing it, and the fact that he was blissfully unaware that he was signing along. So when I was rocking back and forth to my jukebox, I thought, “I look as bad as that guy.” Is it worth it? Sure it is. At least, at home, no one can see us, right?
Taurus: One e-mail cycled through at a perfect time. It was early in the morning. I was into my second tiny cup of coffee. Looks a lot like espresso but it’s really just plain coffee, a little strong, a little dark, a little bitter. I was getting acquainted with my morning cigar. Me and that cigar, we’d started the dance, clipping the cap at the end, and I was just set to fire it up. It was still kind of cool out, and there was the slightest breeze drifting in the door and out the back window. Perfect cigar and coffee conditions. I related my little idyllic picture, looking out over the calm waters of the lake, feeling the gentle zephyrs stirring, and the e-mail response I got back amounted to “I want your life.” It’s simple then, see something you want? Go for it. It’s within your grasp, if it’s what you really desire. Mr. Mercury, though, he’s bound and determined to make something look like something that it’s not. This place needs to be cleaned up. There’s cat fur two inches thick under the futon. Cigars, to an untutored nose, smell bad. Sitting at a computer and writing is productive work. Reading news, rumors, comics and other online time-wasters (like horoscopes) is not productive. So yes, you can have what you want, but you’re going to get the whole thing, not just the pretty picture. Think before you wish.
Gemini: I ran into one of my former neighbors the other afternoon. I’d stopped by to grab a plate of tacos at one restaurant, middle of hot summer afternoon, nothing beats a plate of crispy tacos and a ubiquitous bucket of ice tea, and he got off on tear, talking about the “old times,” like this was some time in the distant past. He moved out not long ago, just a few months. He did bring up an idea, though, and I thought it was well-timed for a Gemini: fishing from the front porch. Back porch, really. His trailer, the one he rented, didn’t really have a back door, but it was possible to sit on a little garden bench resting behind the trailer and cast — if you’re good enough — right into the lake. Sounds ideal. How good is your casting? Reason I’m asking, that spot might come up again, and it wouldn’t be a bad time to consider how to position your Gemini self so you could really fish from your back porch. Now then, Mr. Mercury is backwards, and he’s introducing a degree of tension. Plus you’re thinking about housing matters. Therefore, think about fishing from your front steps. Or back steps, as the case may be.
Cancer: “I had a blowout on Highway 69 last night,” was all I heard. It was an elderly resident of my neighborhood, i.e., she lives in a trailer park — same place I live. She was clutching a cocktail as she described her harrowing experiences. I thought about Wayne Hancock’s song, “Highway 87,” too. A sad tale full of remorse. Which made me think about driving along, west of Amarillo, on the back roads, in the “Llano Estacado,” and how pretty that was, down through the canyon lands. To the naked eye, especially from the Interstate, there’s not much to see. But bail off into the countryside itself, and it’s all pretty amazing. Starkly beautiful, too. You’re looking at a few days that seem to be pretty barren. I’m looking at the same stretch of highway, the same corner of earth, and I see the arroyos cutting through the dirt, the layer after layer of carved country, the texture of a fleece cloud in clear blue sky, the way the brow grasses rustle and sway in the wind. What’s it going to be? Are you seeing the same terrain I’m seeing? Have you paused long enough to look, listen and feel the natural beauty? Or are you up on the interstate, whipping long the freeway just as fast as you can, missing it all, bemoaning your fate as it’s intertwined with Saturn?
Leo: I went by that Leo’s trailer because we were supposed to stroll over to the BBQ place. She gathered up her purse, stepped off the front step, and promptly turned around, “Have to reset the answering machine, she said, over her shoulder. Long locks were flowing behind her. It’s that Leo mane, you know. She appeared at the front door again, keys in hand, ready to lock the place up, and she stopped, again, “I should shut down the computer, be right back.” I waited, patiently. One always waits patiently, attentively, for a Leo. She appeared on the steps again, key in the lock, “Better grab the trucks keys, just in case.” Disappeared. Again. Moments later, standing on the step again, she turned the key in the door’s lock, than then thought for half a second. “Better mail last month’s bills,” and unlocked the door, retreated inside, and reappeared again, with a few postal items. That was four tries to leave, and she wasn’t ready yet. To me, I’m patient guy, and none of these gyrations bothered me, so I wasn’t getting upset. It’s not like they were going to run out of cow or pig to serve, just down the street. Knowing my neighbor the way I do, I figured this was all in the normal course of events. Not everyone you encounter is going to be so forgiving, or patient. If you’re going to be around those less-than-patient folks, consider being more ready when the times comes. Or just hang around nice Sagittarius astrologers who understand that the planets are playing a game with your Leo memory. Remember, some of us remember it’s that one special Leo’s birthday.
Virgo: The river in Austin, through downtown, runs at an angle. Then, the parking slot this trailer is situated on is at an angle, too. Everything lines so that it’s perfect, when the twister weather hits, all I have to do is open the front door, the back windows, and the breeze scours the place out. The violent weather works in my favor, as I’ve situated myself in position where I can let nature do all the hard work. But this is “twister weather” that I’m dependent on, and that’s a bit of a problem. I was using the high winds that accompany the summer storms to clean the place out, just the other day. Mercury? Remember him? Mars? Him, too? So I had the doors open, and the stiff breeze was billowing up the river’s bottom. Whoosh — cat fur? Gone. Dust? Gone. Muddy footprints? Oops, doesn’t work on everything. Due to the angle of the trailer relative to the angle of the river, relative to the angle of the breeze, though, there was a bigger problem. The slightest shift, and suddenly, all that dirt came blowing right back in the door. There’s nothing here that can’t be fixed with a minimal amount of regular housecleaning. In the land of Virgo, there’s nothing going on that can’t be fixed with minimal effort on your own, Virgo part. It’s just that the careful set up plans seem to backfire a little. Like watching all that dirt come back into my trailer. Looks like I’ll have to actually use a broom. Or, maybe, I’ll just wait until Mercury isn’t retrograde, and let it all blow back out later.
Libra: It wasn’t until she pointed it out that I realized how right she was. One of my friends, she’s a Texas girl through and through, I mean, she was born here, raised here, has a ranch, a truck, a dog, all of the right things to prove she’s not “all hat and no cattle.” She has no twang. Might be some part of her background, or it might be because she was raised in a strongly Latino community, or it could be that education, you know, the liberal arts thing. But no twang. Everything else. But no twang. You’re waltzing along, and suddenly you encounter someone just like my friend. No accent, but it would seem that everything else is just a natural fit. But no twang. Until she pointed it out, though, I never made the observation — I had to be told. You’re like me, too, Libra dearest, there’s some aspect of a situation that you’re missing. Might not be a big point, just a little observation. Yet, you’ll find that it behooves you to listen to other people these days. There’s always been something that struck you as funny about this one situation, but until someone else points it out to you, you’ll never know. Don’t be afraid to let other folks light the way for you. Or point out that your friend has no twang.
Scorpio: One of my friends invited me to dine out with her and some “out of town friends.” I wasn’t quite sure what the deal was, so I dressed like I usually do in the middle of a long, hot Texas summer: shorts and Hawaiian shirt, hair back in a ponytail. Not that this unusual, not for me. But for the out-of-town guests? I was shockingly, aggressively casual. Then, of course, one of my first questions was, “So what’s your birthday?” You know the local mantra, “Keep Austin weird,” and I was just doing my part. My fine Scorpio friend, I seriously doubt that you’re going to be in a situation where you’re casually attired while everyone else is formal. I doubt that you’re going to make light banter by asking strange questions about peoples signs’. But I don’t doubt that Mr. Mercury is going to throw you into position where you will feel just like I did. Out of place? Not really. More along the lines of, “Oops, looks like I under-dressed for this one,” kind of a feeling. I can recommend, though, that you not employ one of my favorite lines, as I was politic enough to save it for later, “Rats. My monkey suit is at the cleaners.” When faced with that weird, strange, “Mercury is backwards” situation, watch the Scorpio caustic responses. Just a warning. I find your biting wit rather delightful, but then, I know you’re a Scorpio. Not everyone you encounter can appreciate that.
Sagittarius: I picked up the phone, and I didn’t answer in a polite tone, I just growled, “What!” My little old Sagittarius self is tired of being nice. I’m sure your Sagittarius self more than conversant with this tone. Our friendly, easy-going demeanor is being sorely tested. I ran into a problem with one client, as she kept asking the same question, but she asked it in slightly different ways. Same question, different format. The first time it was phrased different, I chuckled. The second time, I was amused. The third, fourth and fifth time? I started to get a little cranky. By the sixth iteration of the exact same question, just positioned in a slightly different mode, I was getting put out. No more patience left. I’m not sure that you’re a cranky astrologer with an occasional client who finds clever questions as a form of play. Don’t have an answer on how to deal with this kind of situation, other than I charge for each phone, call, “It’s your nickel, honey, but the answer is the same.” Don’t underestimate the way certain signs can rattle your cage these days. Even if you have to repeat the same statement over and over.
Capricorn: “How curious.” That’s the Capricorn quote and the Capricorn line for the next week. It’s not a question. It’s not even really a statement, it’s more along the lines of an observation. “How curious.” Your neighbor comes running over and bangs on your door, or, if you’re stuck in a cube farm, dashes in, without bothering to knock. There’s a dire situation. You respond, “How curious.” “The sky is falling, the sky is falling!” Your response? “How curious.” Times like these require measured, tactful responses, not jumping to hasty, badly drawn conclusions. Don’t rush anything. No process is complete until you’ve completed the process. Tautology aside, there are several steps, your most excellent Capricorn self will note, which are being skipped by the referent. Somebody else is rushing right past obvious data that would ameliorate the aforementioned problem. In other words, they’re missing the point. Due to the way the planets are arrayed, you get to see this. No one else does. How curious.
Aquarius: The lots in Shady Acres are laid out in a diagonal fashion, like parking slots. Usually, there’s a parking space beside the trailer, and the trailer’s towing tongue sticks out into a shorter spot, and depending on the size of the trailer, some folks have an extra parking spot there. My fine Aquarius friend lives in a smaller trailer, and the extra parking spot is boon for him. But, I’m worried. Hasn’t happened yet, but I foresee, based on this week’s chart, a problem. Some buddy will probably pull into that vacant spot and terribly misjudge the depth. I don’t think it will be a serious accident, just one that’s jarring. Plus, you would think, the presence of two, actually empty, propane tanks would deter such an action. So you’re like my neighbor, peacefully coexisting with the Universe when a non-Aquarius person rams into your trailer. Sitting across the stove’s burners in that one trailer, there’s a hotplate. Aquarius, all electrical, right? Mercury, all Retrograde, right? The hot water happily heating on the hotplate will fall over and singe something. The person who caused the accident, upon seeing dented propane tank, fearing the worst, will freak out. The Aquarius? Calm, Aquarius brains will prevail, but your Aquarius self is going to be horribly inconvenienced by all of this. It’s just Mars and Mercury, slamming into your home. Trailer. Whatever.
Pisces: I sat outside and watched as a “thunder boomer” rolled through town. Summer squalls, drifting down from the north someplace. I think it’s where warm Gulf air meets cold North wind, but I suppose, the temperature is all relative. Doesn’t both me a bit. A few degrees cooler around here for the summer thunderstorm, that’s all. But the lightening, the rolling cracks of thunder, and I’ll swear, I heard one boom that echoed off buildings downtown. It was a wonderful experience. There are few problems, locally, that come from such afternoon and evening squalls. As a native Texan, I can point out that we’re not the best drivers in the world, even under ideal conditions. Hot, dry conditions are tenuous at best. Add some water? Even a slight summer squall? The roadways go from “bad” to “horrible” in no time. While it’s very enjoyable to sit outside during one of those summer storms and watch Nature’s way of having a party, a veritable “mosh pit” in the sky, the results aren’t always as nice. Since Mercury and Mars are conspiring against Uranus to set up some pyrotechnics in your own chart, the best way to approach the weekend is to position your Pisces self in place where you can sit by and watch the storm. A patio, a porch, some shielded environment would be best.
