For the Week starting: 7.14.2005

“[You are] as duteous to the vices of thy mistress as badness would desire.”

Shakespeare’s King Lear [IV.vi.254]

    Saturn finally bumps into Leo this week. Plus, this weekly is now officially ten years old.

Aries: In the past, I’ve spent a lot of time working the lake right in front of Shady Acres. I found that the fishing there is particularly tough. Nothing I can do will entice certain fish to bite a third or fourth time. I’m pretty sure I’ve caught all the regulars at least twice. There’s one fish, and I’m pretty sure I caught him twice — in the same day. I was using soft plastic bait, very careful presentation, a gentle delivery, right up along side some dead branches that crease the water’s edge. Once was on a lizard, and once was on a brush hog, and both times, I fooled that little guy. So the exercise of fishing in front of Shady Acres is more like exercise and practice rather than any real attempt to catch fish. Not that it’s a big deal, either, just takes some time, a little patience, and the effort has limited rewards. But it’s calming, and it feels good. Plus, it develops my skills. Hones my fishing instincts to a sharp edge. There’s a short-range frustration that comes from this kind of practice: lots of effort and few fish. There’s a long-range satisfaction that comes from this kind of practice: heightened abilities. Go ahead, even if it’s just fishing a little practice will do wonders for your game — whatever it is.

Taurus: The trick is to understand how to deal with the rhythm. Remember, last spring? We all lost an hour of sleep on a Sunday morning due to “Daylight Saving Time?” The sun is coming up around 6 in the morning now, and it doesn’t set until almost 8 at night, local time. What was a minor inconvenience then is now a blessing. May be a blessing that’s not exactly visible, hidden as it were, but it is a blessing. At least for those of us who get up early and fish, it’s giant blessing. Without that Daylight Time, I’d have to get up at 4 in the morning to work in some fishing. Instead, I can sleep in until 5. That extra hour is nice. Part of this is about the circadian rhythm in your life. That’s the hint. That’s the clue. Most of the fine Taurus folks I deal with aren’t exactly what I’d call “morning people.” For that matter, neither am I, unless it involves a fishing pole and a body water that promises to hold some game. However, with Saturn slipping into Leo, now’s the time to look at adjusting your rhythm as need be. Could mean getting up a little earlier. Could mean a lot of things. Maybe it’s staying up a little later, which means, in my mind, you get to sleep later. Either way works, but be prepared to adjust the hours a little.

Gemini: I was busy trying to explain the numbers’ game to a Gemini buddy of mine. He joined some kind of a computer dating service, and he was having terrible luck in getting to the point where he could meet the women in real life. It’s all about the law of averages, and while no Gemini is average, the rest of us do adhere to such rules. So if you’re like my buddy, and you’re chasing a non-Gemini person, then remember that it takes ten hits to get a score. In other words, out of ten flirtatious responses to his personal ad, one will deign to meet him in the flesh. This numbers’ game is further exacerbated by a corollary, out of ten meetings in the flesh, it will take ten hits to get a score. So that works out to one in hundred. The other nine? The other ninety-nine? Their loss, that’s the way to look at it. But remember, the odds are shifting, along with Saturn. It’s still a long shot in the Gemini arena. The odds, as they stand today, are one in a hundred. Might not be like online dating, but the numbers are still very similar. One in ten and then, out of those one in ten? Another one in ten. Fortunately, for a Gemini, the winnowing process isn’t that tough. Just takes a lot of Gemini processing time.

Cancer: As promised, rewards are on their way. Saturn slips over into Leo, and that’s a big deal. As the big Ringed Wonder moves on, there’s going to be a collective sigh of relief whispered by most Cancer folks. In general, and even in specifics, this spells out a kind of relief. However, when dealing with a planet that carries as much astrological weight as Saturn, there’s going to be lingering effect. There’s one or two little tasks that have been left untended, and those chores need to be addressed. It could be some simple task, too, like my patio. My patio has pots and a couple of long trays, all filled with potting soil, earthworms, plants, compost, and so forth. That means the patio’s deck itself is scattered with old baits, dirt, dead leaves, plant trimmings and flower petals that have long since dried up and lost their aroma. That simple task, the one I was addressing for Cancer? All I did was sweep up the material on the patio. Takes about 30 seconds. Not a big job, in and of itself, but the results are pretty spectacular. A neighbor looked over, “Hey, the place looks good, all cleaned up.”

Leo: This isn’t going to increase my popularity one little bit, not with certain conservative sections of the readership, but that’s not going to bother me. It’s not about current politics, it’s about freedom, a long time ago. July 14th is Bastille Day in France. See: the deal is that a good Leo always needs a reason to party. And what could be better, I mean, July 4th is ten days gone now, so the next excuse (strike that) the next reason to have a party is Bastille Day. Celebrate freedom from tyranny. Overthrow a prison (or office) run a by a tyrant. And party. I’m not sure when the word “party” went from being a noun to be a verb, but whatever. The Leo section of the sky can use a good party. No time like the present. Nothing would be more welcome than a decent excuse — in my case — to drink copious quantities of French Roast coffee, maybe some New Orleans cuisine, and pretend to speak a little French. My attempts at Spanish are legendary in East Austin, as some old college French slips in between the cracks with my vocabulary. Doesn’t matter, n’est pas, amigo?

Virgo: Act II, scene v, I think that’s the one, in Shakespeare’s version of Antony and Cleopatra, there’s a double reference to fishing. I’m sure I’ve used it, and quoted it often. There’s an echo about fishing throughout that play, too. It’s all about the hunt, the chase, the (not so) chaste, and love gone awry. Yet again. To one character in the play, fishing is about wasting time, an idle that isn’t productive. To another character in the play, fishing is about hunting and catching, piercing the lip and calling the quarry “caught.” If you ask me, I’ll patiently explain that fishing is more than a hobby, it’s about a lifestyle, and it’s all about meditation, work, patience, observation and nature. Plus a dose of conservation. However, to some folks, it looks like a big waste of time, just like the two characters and their opposing viewpoints. It might look, to an outside (non-Virgo) observer that you’re just wasting your time. However, to the perspicacious looker, or to the Virgo, we both know that you’re patiently pursuing a certain objective. Keep that in mind, as we start the new Saturn cycle.

Libra: Ever put your foot in your mouth, figuratively speaking, and discover there’s no way out? I was at a South Austin Mexican Restaurant, down on S. First, know the place? And I was praising the salsa, as it was amazing. Never quite the same, so that indicates it really is homemade. Hotter and spicier than most Austin salsa, just a wonderful blend of whatever goes into it. Peppers are sure, everything else is suspect. What was wrong? The waiters. They all spoke way too good of English. I mean, for food that was that good? I should be sawing through the conversation in my broken Spanish, not flawless English delivered by an attentive and professional staff. Even the busboy spoke perfect English. Bilingual, in reality, but fluent in English so that he could affect a slight Texas twang. Truly local color. What got me in trouble was inquiring the staff. Saying something like I did is not politic, “Your English is far too good for food that tastes this good.” As one waiter explained, “Dude, I was raised here, in South Austin, since I was a year old.” He’s more native than me. Really good foods. In a taco stand or Tex-Mex, or all-Mex restaurant in South Austin, there is an air of forgiveness, especially if it’s that “gringo loco” like myself. What I’d warn my Libra friends about is a “faux pas” like mine, only, doing so in less forgiving environment.

Scorpio: A subtle shift in the cosmic way of perceiving the world is happening. My most excellent Scorpio friends, the folks who’ve been rather joyous as of late, they’re all getting little more circumspect. “The good times can’t last,” is the common theme I’m hearing. In fact, the good times can last, but that doesn’t mean it hurts to err on the side of caution, from this point forward. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. I was packing for an excursion in the American Southwest. Upcoming venture for me. Just normal business travel. It’s summertime. I pack a couple of shirts, toiletries, and some shorts. Formal sandals and casual sandals. That’s about it. At the last moment, after looking at a weather map someplace online, I decided to throw in a flannel shirt, too. Just in case. Might be chilly at night. Might need some extra cover. Life in Scorpio is like that. Doesn’t hurt to take a little extra protection. Now, I’d intended to use that extra shirt out-of-doors, on a cool evening. Never happened. However, in the AC, in one of the hotels, the temp was set for a frigid 68. That shirt — which was not required like I thought it would be — was very handy in the AC. See how this works? Never hurts to be prepared, although, I’m pretty sure, you’re preparations aren’t for what you think they’re for.

Sagittarius: I’ve enjoyed a certain amount of success with local fishing. No real records, but a couple of personal bests plus I’ve managed to catch fish when no one else could. Some of this is hard work. Some of it is luck. Some of it is weird combination of the Sun, the Moon, the odd luck I enjoy, and the way the river is flowing at the moment my bait strikes the water’s surface. But a lot of the luck is self-made. Can’t catch a fish if I don’t have a line in the water with a bait attached to that line. At certain times of the year, true story, I’ve tied an old piece of sandal leather to a hook, and I’ve caught fish. This is not one of those times when anything will work. This is a time when it’s best to consult the Solar-Lunar fishing tables, monitor what insects are most common, look at the water’s clarity, and make a few shrewd judgment calls. There’s not much luck this summer, not for Sagittarius. There is a lot of work. Careful, even uncharacteristically shrewd calls on the part of a good Sagittarius will yield results when no one else is having any luck at all. But this isn’t a time when just anything will work. Take time to make observations, then act.

Capricorn: I was in an East Austin Mexican Restaurant. Not a Tex-Mex place, but a Mexican place. I can say that because most of the help, if not all, didn’t have English as a first language and the food is good. Traditional, but there is that large haunch of some animal, I suppose, visible in the kitchen, roasting away. Like it’s supposed to be. I was busy explaining the words to one song that was playing on the jukebox, trying to impress my date with my bilingual, multicultural abilities. Suave, that’s me. Sure. “See,” I was explaining, “they’re playing our song, it has the word ‘corazon’ in it.” “Mi Corazon,” means “my heart,” more or less, and every other song on that jukebox has lyrics with those words. Plus, that’s about as far as my Spanish musical ability goes. Or my facility with the foreign language. But it was a good try. If my date had been a Capricorn, which she wasn’t, she wouldn’t have fallen for my line about heart. I’m not saying that you’ll be in East Austin, dining well on strange cuisine with lots of peppers, but some time soon, you’re going to have to listen to tired lines about “mi Corazon,” as it relates to you and your date (significant other, insignificant other, and/or other possible love interest). As a Capricorn, even if you are with me this week, try not to roll your eyes when you hear that line. The other person? That person really is trying to be sweet although saccharine might be more like the right word.

Aquarius: As Mr. Saturn starts his three-year long expedition into Leo, the effects will have a certain amount of fall-out, right here in Aquarius. I should give you heads up, you’re only going to get this once, and this is about the technical effect of Saturn opposite your Sun Sign. In my world, this is called a “Saturn Opposition,” and what it implies? Saturn is basically on a 28-year cycle. Divided by 4 quadrants, and that yields 7 years. 7 years ago, Saturn “squared” your Sun, and fourteen years ago, Saturn was conjunct your Sun. Now it’s going to oppose it, some time in the next 3 years. This is a halfway point in a long journey. It’s going to be a halfway point for you. At the halfway point in any journey, all of us Aquarius travelers stop, take note of the supplies, check the current weather conditions, adjust our loads, figure what works, figure what doesn’t work, and make changes, as need be, to insure our arrival at the final destination. Be prepared, as you’re going to want to cinch up the straps on your pack, maybe jiggle the load around, and get ready for the second half of the journey. Might consider taking on a little extra water, too. The next couple of years might appear to be a little dry.

Pisces: I was at the big box store, in the nursery section, as in “plants’ department,” and I found this sole little plant languishing in the shade, in one of those tiny plastic pots, looking unused and unattended. I think it was all of a dollar and some change, not much more. Didn’t cost a lot, and the plant, although it was seemingly okay, given my history with gardening, and my “brown thumb,” I didn’t have high hopes. The plant, as it turns out, is a form of mint. I was introduced to it by one of my “new age” buddies, he liked to sprinkle its essence around a table at work. When I saw the name, Penny Royal, I thought, whatever. Give it a shot. At least rescue the plant from death at the big box store so it can die in my garden, a more peaceful resting place. I transplanted it during the dark of the moon, gave it a spot with some sun & shade, and two short weeks later, it had tripled in size. That plant has been separated, divided up and it takes up four pots now. Smells great. Won’t die. Thrives under my neglect. Hardy stuff. Grows more like a weed than an herb. The right kind of abuse and neglect goes a long way in making something flower, so to speak. Here, I thought I was rescuing a seedling destined to turn brown, and it’s taking over the garden. Same thing, Pisces dear, is happening in your life. An apparently ill-fated rescue attempt is going to help. Going to go a long way. You started it last week, and I’ll promise, before the next scope rolls over, even you will be amazed at the results.

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

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