“She is an irksome brawling scold.”
Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew [I.ii.184]
It’s a line from Petruchio, and if I ever used such a line, I can’t imagine there would ever be a second date. However, in that play? Petruchio gets his girl. All goes to show something. Did I mention that Mercury was going to be going backwards? In Pisces? Plus: Venus moves forward, into Aquarius.
The Fishes
Pisces: I live in a fictional world. I live in fantasy world. (I live in Texas.) In my world, we’re bigger, brighter, and better looking than the rest. But this is a world of make-believe. Exists only my own mind. That’s the problem. The reality is a little more harsh. Neither me, nor my fine Pisces friends, neither of us likes to spend too much time outside of our little cocoon of our make-believe world. What this Mercury Retrograde period symbolizes? It’s largely symbolic of our little world of fantasy and myth being shattered, and not shattered in a way we like it. The bedrock upon which our wonderful world stands, the foundation for the foundation? That’s going to get a good shake. It’s going to spin matters around, and it’s going to upset the dream-like consistency of the world as our Pisces selves understand it. Don’t you hate news like that? I do. In my little made-up world, I’m comfortable. I have certain illusions, and I can safely assume that they are true, at least, in here. Plus, everyone in my fantasy world knows me. I’m accepted. I’m normal. It all works out well enough. None of this is really that bad, but Pisces, normally immune to Mercurial Mercury? This one’s a got a little sting to it. It might not shake the foundation too much, but some shifting will occur. Kind of hard to talk about cracks in the foundation when most of the trailers around here sit in cinderblocks, but you get the ideas, I hope.
Aries: Some weeks, when I fish outside my back door, I do well. Really well. I mean, I can catch a half-dozen fish in one afternoon, or evening. “I’m good baby,” I’ll sing to the cat when I come back in with a digital archive full of the evidence. Then there are days, sometimes weeks, even stretched as a far as a month one time, when I couldn’t catch a thing. I did catch a few items, mostly branches, and I spend more time trying to horse a snag out of the water than I spend actually throwing bait out there. Way it goes, some days. Weeks. One time, it was almost a whole month. I’d say it’s frustrating, but it’s a combined number of factors, like, if the fish — my little friends — are hungry, if those selfsame fish are sleeping, if the fish are bored with my presentations, the location of the sun, the moon, and the weather. Plus the spawn cycle. Sometimes, it’s just not a good time. In my own, personal philosophy, it’s always a good time to fish. Some times are just better for catching fish. Doesn’t distract from the act of fishing. So this next few days in Aries? It’s like those times when I can’t pay a fish to bite my worm. Is it bad? No, just no one seems interested in your bait.
Taurus: I was passing through Oakdale, TX. On the road someplace, probably headed to the Gulf Coast. In the wan morning light, as I stopped at the post office – gas station – convenience store, I noticed a rambunctious kitten, more like an adolescent cat, and he hopped up onto the trash barrel outside the store. She mewled up a storms, probably singing the blues, about how tough life was, how no one ever feeds her, and what an impoverished existence it was alongside the desolate stretch of highway. The sound of rustling wrapping paper notified her to assume the position of the beggar, and I was sure it was some kind of trained response. Noise equals free food? Works for me, fits with what I know about alley cats like that one. As it turns out, according to the clerk that morning, the cat is well-fed, well-petted, and possibly a little spoiled. It’s not really an alley cat, other than cadging free food whenever it can. Sounds a lot like myself. If I spoke cat, I’m sure that the little cat would be telling me that he lives like a monk, too. The image for the week? It’s like that cat, home is where you find it, and there’s no point in turning down free food. That one little feller was perched on the edge of a 55-gallon drum, which was then lined with a plastic bag, for gather refuse. The cat was an artful beggar, but not a Taurus. However, the action of accepting something free, be it food or services? Take it. Might help to position your self correctly, too.
Gemini: Mars just evokes a little bit of action. Or a lot of action. Plus, Mars reminds me about fried food. If it can be dipped in batter, and dropped in a deep fryer, then someone in Texas has probably done it. Not that this is bad, but it does play heck with cholesterol levels in some folks. But Mr. Mars and his action always remind me of deep-frying something. Which reminds me about the blood pressure thing. You’ve got to watch your blood pressure, either for real or in a more allegorical sense, particularly over the next couple of days because there’s a sense that someone is out to get you riled up. Personally, I have much fun when I’m in a position to hit some of the Gemini buttons, and watch the Gemini kettle heat up to a steaming point. And like that archetypical tea kettle, boiling away, and like the blood pressure rising, and like something dropped into hot grease, it all points to a degree of hot action. For good or for ill? That’s more up to the Gemini itself and working with those hot items. It’s going to be hot. Blood pressure will rise. How you do what you do? That’s between you and Mr. Mars. There can be some useful and constructive uses, as long as you understand it’s just Mars making everything so hot.
Cancer: I do a lot of catch and release fishing. Seldom do I ever keep my catch for longer than a photo-op or bragging rights. First off, bass really don’t taste that good, despite their heritage as “lake trout,” and secondly, the bigger ones are usually “with child,” especially right around now. It’s a bass spawn season. When a hook gets buried deep in the mouth, or worse, when the fish swallows a hook, I cause less damage by just cutting the line and letting the fish keep the hook itself. That fish metabolism? It can digest a hook in a matter of days. Less problems. But this isn’t about fishing, this is about Cancer, our lovely moon children. I imagine that a barbed hook has become ensnared in your vocal tract, or in your digestive system. I don’t think this is an untimely event. It’s about leaving a little reminder behind, and waiting long enough for the little reminder to go away. It will go away, and you’ll be none the worse for the event. Borrowing from my fish tales, just to prove the point? Several times, in one day, in a single afternoon, as a matter of fact, I’ve caught the same fish. If you’re worried about the health of the fish? Don’t be. They are thriving. Likewise, you’re going to survive just fine.
Leo: There’s an axiom, a rule, about Texas Catfish Bait. “If it don’t make you gag, it ain’t ripe enough yet.” Think about that one for a little while, the best stuff is the worst stuff. Consider that catfish are bottom dwellers and as such, bottom feeders, too. The smelliest, most repellant to human noses is probably sheer luxury for a catfish. Catfish also reflect the water they’re raised in, in the taste department. So a relatively clear running river, like that in front of me, it can produce little blue cats that are tasty, if not exactly a delicacy. The way the world is treating you? I’m sure you feel like you’re being considered a bottom-feeding catfish type of deal. But remember, properly prepared, it’s a good meal. But what’s this got to do with my suggestions for you? It’s really kind of simple. Think about that stinky catfish bait. Consider how the better the bait the worse the olfactory experience. Think that you’re going to need some decent, rather noxious, catfish bait to help get where you’re going. Remember the rule.
Virgo: Peace, tranquility, any number of good things should be headed your way. If it weren’t for that pesky little Mercury thing, life would be even better. There’s that old saw in fishing circles, about the guy with the tangled line, the one person who is least prepared? They are supposedly the luckiest. So Mr. Mercury is doing a little number, and that’s going to present certain problems. I was fishing the other evening. I was using rather light set-up, more sporting, and makes for a better presentation, as I have to sneak up on the fish these days. It was dark, not much moon, and as I cast out, I heard the familiar noise of line being tangled. I could get bent out of shape, angry with the fishing pole, the lure, the line, any number of people in the long chain of events leading up to that situation, like the guy who sold me the pole, the company that made the fishing reel, or the salesman who assured me this would never happen with this particular (expensive) fishing line. But what it amounts to? I can blame Mr. Mercury for toying with my evening’s solitude. What I did? I fed out more line, then set about to unsnarl the snarl. Took a few minutes, and in the cold dark? It wasn’t fun. But the other options were less fulfilling, like going home to get another pole, or cutting the line and abandoning the lure. Just added a little aggravation to my evening. Nothing more. Mercury is like that.
Libra: It was a quiet, intimate moment. Cue the violin music, the gentle murmur of the string section. I was with a Libra gal. She presented me with a thoughtful present. I protested that I didn’t feel like I was worthy of such a gift. In moment of youthful mirth, she looked at me and said, “You’re not the boss of me.” I can see this doesn’t translate well to the printed page. Gone is the merry twinkle, the falsetto voice, the child-like cuteness that made the moment funny and poignant. There’s a little bit free-floating anxiety running around these days. It’s not really bad, but your fine Libra self will catch some of it. Too much to do, not enough time, the boss cuts into the relaxed work schedule. That’s the type of interruption I’m talking about. Easiest way around it? You can try that cute phrase, or something similar, but don’t bet on that working. I’d look towards a little bit of the frazzled look, a touch of the “I’m harried right now — go away” expression. You can try and be cute, and while that works with me, it doesn’t work with all people. Like bosses. Especially like bosses who are the boss of you.
Scorpio: PMS. It’s not what you think, the letters are the shorthand version of Post Mars Syndrome. Or, more accurately, Post Mars Stress. LBJ was a president, and famous Texas politician. But this isn’t about politics, it’s about the former president’s sense of humor. According to lore (maybe myth, maybe not), the president had an amphibious car, early 1960’s German brand. When touring around the LBJ ranch, just a little west of where I live, LBJ would — allegedly — holler that the brakes didn’t work and plunge the car into the Perdenales River. Funny guy. This isn’t about politics, this is about practical jokes and wry sense of humor. And Post Mars Stress. Then, there’s always the question of the authenticity of the story itself. It’s local lore and possibly presidential myth. But the Scorpio slice of life? Which one are you? Consider the Mars situation, the pressure that’s gone, but the lingering side effects? Are you going to be riding along with an unwitting passenger, and plunge the amphibious car into the creek? Or worse, are you the unwitting passenger? I prefer the first one for my Scorpio friends, but you might want to make sure the drain hole is plugged before you take us on that plunge.
Sagittarius: The company I rent cars from? Locally? After this last trip to the coast, they’ll probably never rent me another car. It’s all about Mars and cars. The gulf coast beaches in Texas all have public access, and that means anyone can pull right out onto the beach and use it as a highway. I like to head down there, and then, out onto the beach for a bit inspiration. I’ll take a laptop and listen to the waves as they gently crash into the shoreline, and the gulls cry while wheeling overhead. I try to hit the beach at least once before the spring breakers start to accumulate. Which might be good for the local economy, but it’s not much fun for a non-tourist tourist like myself. The rent car did just fine. Wasn’t a problem. The problem was the sand, down at one end of the beach. Somehow, I’d managed to navigate into the soft stuff, and the wheels of the rent car were soon buried. I was in and out of the car several times, and the soft, white granules of silica, and whatever else makes up the beach? It was everywhere. Eventually, a couple of kids happened along, and they gave me shove, and I was headed back to the highway. Didn’t bother me, until I turned the car back in. Sand was everywhere. Cheap rental for a weekend, only, I don’t think I can rent from that company again. With Mars frying in Gemini, sizzling like an egg on the sidewalk on hot summer’s day, there’s going to be some kind of irritating problem with the Sagittarius forward momentum. Like being stuck in the sand. What’s worse? The ramifications of that adventure, like sand that’s still everywhere.
Capricorn: In an afternoon spent wandering around town, the first place I stopped was a coffee shop. Capricorn pressed the hot water through the coffee grounds to make me a shot of espresso for the road. As I walked across the pedestrian bridge, a bicyclist went flying past me, blond hair waving in the wind. Capricorn girl I know from someplace. She waved, in an absent-minded way, as she flew past. A few minutes later, I pulled into a familiar spot for a quick afternoon repast. Capricorn server. Now, this is where I started thinking that it’s all just so weird. Three Caps, in less than half an hour? What are the odds? The one on the bicycle, I’m guessing, was headed to work. The other two? They were already at work. When I added this up on the back of an envelope, I doodled the symbol for the Capricorn and listed the appearances. Then I looked at the charts. That little doodle was on the desk when I got around to trying to analyze this week’s energy. It’s all about work. It’s all about something that might appear mundane and ordinary, but there’s a direct line of thought, and direct line of action. Movement. The Capricorns? They were all moving. Towards work, at work, and around work. Mr. Mercury is backwards in the soft and delicate sign of Pisces. Industrious Capricorn? Even though the littlest planet isn’t doing nice things? That doesn’t mean you should lose your momentum. Like that bicycle sailing past me? Wave as you go by, but don’t stop for idle chatter with a passing astrologer. I’ll just make you late for work, and some employers don’t recognize me as a valid excuse.
Aquarius: I’ve done more than my fair share of business-related travel over the years. Gets to a point that the only difference in hotel/motel rooms is the kind of sheets on the bed. Some places are a little better arranged to accept a modem cord for a computer, and some places I’ve stayed, recently even, didn’t have a phone in the room. That’s just weird, in a good way. But most places, these days, even the cheaper motels that I tend towards, even those places usually have a second phone jack for the ubiquitous laptop. So, when I was last down on the coast, at a place that I tend to favor, I wasn’t surprised that there was no phone in the room. At all. There’s a dead phone jack, but that resort is a campy place, and one of the appealing points is that it lets me escape from the day-to-day hustle of normal business travel. Don’t panic — I didn’t. I knew about this before I checked in. There’s a coffee shop down the street with free wireless; I just tote the laptop up there, plug in, and it’s all good. But I don’t have the late night, “check my e-mail one last time” kind of energy because I can’t. Makes life much easier. Besides, I was supposed to be on vacation. Or working. Or something. Whatever it was, I knew ahead of time that my usual tenuous connection to the electronic world would be severed. Where the planets are? Maybe plan a vacation, business trip, or other excursion wherein you willingly severe that electronic leash. Either that, or Mr. Mercury might do it for you.
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