“To the noble mind
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.”
Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Prince of Denmark [III.i.112-3]
Jupiter bumps into Taurus.
Gemini: Blueberry nachos. Born out of necessity, it was a kitchen experiment that should be rated as an epic fail. Epic-fail. Blueberries are good. Good for you. Nachos, usually melted cheese substance and corn chips, combined, layered, heaped, something, together, perhaps with sliced peppers or other condiments, on top. Not blueberries. I tried. Just really doesn’t work. I have some kitchen experiments that have turned out well. Others, not quite as good. Occasionally, there is an epic failure that generates the “What were you thinking” comment. Blueberry nachos was one such experiment. I’m all for a naturally curious Gemini to experiment. I’m all in favor of some tinkering, toying with, modifying and other forms of experimentation. I’m not for you making one of our typical Gemini leaps that results in conjuring a massive failure like Blueberry Nachos. That doesn’t work. Doesn’t work on many levels. Some of our ideas are good, others are bad.
Cancer: Deepest, darkest secret? Deep, dark fears? What really scares you? As a Cancer, or a Cancer-influenced person, the biggest fears are what matters. The biggest fear, the boogeyman you’re most afraid of? The thing that goes bump in the night that frightens you the most. Deepest fears are going to get trotted out for your own, internal pleasure at first. Then, as the this weekend melts into next week?
Maybe someone else gets clued in on the Cancer nightmare and fear. I’d suggest that the fears, the deep, dark and most secret fears, I’d suggest that these are self-manufactured. Figments of your own, fervid and fevered Cancer imagination.
Leo: The tattoo, looked like prison ink, said, “Trust No One.” Either Gothic or what is called “Old English” scrolled letter-work. “Blackmoor LET” was the closest computer screen version I could find. Similar, but not quite the same and doesn’t carry the same weight as that tattoo. It was spread out on the underside of a man’s right forearm. A blocking reminder, be the way I would read it. Then, too, other than Leo, what sign can you really trust?
While it’s not really “hard times,” it does call for a few tough answers from the Leo side of the sky. The Leo side of the slice of the sky is under a weird, intense, subtle pressure. I’d follow the advice, tattooed on the underside of that arm, “Trust No One.”
The real problem is Mars-Venus getting the Leo to make a hasty decision. Don’t.
It’s really that simple.
Virgo: “Dignity. Honor. Respect.” Bumper sticker wisdom. I’d prefer the signpost, at the rest area just inside the New Mexico State Line, right before Las Cruces, NM. Probably in Anthony, NM. The rest area, tourist stop has several warning signs. “Beware of rattlesnakes.” Always a favorite. It’s high desert, framed on one side by the lazy Rio Grande Valley, flowing down from Albuquerque, and the tail-end of the Rockies, really just called the Organ Pipe Mountains. Or Franklin Mountains, I’m unsure at that precise location. I think the Organ Pipe Mountains are up the road from there, just a little to one side. What I wanted for Virgo was the first one, “Dignity. Honor. Respect.” What I got was the signpost, up ahead, “Beware of snakes.” As Gemini unfolds, and events start to get going, a little bumper sticker wisdom goes a long way. I’d treat you with dignity, honor and respect. But I’m the only one who knows Virgo that well. If you’re not dealing with me? Beware of snakes. (See the sign here.)
Libra: The way I acquired this information, my usual source? Hearsay. Inadmissible in a court of law. Doesn’t pass the journalistic test. Doesn’t bother me, as innuendo and half-truths, and occasionally, outright fiction is generally a lot more interesting. First drag strip was in Santa Ana (So. Cal.), circa 1950. Seems about right. The “drag race” is a uniquely American form of motor-sport. Stoplight to stoplight. Drag racing in the street. Street rods. The American hotrod. Drag racing never really appealed much to me. Short sprint down a quarter-mile strip. Still, any gear-head worth his 30-weight absolutely has to admire the mechanics of the sport. One of my fishing buddies has an ongoing obsession with top-fuel racing boats. Takes all types. Like a drag racer, like that first challenge in Southern California, more than half a century ago, there’s a challenge for Libra. How quick? Can you clear that quarter-mile with excellent urgency? How quick. Can you clear it.
Scorpio: Racing outfit, from New Mexico, race horses, I’m pretty sure. The name of the company isn’t important. But I did see, emblazoned across the back-glass of a company truck, the company’s name, the term, “Racing,” and the motto: “‘2nd Place’ is just the first loser.” I liked that a great deal as it carried the appropriate gravity. Strong message. A challenge, even, to some. A not so subtle reminder about which elements are most important. In racing, at least, in their eyes, I’m sure, nothing is more important than first place. Near-miss doesn’t count. “Almost” isn’t good enough. Win-Place-Show, the traditional calling in horse racing, “Win” counts, and everything else needs improvement. As a Scorpio, I’m sure you quite understand. As a Scorpio, I’m sure you like the sentiments embodied by that truck’s back-glass. As a Scorpio, the only thing different is that you’d probably put that motto on a card or sticker, not advertise it. As a Scorpio, we both know, you and me, Astrologer and Scorpio, we both know you like Win, and anything else is just not as good, but as a Scorpio, do you really want to advertise that drive and determination? Not this week. No need to etch it on the Scorpio back-glass.
Sagittarius: Mourning Doves are some of the least intelligent birds I’ve ever encountered. Crows, ravens, and the most common, Mexican Blackbird (grackles)? Clever birds. Some have been documented as tool users, in order to gain access to food, a sign of intelligence. But those Mourning Doves? Nearly as dumb as a doorknob. I watched, I was out in the desert, on a sojourn, and I watched one morning, against the dawn’s light creeping over the mountains, I watched as this dove, Mourning Dove, landed on the spindly little branch of an ocotillo bush. There’s a flower-like appendage at the end of the bush’s limb. Dove would land on that, the branch would bend, the dove would flutter, then settle again and then the branch would bend again. Repeat about three times. Eventually, as the bush’s arm, weighed down with dove, leaned closer and closer to the ground, the dove would take flight, white stripes on its wings against the morning’s sun. I have no idea what the fascination was for that one branch, a limb of an ocotillo cactus, no idea what the fascination was. Dove came back and repeated the process, trying to land on an object that would clearly not support its weight. Our Sagittarius lesson is clear, try a couple of times, but if it doesn’t work? Find some place else to perch.
Capricorn: Stuck between holidays. Stuck between planets. Stuck between assignments. Stuck between the end of the school year and the first summer “semester.” Stuck, basically. To earn my keep, I’ll make a suggestion or two. Ways to get unglued from the position that you’re in, just as an idea… If you’ve been dining out frequently? Consider a meal at home. If you’ve been cooking at home, consider raw food at home. If you’re tired of eating at home, consider dining out. If you like (insert favorite ethnic food group) then try (scary ethnic food group). In that last example, I was going to use the idea of TexMex and suggesting, as an alternative, Indian. Similar and yet, different. Same spices and heat, only, the effect in each food is achieved with different spices. Same effect, different route to get there. Alternative. If you’ve been eating from one group, consider a different group. I like the idea of this being an exploratory visit to a new and possibly strange place for a Capricorn. I didn’t say that this was a permanent change, but trying one thing, one experience, one step outside of the Capricorn comfort circle, okay, two steps, take two steps away from your comfort. That will change it up. And that will bring in new ideas, ready at the end of the horoscope. This week.
Aquarius: “Don’t ever give a baby corn beef and cabbage,” buddy of mine explained, “I had one of those baby food blenders, made some up. I went through a whole package of diapers. Whole thing.” Not having children myself, I can’t validate this, but I’m of the opinion that feeding and diapering is a shared parental duty. Culinary guidelines for babies, though, I’d check with experts first. I’m not sure I trust the host of “mommy blogs” for dietary information. From what I’ve observed, kids will eat — and digest — just about anything. As my buddy proved, kids can eat it all. When I mentioned this fact to a female friend, she merely rolled her eyes and suggested I was full of organic male bovine byproduct. No person would feed a baby corn beef and cabbage. You don’t know my friends. There’s a kind of logic, a kind of silliness, and a pervasive aromatic overlay of testosterone in this submitted (factual) example. Most mom-types will look at this example and roll their collective eyes. Most guys will go, “What?” The message, since you’re missing it so far, don’t feed babies corn beef and cabbage, creates more output than necessary. By extension, don’t be feeding anyone, especially that someone, this next few days, don’t be feeding them straight lines. Or is it corn beef and cabbage?
Pisces: I’m all about the temporary fix. I’m all about band-aids and bandages instead of real solutions. I’m all about “quick-fix,” instead of serious, long-term remedy, because, let’s face it, I’m a Sagittarius with the attention span of hyperactive gnat. I’m not a Pisces. But let’s pretend I was a Pisces.
My “fix it quick and get on down the road” methodology isn’t going to work. Duck tape does not work.
Simple as that. A quick-fix is the wrong solution to this week’s Pisces Problem. While it works for me, as in, I’ll patch the Pisces problem and move on with other tasks at hand? That really, no really, doesn’t work. Not for a real Pisces.
The problem needs the correct fix. The correct medicine. Can’t just slap a band-aid on the issue and and hope it heals over time. Not going to work. My quick-fix? Your quick Pisces patch for the problem? Falls off before the next scope rolls over. Which means, it didn’t work and the long-term remedy was really what was called for, in the first place. A little extra time this next couple of days can save a huge amount of work, later.
Aries: There was a loud crack of thunder. The trailer rattled. Wasn’t my trailer, so the image is me and a special friend, in bed. Lights flickered then went out. I think we’d been watching the news. Probably didn’t predict any rain, which was why the sudden thunderstorm was fun. Spring rain is welcome. Heavy weather can be fun. Trailer rocked. “Well,” she said, turning to me, “we have a power problem.” I suggested one solution, she suggested it was good idea, but then, there was another issue first. The little refrigerator in trailer doesn’t keep frozen stuff frozen, and, apparently, that was an issue. Half gallon of off-brand Rocky Road Ice Cream. We had to gnaw our way through that, first. While it sounds kind of like fun, about halfway through a half gallon, I was starting to feel a little ill. Still, the power was out, and this was in the interest of preserving food. I was doing it for my hostess, of course. The problem is that I’m only good, at best, for a pint or so of ice cream. The half-gallon, and imitation rocky road, neither was my choice. As an Aries, you’re going to be faced with a decision, soldier on? Push on through the pain? Work your way through the issue? Is the pay off worth it? Since she might read this, yes, it was worth it. Finished that half gallon off in the dark. Think the lightening hit a transformer, didn’t have power for three hours or more.
Taurus: “I’m from New Orleans,” he drawled, then scooped some fresh guacamole onto a chip, “you had to learn how to cook — or die.” There was an air of fatal finality in his voice’s tone. His Louisiana accent was faded from years in Central Texas. Enough time in a bass boat, and you’ll sound like us. Still, he’s one of the better cooks. I’m totally unsure of how that works, from Louisiana, and therefore, can cook. Still, the proof was in the shrimp boil that evening, and the guacamole. Typical, as far as I’m concerned, Louisiana appetites, too, gathering a spoonful of green dip between two chips and leveraging it into this mouth. It’s about appetites, this week, it’s about a sense of place, and it’s about what has to be done. “I had to learn how to cook — or die.” There’s a sense — in Taurus — that there really is fatal issue. Not really fatal, I doubt he would’ve died, but still, as a motivating factor? A little hyperbole can illustrate a point, which is what this is about. Make some decisions, good — or — bad, and it looks like you’ve put this off. Decide, now.