Violence

The other day we had moved the chicken tractor to the garden. Jesse's been doing a bunch of stuff out there, and we had been putting up the fence around the garden. I'm thinking about the chickens giving us eggs, pooping beneficially and also doing some much-needed mowing. I'm thinking about the vegetable bounty to come, and the tiny sprouting calendula doing their journey thing, and then. . . . THEN. . .
Our neighbor comes out of his trailer and walks across what used to be a yard and is now a parking lot dedicated to his collection of junky pieceashit cars. He’s talking on his phone and he’s carrying, no, setting down, a few cardboard pieces and a bunch of Styrofoam packing, and, what’s this? He’s setting fire to it!
Great plumes of black smoke belched from the burning chemicals. Jesse and I just looked at each other and shook our heads. Jesse likes to comment on peoples’ stupidity loudly, and in this case, I hope that stupid man heard.

How can that happen when the information is impossible to miss?

Moon

Moon in Virgo--that's me, Sun in Pisces--that's Jesse. Books on the subject say of this combination in a relationship, "Run Away!"

But it's very hard to run away from a man whose flaws are (barely) outnumbered by his more lovely qualities. And he's just a sight for sore eyes, even when I haven't had relief from him and his ways for days days days.

I was looking at some emails at about 10:36 pm on March 10th and I opened one that said, "the full moon in Virgo will appear at 10:37 pm on March 10th. Well! I ran outside and the sky was clear and the moon was beaming down on me and it and the universe are doing this thing to me--marrying me to a more difficult, more rewarding series of events, and I have not been fighting it. Which is good, because if I had I would be seriously, multifacetedly, black and blue now.

So, I raised my arms to the sky, trying to imbibe the SHEER POWER (Believe it or not), and I smelled the damp earth and then this f'ing dog who comes around, I call him Todd, started barking, and I was like, "Shut up Todd!" and he did. And I turned my attention back to the silvery moon, and it was good.

American Gothic with Camaro in Background

I am so excited about our garden this year. I built that little greenhouse in December and we have radishes, mustard greens, micro-greens and spinach in there. And we got some chickens for whom Jesse built a sweet little chicky tractor. And wonderful Molly Dodge came over with a load of mulch and made many of our dreams of deep rich dark beautiful soil come true. Thanks to Betsy and Molly for helping us spread it all around. And for bringing the poop of many chickens.

Personally. . .

When wondering what materials I wanted to work with in my "career", I thought along the lines of some gloriously pigmented scratch-goo; papers and syrupy paint; wire; fire; decibles, perhaps. The very furthest materials from my mind were plastic, excrement, adult rash ointment, chocolate smelling lotion, pollygrip. I mean, that's still the case, but I've been working with extremely old people lately as part of a class I'm taking. This is an experience that forces me to picture the childhood and adult versions of these stick figures who now need feeding and bathing and compare those ghosts to my current self. Simultaneously, quietly, hesitatingly, it's pushing the question: will my mind someday turn traitor and leave me with only a whistle and a moan? My body Benedict Arnolding me, becoming tiny, shriveled, creaking audibly? No. I suppose not. I mean, I really can't imagine it. I'm sure not.
Many are so confused I have to wonder what reality they are seeing and reacting to. It's certainly different that mine, which may or may not be correct. I only wish they could make the best of altered reality. Maybe that's the whole shame.
When I leave the facility, I look around at people on the street, in the grocery store—there are actual babies out there—and I'm screaming in my mind, "LOOK AT HOW YOUNG AND VERILE WE ARE!! WE'RE ABSOLUTELY DAZZLING!"

A rose, is a rose, is a. . . rose.

Unusual tongue

Well, I've decided that there is no god beside Haribo. They're just better. They're. . . somehow, gummier? And mostly things are not the same old crap. Newness is so good for this old gal. I'm aging. As are you, but I'm going about 5 years a day now. I'm 109 right now.