How, how, how I should like to know does the universe conspire or the stars align or events transpire in such a way that two days before Mars sextiles Mars for me, I go to a neighboring couple's house to help celebrate their 40th (!) wedding anniversary and quite by chance (yeah, right) park myself down next to the husband of the woman I was supposed to play tennis with back in September last year but never did because a mutual friend asked me to pick him up at an auto renovation place early in the morning I was supposed to play and me being so selfless and all I completely forgot I had other plans? How does that happen?
Had I known he was her husband I would never have sat down next to him, as I've been bashing myself over the head ever since I didn't turn up for tennis having said I would. Capricorn on the Midheaven, me? It's been so much on my mind that when I asked if I could sit on the empty chair next to unknown man, was graciously granted permission, introduced myself and heard his introduction in return, it took great courage, me being an Aries and all, to immediately launch into an extended incoherent explanation of who I was and how I was the flake who had called nine months ago to see if she could play tennis with his wife and then never showed up, instead of babbling something about having forgotten to get coleslaw and hastily taken off for the buffet table, never to return.
The upshot of this was that on Monday morning, bright and early, 7:30 to 8:30 am to be exact, I was at the University courts making an absolute fool of myself, lunging at and missing ball after ball, but manifesting Mars sextile Mars to perfection. You want action? See Jane leap around and fly swat wildly. "Do you usually play singles?", I was asked by an ultra-polite player.
At 8:30, when a fifth player arrived, I excused myself selflessly, and having promised I would seek out and take tennis lessons before the next Monday, I was pushing my cart around Walmart in a frenzy at 10:53 am, when the Mars sextile Mars aspect perfected.
And when I really think about it, the beginnings of the Monday morning tennis playing go back way further than the Saturday night celebration. First, my neighbors needed to have gotten married in June, 1969. Then their daughter had to have moved to Silver City at some point so they could follow her out here. They had to have bought a house close enough to the house John and I bought so that when my beloved Fluff ran away to join the circus last spring and I posted flyers all over the neighborhood, Mr. 40th Anniversary Neighbor could call me to say he'd seen Fluff down at the creek between our houses - a day too late for me to find Fluff, but it was the first time we spoke.
And of course, once you start this train of thought, you can get back to what made me move to this country in 1963 so that so that so that in about 10 seconds. All way beyond me, but I have to go to Walmart tomorrow for more compost.
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