So it's Wednesday and I have yet to get a copy of Just For You off to England, but I did spend my mornings off on Monday and Tuesday continuing to get ready to do so. A slight obstacle was my deciding to rewrite a crucial scene - Daphne and Doreen alone after the revelation from Dobby - a scene I still haven't finished, and changing fonts from Times Roman to Final Draft Courier didn't help either as I lost all the italic formatting, but undaunted, I'm soldiering on ha ha and at least (and for me it's not at least) I'm still focused on getting it done.
I have the mornings free now that Star Child goes to school, which gives me alone time to put all the formatting back and think about what Daphne would say after the denouement and all in all after the last few weeks I feel as though I'm on vacation. Yesterday, with the Sun on Neptune and squaring Saturn, I took Star Child to the playground - it was the second good weather day since I've been back - and sat at one of the picnic tables in a pleasant little bubble, watching all the kids on the equipment and Star Child, who's fixated on the swings, lying on her stomach on one of them and using her feet to propel herself backwards and forwards, presumably in her own little bubble.
One of the saving graces of having Saturn oppose natal Sun is that it's almost trining the Moon at the same time, because of the native sextile, and now the opposition is over I *should* be able to ease gracefully into the trine, supposedly giving me a time of equilibrium and balance in my daily life. With the tenants about to depart from the house in Silver on Saturday, leaving it empty, I'll take it, thanks.
28 September, 2011
25 September, 2011
Saturn Opposed to Sun
Thinking about making this post yesterday morning, I was feeling mildly apprehensive about writing that I seemed to be getting away remarkably easily with the titled transit. It's one of those you - (well, I) - see approaching in the ephemeris with something approaching dread - supposedly low energy, no sign of joy, battles with authority that you always lose and daily life too discouraging to deal with etc. etc.
As it is, now that the two ends of my yo-yo are Cambridge and New York rather than Cambridge and Silver City and Star Child is again part of daily life spreading her sunshine and all that, I feel nothing but a tremendous sense of relief that I have time to take a deep breath and simply be, rather than my brain frantically racing constantly to keep up and stay in place. It isn't easy, this bopping around from place to place, and I've yet to achieve my goal, set the day after Labor Day, of staying under one roof for five nights in a row, but still, this sense of peace and a deep well-being is a welcome change, Saturn opposed to the Sun exact tomorrow or not.
I took the 6:00 pm bus from Alewife Friday night. It was raining, traffic was awful, one of the headlights on the bus went out, we were delayed for an hour and didn't get to Eighth and Thirty-first till 11:15. When I swiped my Senior MetroCard through the subway turnstile I got the See Agent message, which let me know my attempts to change my hacked credit card that's on file for Autopay had been unsuccessful, and I had to go to the machine and buy a regular price $10 card. (That instruction is un-carryoutable when the booth is empty.) I did think then, fumbling for my glasses and credit card and trying to remember where it went in and which Zip Code I was supposed to enter, that I was having a bit of Saturnine opposition but I'm getting used to being a hayseed and at least there wasn't a line of people behind me tapping their feet and looking at their watches, pardon my projection.
By the time I got *home* it was way past midnight, but the ceiling hadn't fallen down and my key worked (my requirements for happiness get fewer and fewer), and, as always, this apartment felt like a sanctuary and haven, maybe more so as I'm also deep in another of those dreaded transits - Progressed Moon to Pluto. As with the Saturn opposition, I seem to be getting away scot-free as far as emotional pain is concerned, unless of course I am on too much medication and need to reduce the dose.)
It took me half an hour to find an extension cord for the air conditioner yesterday morning, but that's another story. Mercury conjunct Chiron for the day showed itself when I got a nibble on the house from the Craiglist posting and had to call the tenants in Silver, the first contact since we drew up an agreement two weeks ago. Mr. Tenant was back to his ordinary charming self after the psychotic break email, and we had a civilized conversation in which he told me he and his partner would be leaving at the end of this month and I asked him to be ready to show the house this coming Tuesday, if necessary, all very relationship healed and all.
This is getting very long-winded and off the point, and I want to get back to what I found myself doing yesterday as Saturn in Libra (the arts) finally manifested its opposition to my backstage Aries Sun in the Twelfth. I spent hours and hours online researching U.K. theaters I can send Just For You to, pardon my syntax, something I *should* have done when I first finished the play last year but didn't because I couldn't. The time wasn't right. It feels like ages since I felt that sense of awe and wonder astrology used to invoke in me - which was the reason for beginning this blog - but yesterday it came back (P Moon conjunct Pluto in Leo?). I was watching Michael Lutin's address to the National Press Club in 2008 while I was taking notes on submission requirements, and couldn't help but laugh when he said predictions were impossible to make until the day after, when it because sublimely obvious what the manifestation turned out to be and how it could happen no other way, except he said it a lot more clearly than that.
Tuesday's new moon falls directly on my Neptune, which is natally square Saturn and will be opposed by transiting Uranus and squared by Pluto. Dare I write that with any luck I'll get a copy of Just For You off to one of the willing-to-look-at-unsolicited scripts U.K. theaters? Well, I just did, and if I can find the post office in Cambridge, I shall.
As it is, now that the two ends of my yo-yo are Cambridge and New York rather than Cambridge and Silver City and Star Child is again part of daily life spreading her sunshine and all that, I feel nothing but a tremendous sense of relief that I have time to take a deep breath and simply be, rather than my brain frantically racing constantly to keep up and stay in place. It isn't easy, this bopping around from place to place, and I've yet to achieve my goal, set the day after Labor Day, of staying under one roof for five nights in a row, but still, this sense of peace and a deep well-being is a welcome change, Saturn opposed to the Sun exact tomorrow or not.
I took the 6:00 pm bus from Alewife Friday night. It was raining, traffic was awful, one of the headlights on the bus went out, we were delayed for an hour and didn't get to Eighth and Thirty-first till 11:15. When I swiped my Senior MetroCard through the subway turnstile I got the See Agent message, which let me know my attempts to change my hacked credit card that's on file for Autopay had been unsuccessful, and I had to go to the machine and buy a regular price $10 card. (That instruction is un-carryoutable when the booth is empty.) I did think then, fumbling for my glasses and credit card and trying to remember where it went in and which Zip Code I was supposed to enter, that I was having a bit of Saturnine opposition but I'm getting used to being a hayseed and at least there wasn't a line of people behind me tapping their feet and looking at their watches, pardon my projection.
By the time I got *home* it was way past midnight, but the ceiling hadn't fallen down and my key worked (my requirements for happiness get fewer and fewer), and, as always, this apartment felt like a sanctuary and haven, maybe more so as I'm also deep in another of those dreaded transits - Progressed Moon to Pluto. As with the Saturn opposition, I seem to be getting away scot-free as far as emotional pain is concerned, unless of course I am on too much medication and need to reduce the dose.)
It took me half an hour to find an extension cord for the air conditioner yesterday morning, but that's another story. Mercury conjunct Chiron for the day showed itself when I got a nibble on the house from the Craiglist posting and had to call the tenants in Silver, the first contact since we drew up an agreement two weeks ago. Mr. Tenant was back to his ordinary charming self after the psychotic break email, and we had a civilized conversation in which he told me he and his partner would be leaving at the end of this month and I asked him to be ready to show the house this coming Tuesday, if necessary, all very relationship healed and all.
This is getting very long-winded and off the point, and I want to get back to what I found myself doing yesterday as Saturn in Libra (the arts) finally manifested its opposition to my backstage Aries Sun in the Twelfth. I spent hours and hours online researching U.K. theaters I can send Just For You to, pardon my syntax, something I *should* have done when I first finished the play last year but didn't because I couldn't. The time wasn't right. It feels like ages since I felt that sense of awe and wonder astrology used to invoke in me - which was the reason for beginning this blog - but yesterday it came back (P Moon conjunct Pluto in Leo?). I was watching Michael Lutin's address to the National Press Club in 2008 while I was taking notes on submission requirements, and couldn't help but laugh when he said predictions were impossible to make until the day after, when it because sublimely obvious what the manifestation turned out to be and how it could happen no other way, except he said it a lot more clearly than that.
Tuesday's new moon falls directly on my Neptune, which is natally square Saturn and will be opposed by transiting Uranus and squared by Pluto. Dare I write that with any luck I'll get a copy of Just For You off to one of the willing-to-look-at-unsolicited scripts U.K. theaters? Well, I just did, and if I can find the post office in Cambridge, I shall.
22 September, 2011
Sun Conjunct Chiron
So here's a time when something is supposed to happen that opens up an old wound and I'm given a chance to deal with it differently, and there's plenty of chances for an old wound being opened with me back in the hallway after the summer off and Amma having to get used to me being around again.
Star Child is having a difficult time of starting school, it appears. She's in the second week of it and the plan hysterical laughter was for Amma to take her and drop her off in the mornings before going to work and I would then go and pick her up at noon. The only bit that isn't working is that Star Child evidently refuses to let Amma go off to work and insists that she stay. I haven't seen any of this first hand but have no reason to doubt any of it. I know that when I arrive to pick her up she seems perfectly happy and also goes off to school happily each morning.
So yesterday I picked her up as *usual*, we came home, had lunch, I read two stories and she took her nap, again as usual, even if usual has only been five days. An hour and twenty minutes later I then had to do something I really dislike and wake her up to take her off to dance class. (It's the waking her up I dislike, not the dance class.) I've taken her twice before, changing her into her pink costume when we get there and then hanging around the studio a bit with all the other parents/nannies/caregivers until Miss Angela turfs us out and class begins. No problem.
Yesterday we barely made it on time, and all the other parents/nannies/caregivers/ were filing out of the studio promising not to cry while they were outside on their own, a stroke of genius as far as I'm concerned on Miss Angela's part. "Off you go," I say, gently pushing Star Child into the circle of three-year-olds. "'I'll be right outside." The tears start immediately and the little arms go round my neck as SC tries to get into my lap while I'm standing up. I look mutely at Miss Angela as her eyebrows go up, and without saying a word I try to convey that we're having a little difficulty with what I hate to call separation anxiety as I feel like a textbook but I suppose it's the best way to describe it and I'm really really sorry but could I break the rules and stay in the studio for a bit?
"Would it help if I picked her up?" says Miss Angela, and I give my now usual answer to any and all questions: "I don't know." Star Child and I retreat to the sidelines and Miss Angela starts the class, SC now comfortably in my lap as I'm sitting on the floor, arms still tight around my neck, one big tear drop not quite big enough to make it over the mound of her cheek glistening away on her face.
I start to do all the things Miss Angela is having the others do - touch our toes, walk our hands all the way up to our heads, clap hands, go back to toes and next time use a different method to make it back up - squeeze, tickle, go slowly, go quickly - not particularly easy as I'm reaching over SC the limpet to do it all, but slowly, very slowly, she starts to join in.
As we start the slithering on the belly business being crocodiles, though, she changes her mind, but as the class goes on she participates more and more and is absolutely thrilled when the shaky eggs come out and Miss Angela gives her and me (?) matching colors. Off we all go marching around the room shaking our eggs and making noise, and from that point on she joins in completely, as long as I'm doing exactly the same thing next to her, of course. Every now and again I catch sight of myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and give quiet thanks I managed to lose a couple of pounds over the summer. I'm actually much thinner than Miss Angela but she's definitely lighter on her feet, not that this concerns me in the least. Thinking of my line dancing days in Silver when the transiting north node and Chiron hit my moon in the eleventh, I jump, hop, skip, prance, wave my arms, pretend to take a lick of a giant lollipop, join in whatever that game is where you have to suddenly stop whatever you were doing and freeze when Miss Angela sounds the gong, and realize any trace of self-consciousness I may once have had - and I had a lot - has gone, O joyful day.
Class ends with the children one by one taking turns to jump in imaginary puddles all the way across the room and then dance back to the barre. SC's the last to go as she's still standing very close to me and I'm pretending to be invisible at the end of the row. "Pamela, Pamela do it," she says, and it's my turn for the eyebrows to go up. A bit more unspoken communication between me and Miss Angela and she says, "I'm not going to let Pamela jump in the puddles because this is a class for little girls and she's big, and it's very special that's she's been in the class anyway this week." (Something like that, anyway.)
SC accepts this without a murmur, the door's opened, the little 'uns stream out to their waiting big 'uns and I try to hide behind the door in case any of the other big 'uns get bent out of shape because I've been allowed to stay. The next class (bigger 'uns) is streaming in as SC and I thank Miss Angela for her understanding in allowing me to stay, and she tells me I got a one-off and there are dancing classes for big 'uns I could take, this, I hope, for SC's ears in preparation for next week, although it wouldn't be a bad idea if I want to keep this weight off.
"You're a good sport," she tells me, as SC and I squeeze our way out the door. "You too," I say, thinking this is something I've heard many times before. I suppose that's what I am - a good sport.
Star Child is having a difficult time of starting school, it appears. She's in the second week of it and the plan hysterical laughter was for Amma to take her and drop her off in the mornings before going to work and I would then go and pick her up at noon. The only bit that isn't working is that Star Child evidently refuses to let Amma go off to work and insists that she stay. I haven't seen any of this first hand but have no reason to doubt any of it. I know that when I arrive to pick her up she seems perfectly happy and also goes off to school happily each morning.
So yesterday I picked her up as *usual*, we came home, had lunch, I read two stories and she took her nap, again as usual, even if usual has only been five days. An hour and twenty minutes later I then had to do something I really dislike and wake her up to take her off to dance class. (It's the waking her up I dislike, not the dance class.) I've taken her twice before, changing her into her pink costume when we get there and then hanging around the studio a bit with all the other parents/nannies/caregivers until Miss Angela turfs us out and class begins. No problem.
Yesterday we barely made it on time, and all the other parents/nannies/caregivers/ were filing out of the studio promising not to cry while they were outside on their own, a stroke of genius as far as I'm concerned on Miss Angela's part. "Off you go," I say, gently pushing Star Child into the circle of three-year-olds. "'I'll be right outside." The tears start immediately and the little arms go round my neck as SC tries to get into my lap while I'm standing up. I look mutely at Miss Angela as her eyebrows go up, and without saying a word I try to convey that we're having a little difficulty with what I hate to call separation anxiety as I feel like a textbook but I suppose it's the best way to describe it and I'm really really sorry but could I break the rules and stay in the studio for a bit?
"Would it help if I picked her up?" says Miss Angela, and I give my now usual answer to any and all questions: "I don't know." Star Child and I retreat to the sidelines and Miss Angela starts the class, SC now comfortably in my lap as I'm sitting on the floor, arms still tight around my neck, one big tear drop not quite big enough to make it over the mound of her cheek glistening away on her face.
I start to do all the things Miss Angela is having the others do - touch our toes, walk our hands all the way up to our heads, clap hands, go back to toes and next time use a different method to make it back up - squeeze, tickle, go slowly, go quickly - not particularly easy as I'm reaching over SC the limpet to do it all, but slowly, very slowly, she starts to join in.
As we start the slithering on the belly business being crocodiles, though, she changes her mind, but as the class goes on she participates more and more and is absolutely thrilled when the shaky eggs come out and Miss Angela gives her and me (?) matching colors. Off we all go marching around the room shaking our eggs and making noise, and from that point on she joins in completely, as long as I'm doing exactly the same thing next to her, of course. Every now and again I catch sight of myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and give quiet thanks I managed to lose a couple of pounds over the summer. I'm actually much thinner than Miss Angela but she's definitely lighter on her feet, not that this concerns me in the least. Thinking of my line dancing days in Silver when the transiting north node and Chiron hit my moon in the eleventh, I jump, hop, skip, prance, wave my arms, pretend to take a lick of a giant lollipop, join in whatever that game is where you have to suddenly stop whatever you were doing and freeze when Miss Angela sounds the gong, and realize any trace of self-consciousness I may once have had - and I had a lot - has gone, O joyful day.
Class ends with the children one by one taking turns to jump in imaginary puddles all the way across the room and then dance back to the barre. SC's the last to go as she's still standing very close to me and I'm pretending to be invisible at the end of the row. "Pamela, Pamela do it," she says, and it's my turn for the eyebrows to go up. A bit more unspoken communication between me and Miss Angela and she says, "I'm not going to let Pamela jump in the puddles because this is a class for little girls and she's big, and it's very special that's she's been in the class anyway this week." (Something like that, anyway.)
SC accepts this without a murmur, the door's opened, the little 'uns stream out to their waiting big 'uns and I try to hide behind the door in case any of the other big 'uns get bent out of shape because I've been allowed to stay. The next class (bigger 'uns) is streaming in as SC and I thank Miss Angela for her understanding in allowing me to stay, and she tells me I got a one-off and there are dancing classes for big 'uns I could take, this, I hope, for SC's ears in preparation for next week, although it wouldn't be a bad idea if I want to keep this weight off.
"You're a good sport," she tells me, as SC and I squeeze our way out the door. "You too," I say, thinking this is something I've heard many times before. I suppose that's what I am - a good sport.
21 September, 2011
Pluto Station? Yet Again, Whatever It Is, Continued
So I went back to Silver to get Sweet Pea two days after I left without him to find a slightly OTT email from the people staying in the house. This was with Pluto almost stationed at 4 Cap 54, opposed to Natal Saturn at 4 Cancer 51 and square Natal Neptune at 4 Libra 42, and Progressed Mercury square Natal Jupiter.
(The ultimate Pluto/Saturn/Neptune manifestation was trying to set up the irrigation system for the plants at the back of the house over Labor Day weekend, when every effort made was thwarted time and time again. IW (Irrigation Woman) had brought the wrong drill, didn't have the right glue, and my all-time favorite, there was a skunk in the well-house firmly ensconced in the insulation exactly where she needed to drill. Animal Control weren't working, they didn't do skunks if they were, and I was in no mood to call Skunk Busters and shell out even more moolah.)
Once again, days have passed since I began to write this, and I have absolutely no idea where I am in trying to record the past couple of weeks. I do know that with Jupiter to the Sun on 9/11,11, just as it was on 9/11/01, thank God, I called my repentant tenants and said I'd be willing to have them come back after I had left with Sweet Pea the next day, assuming they didn't want their $400 for expenses and were willing to tear up the check I'd just written them for the return of the month's rental, me being so big-hearted and all and not wanting to leave the house empty.
I know I got Sweet Pea into his carrier that Monday morning - September 12 - with only a couple of claw marks on my arm and secured the two zips with a baggie twist before carrying him outside and putting him straight into the car. I know my heart stopped as I was checking in at El Paso with him and the American agent told me there's now a form that has to be filled out for taking a pet on board, as this was the first year since I've had him I didn't take him to the vet in Silver and I had no current paperwork for him. Fortunately the agent was so full of apologies for keeping me waiting at the counter while she tried to find the form that when a colleague brought one over to her she rushed through it putting check marks everywhere and didn't ask me any of the questions.
I know when the cab driver didn't know his way to Concord Avenue from the airport in Boston I wondered just how long *this* was going to go on, this coming up against obstacles every step of the way, but then I remembered how I'd thought the Pluto/Saturn opposition would be some kind of nightmarish governmental/bureaucratic entanglement and said a silent Thank you Doorknob as we made yet another U-turn and tried to find Concord Avenue. It was more difficult to give thanks when B, who was taking care of the Volvo for me for the winter, told me its back tire had been slashed by Silver vandals, but hey, it's only money.
I know I went down to New York for the weekend and spent two days in bed, and I know with the Sun trine the Midheaven on Sunday I managed to stay awake and waded through a lot of the paperwork I'd taken down with me, most of which I'd taken out to Silver in May.
And now I know it's Wednesday 9/21, the Sun is closing in on conjuncting Chiron for me, Saturn will be opposing the Sun exactly in six days time, three days ago the transiting South Node went into my first house and I'm back to sleeping in the hallway, and finally finally finally Pluto is moving away from Saturn for me and I'm what passes for being up-to-date with this blog.
(The ultimate Pluto/Saturn/Neptune manifestation was trying to set up the irrigation system for the plants at the back of the house over Labor Day weekend, when every effort made was thwarted time and time again. IW (Irrigation Woman) had brought the wrong drill, didn't have the right glue, and my all-time favorite, there was a skunk in the well-house firmly ensconced in the insulation exactly where she needed to drill. Animal Control weren't working, they didn't do skunks if they were, and I was in no mood to call Skunk Busters and shell out even more moolah.)
Once again, days have passed since I began to write this, and I have absolutely no idea where I am in trying to record the past couple of weeks. I do know that with Jupiter to the Sun on 9/11,11, just as it was on 9/11/01, thank God, I called my repentant tenants and said I'd be willing to have them come back after I had left with Sweet Pea the next day, assuming they didn't want their $400 for expenses and were willing to tear up the check I'd just written them for the return of the month's rental, me being so big-hearted and all and not wanting to leave the house empty.
I know I got Sweet Pea into his carrier that Monday morning - September 12 - with only a couple of claw marks on my arm and secured the two zips with a baggie twist before carrying him outside and putting him straight into the car. I know my heart stopped as I was checking in at El Paso with him and the American agent told me there's now a form that has to be filled out for taking a pet on board, as this was the first year since I've had him I didn't take him to the vet in Silver and I had no current paperwork for him. Fortunately the agent was so full of apologies for keeping me waiting at the counter while she tried to find the form that when a colleague brought one over to her she rushed through it putting check marks everywhere and didn't ask me any of the questions.
I know when the cab driver didn't know his way to Concord Avenue from the airport in Boston I wondered just how long *this* was going to go on, this coming up against obstacles every step of the way, but then I remembered how I'd thought the Pluto/Saturn opposition would be some kind of nightmarish governmental/bureaucratic entanglement and said a silent Thank you Doorknob as we made yet another U-turn and tried to find Concord Avenue. It was more difficult to give thanks when B, who was taking care of the Volvo for me for the winter, told me its back tire had been slashed by Silver vandals, but hey, it's only money.
I know I went down to New York for the weekend and spent two days in bed, and I know with the Sun trine the Midheaven on Sunday I managed to stay awake and waded through a lot of the paperwork I'd taken down with me, most of which I'd taken out to Silver in May.
And now I know it's Wednesday 9/21, the Sun is closing in on conjuncting Chiron for me, Saturn will be opposing the Sun exactly in six days time, three days ago the transiting South Node went into my first house and I'm back to sleeping in the hallway, and finally finally finally Pluto is moving away from Saturn for me and I'm what passes for being up-to-date with this blog.
18 September, 2011
Whatever It Is, Continued Again
Okay, so I get to Cambridge, minus Sweet Pea, on Tuesday night, and Star Child is thrilled to see me. Semi-conscious, I get to take her to Sing-a-long at the local library on Wednesday and then to ballet class (!) on Wednesday afternoon.
In the meantime, Amah is telling me I am insane to have left Sweet Pea behind, and prompted by guilt, because of course I'm thinking exactly the same thing, I get online and make a reservation, using miles, to come (because that's where I am now) back to Silver ASAP. ASAP proves to be Thursday afternoon from Logan/Boston at the cost of only (sincerely) $50, and I make the reservation and email my tenants that I'm coming back to get Sweet Pea. I tell them I'll be in Silver for four nights, and if my staying at the house is inconvenient for them, I'll take myself off somewhere with friends.
Sunday September 18
Well, I'm not in Silver now, I'm in New York, but to attempt to continue this saga before Christmas is here, I rented a car and, drawing a veil over the fact I had no idea how to drive it and could go no faster than 48 mph for the first hour, got to Silver at about 11:30. Tenants, as requested, had left the patio light on and the door unlocked, as my keys were on the ring with the car key B was keeping for the winter, and the first thing I did after I dumped my bag in the house was open the laundry room door to the outside and call for Sweet Pea.
He was right there, right where he usually hangs out at night before condescending to come in for wet food, and miaowed immediately, but it took more than an hour before he would come into the house after his two nights in the wild. As soon as he was in and gobbling away, I checked my email and found an ultimatum - two, actually - from my formerly sane tenants.
Wounded and upset by my thoughtless method of informing them via email that I intended to return and re-occupy the house for four days and totally ignoring my offer to stay with friends if my return was inconvenient to them, they informed me they were moving out of the house until Monday and would return only if I shelled out $400 for their expenses for the long weekend. Should this be unacceptable, they would expect their $700 for the month to be refunded and would never darken my door again.
As the label says, you sort it out.
In the meantime, Amah is telling me I am insane to have left Sweet Pea behind, and prompted by guilt, because of course I'm thinking exactly the same thing, I get online and make a reservation, using miles, to come (because that's where I am now) back to Silver ASAP. ASAP proves to be Thursday afternoon from Logan/Boston at the cost of only (sincerely) $50, and I make the reservation and email my tenants that I'm coming back to get Sweet Pea. I tell them I'll be in Silver for four nights, and if my staying at the house is inconvenient for them, I'll take myself off somewhere with friends.
Sunday September 18
Well, I'm not in Silver now, I'm in New York, but to attempt to continue this saga before Christmas is here, I rented a car and, drawing a veil over the fact I had no idea how to drive it and could go no faster than 48 mph for the first hour, got to Silver at about 11:30. Tenants, as requested, had left the patio light on and the door unlocked, as my keys were on the ring with the car key B was keeping for the winter, and the first thing I did after I dumped my bag in the house was open the laundry room door to the outside and call for Sweet Pea.
He was right there, right where he usually hangs out at night before condescending to come in for wet food, and miaowed immediately, but it took more than an hour before he would come into the house after his two nights in the wild. As soon as he was in and gobbling away, I checked my email and found an ultimatum - two, actually - from my formerly sane tenants.
Wounded and upset by my thoughtless method of informing them via email that I intended to return and re-occupy the house for four days and totally ignoring my offer to stay with friends if my return was inconvenient to them, they informed me they were moving out of the house until Monday and would return only if I shelled out $400 for their expenses for the long weekend. Should this be unacceptable, they would expect their $700 for the month to be refunded and would never darken my door again.
As the label says, you sort it out.
10 September, 2011
Whatever It Is, Continued
So as I said, as I was loading bags into the car on Tuesday morning and being lazy and piling them at the bottom of the front steps as I carried them out rather than taking them individually to the car on the pad, Sweet Pea managed to claw his way out of his carrier and take off for the barn. I believe the feeling that I experienced, watching this, is known as "stunned disbelief." If it isn't, I can 't come up with anything better.
Knowing what a complete and absolute waste of time it was, I followed him down the slope and got within ten feet of him as he sat in the doorway, but as I knew would happen - he might not be too swift mentally but there are no flies on Sweet Pea - as I got closer he bolted down to the crick and I turned around and went back to the house. I called B, who was going to come down to EL Paso with me and then drive the Volvo back and keep it for the winter, and she suggested I give it another 30 minutes and see if SP came back to the house. Again, knowing SP as I do, I was aware the chances of his coming back to the house to enter voluntary imprisonment in the dreaded black box for 12 hours were minimal, but I busied myself doing God knows what before calling her again for an update.
With hindsight, it probably (probably?) wasn't the best decision to have made, but on three hours sleep it seemed like a good idea at the time. "He'll come back to the house when he's hungry," B said, "and you can ask your tenants to feed him for a month or so and then come back out and get him." "Right," I say, thinking of Star Child awaiting my arrival that night and completely ignoring the fact that I know Sweet Pea won't go anywhere near the house if he knows strangers are in it and I'm not. "What's the worst that can happen?" I go on, Miss Stiff Upper Lip on Celexa and Wellbutrin. "He'll get eaten by a coyote or go feral. I'll pick you up in 15 minutes."
I leave a note for my tenants, who are still asleep, saying "You've got a cat" and explaining that he escaped, and go to pick up B, who is probably a better person than me to describe the subsequent drive to El Paso with me at the wheel. By the grace of something we make it to the airport unscathed and I get to Logan only an hour late, to be met by Big Thomas and Star Child, who has been waiting patiently for her Pamla, which, for the moment, makes it all worthwhile.
Again, to be continued. There's already lots more.
Knowing what a complete and absolute waste of time it was, I followed him down the slope and got within ten feet of him as he sat in the doorway, but as I knew would happen - he might not be too swift mentally but there are no flies on Sweet Pea - as I got closer he bolted down to the crick and I turned around and went back to the house. I called B, who was going to come down to EL Paso with me and then drive the Volvo back and keep it for the winter, and she suggested I give it another 30 minutes and see if SP came back to the house. Again, knowing SP as I do, I was aware the chances of his coming back to the house to enter voluntary imprisonment in the dreaded black box for 12 hours were minimal, but I busied myself doing God knows what before calling her again for an update.
With hindsight, it probably (probably?) wasn't the best decision to have made, but on three hours sleep it seemed like a good idea at the time. "He'll come back to the house when he's hungry," B said, "and you can ask your tenants to feed him for a month or so and then come back out and get him." "Right," I say, thinking of Star Child awaiting my arrival that night and completely ignoring the fact that I know Sweet Pea won't go anywhere near the house if he knows strangers are in it and I'm not. "What's the worst that can happen?" I go on, Miss Stiff Upper Lip on Celexa and Wellbutrin. "He'll get eaten by a coyote or go feral. I'll pick you up in 15 minutes."
I leave a note for my tenants, who are still asleep, saying "You've got a cat" and explaining that he escaped, and go to pick up B, who is probably a better person than me to describe the subsequent drive to El Paso with me at the wheel. By the grace of something we make it to the airport unscathed and I get to Logan only an hour late, to be met by Big Thomas and Star Child, who has been waiting patiently for her Pamla, which, for the moment, makes it all worthwhile.
Again, to be continued. There's already lots more.
08 September, 2011
Progressed Mercury Square Jupiter
I've been wondering about this all summer. It perfects next Sunday, 9/11, and I was thinking as I'd be back in Cambridge by then I would go down to New York and be there for the day - the day being the 10th anniversary of 9/11, that fateful Tuesday now so long ago...
How it seemed to manifest was B introducing me to Upwords, a kind of three-dimensional Scrabble easy for a word person to become addicted to, and two or three times a week B and I took ourselves off to one of the local coffee shops after tennis and sat and played one or two games. B beat me almost every time - I think I won twice over the summer - but I managed to persuade a couple of other people to play with me and could usually beat them.
Every now and again I'd go and read a cookbook interpretation of the aspect, and smiled to myself (when I wasn't gnashing my teeth) at "You may consider plans for a significant journey under this aspect." This was when I was attempting to save myself paying American Airlines $150 to put miles back in my account by attempting to fly to England two days after I got to Cambridge. If I could remember what the title of THAT post was you could go and read what happened to that little conceit. Lightbulb moment - I can go and look for it myself and then provide the link. It's only money.
So the reservation to leave for Cambridge is made for the day after Labor Day. B is going to come to El Paso with me and then drive the Volvo back to Silver and keep it for the winter, with any luck eliminating the need for massive repairs every spring by driving it once in a while and not having it sit in the driveway at #14 for the winter.
[EXTENDED PAUSE]
I would go on with this account, except I'm about to leave for Logan airport to go back to Silver, as Sweet Pea escaped from his carrier as I was loading the car on Tuesday morning and took off for the barn. I made the choice to take the flight anyway, rather than disappoint Star Child who I knew was looking forward to seeing me, and of course once I got to Cambridge realized I had better go back quickly before - well, before any of the things that could happen to him happened.
How it seemed to manifest was B introducing me to Upwords, a kind of three-dimensional Scrabble easy for a word person to become addicted to, and two or three times a week B and I took ourselves off to one of the local coffee shops after tennis and sat and played one or two games. B beat me almost every time - I think I won twice over the summer - but I managed to persuade a couple of other people to play with me and could usually beat them.
Every now and again I'd go and read a cookbook interpretation of the aspect, and smiled to myself (when I wasn't gnashing my teeth) at "You may consider plans for a significant journey under this aspect." This was when I was attempting to save myself paying American Airlines $150 to put miles back in my account by attempting to fly to England two days after I got to Cambridge. If I could remember what the title of THAT post was you could go and read what happened to that little conceit. Lightbulb moment - I can go and look for it myself and then provide the link. It's only money.
So the reservation to leave for Cambridge is made for the day after Labor Day. B is going to come to El Paso with me and then drive the Volvo back to Silver and keep it for the winter, with any luck eliminating the need for massive repairs every spring by driving it once in a while and not having it sit in the driveway at #14 for the winter.
[EXTENDED PAUSE]
I would go on with this account, except I'm about to leave for Logan airport to go back to Silver, as Sweet Pea escaped from his carrier as I was loading the car on Tuesday morning and took off for the barn. I made the choice to take the flight anyway, rather than disappoint Star Child who I knew was looking forward to seeing me, and of course once I got to Cambridge realized I had better go back quickly before - well, before any of the things that could happen to him happened.
04 September, 2011
Mars Sextile Jupiter with R-Jupiter sextile Mars
I know there's no way this can be separated out from P Mercury square Jupiter and T Pluto coming to oppose Saturn and square Neptune, but to pick out the most obvious manifestation of what's going on right now it would have to be that for someone with a twelfth house sun, there are a shit-load of people around at the moment.
Looking at what passes as an appointment book (Sorry Ll. I love it, I really do, and I'm getting one for myself next year) all I see are notations like "lunch M & A", "S and K here", "A 4-7", "D plant move with S" and "M & T 6-". (U.K. punctation throughout.)
It's all very well, and most of the notations mean I can draw another line through something on a "Things To Do Before Leaving" list, but my poor little natal Sun wants nothing but to be out in the *garden* with Sweet Pea, pulling up weeds and trying to do just a little bit of landscaping this year instead of leaving everything just as I found it in May.
It feels as though I only just got here instead of being here for three months, but what with Uranus square Saturn and opposed to Neptune when I arrived and the expired driver's license and problems with the Volvo and the garden needing tending and the veggies needing being moved closer to a water source and my credit card being hacked and my teeth needing root canals and my gums needing surgery and the raven pecking at the wrong thing on the utility pole and knocking out power to the house and my having no patience with my elderly neighbor when he wanted to climb up on the roof of the barn and nail back the corrugated iron panels that had fallen off over the winter, I suppose it's no wonder time kept flying by.
The past few days seem to have been crazier than *normal* but presumably that's to be expected as the time for leaving for the winter draws closer and more and more preparations for said leaving need to be put into place (thanks D and A for the plant sitting and everyone else for the offers of help if I need it - my own new life as an Aries - acknowledging I can't do everything myself and accepting help).
Okay, so this is degenerating once again into the maudlin and boring and it's time to do something constructive like stretch out on the couch and watch reruns of "Law and Order Criminal Intent" before I find myself in Cambridge for the second winter with no telly.
Looking at what passes as an appointment book (Sorry Ll. I love it, I really do, and I'm getting one for myself next year) all I see are notations like "lunch M & A", "S and K here", "A 4-7", "D plant move with S" and "M & T 6-". (U.K. punctation throughout.)
It's all very well, and most of the notations mean I can draw another line through something on a "Things To Do Before Leaving" list, but my poor little natal Sun wants nothing but to be out in the *garden* with Sweet Pea, pulling up weeds and trying to do just a little bit of landscaping this year instead of leaving everything just as I found it in May.
It feels as though I only just got here instead of being here for three months, but what with Uranus square Saturn and opposed to Neptune when I arrived and the expired driver's license and problems with the Volvo and the garden needing tending and the veggies needing being moved closer to a water source and my credit card being hacked and my teeth needing root canals and my gums needing surgery and the raven pecking at the wrong thing on the utility pole and knocking out power to the house and my having no patience with my elderly neighbor when he wanted to climb up on the roof of the barn and nail back the corrugated iron panels that had fallen off over the winter, I suppose it's no wonder time kept flying by.
The past few days seem to have been crazier than *normal* but presumably that's to be expected as the time for leaving for the winter draws closer and more and more preparations for said leaving need to be put into place (thanks D and A for the plant sitting and everyone else for the offers of help if I need it - my own new life as an Aries - acknowledging I can't do everything myself and accepting help).
Okay, so this is degenerating once again into the maudlin and boring and it's time to do something constructive like stretch out on the couch and watch reruns of "Law and Order Criminal Intent" before I find myself in Cambridge for the second winter with no telly.
03 September, 2011
Last Vestiges of Pluto Opposed to Saturn Square Neptune
So I pick up A at 7:10 and off we go to Palomas for my 9:15 appointment for my three new choppers and as we're barreling down 180 towards Bayard I say "And you do have your passport, right?" Thirty minutes later we're barreling down 180 towards Bayard again, A now complete with passport, and I'm only 30 minutes late for my appointment. A sits and reads her book while I go in for my three new choppers, which fit perfectly, and off we go to the opticians for me to pick up T's glasses, as promised.
After standing for ten minutes while the sales people hunt around for T's glasses, I remember he told me two days ago on the phone he had had to go down to Palomas for a dental emergency and would pick up his glasses himself. A and I beat an apologetic retreat and take off for the Pink Store, who need to update the bit on their website about "No visas or passports needed".
We have a great poke around in the store and contribute absolutely nothing to Mexico's retail economy but keep their service industry going by spending $12 on lunch for the two of us. Then it's off to Pharmacia Express for me to stock up on anti-biotics for the next time I scrape my leg on a rusty piece of rebar and for A to pick some prescription-needed-in-the-U.S. medication as she's quit her job (the third person I know to have done this this summer - Uranus in Aries in action?) and no longer has health insurance.
Off we go now to Border Patrol Checkpoint, or whatever it's called. A is asked what's she bringing over the border and answers truthfully with name of psychotropic drug. "Where's your prescription?" asks Mr. Border Control Agent, armed with machine gun. "I don't have one" says A, "I never needed one before." "You need a prescription for [name your psychotropic medication here]," says Border Agent. "But I never needed one before" says A, and "You do now" says BA. "If you need a prescription, it's a narcotic." "But, but -" we both say, realizing at the same time this is hopeless. "You need to take it back to the pharmacy" continues Mr. Machine Gun, to which A responds "But they don't take refunds."
"They will" says Machine Gun, and, glossing over the bit about my suggesting A call her doctor in Silver but her doctor's office doesn't answer and the woman in Pharmacia Express calling the doctor who would usually write prescriptions if prescriptions were needed who turned out to be unreachable because she'd gone to Juarez, after 30 minutes they did, A got her refund and off we went again to Border Control - second Take Two of the day.
A different agent was on duty - a woman - who asked to see A's passport, ushered her through without asking any questions, took my Green Card and ushered me through as well. As we walked to the Volvo we saw Mr. Machine Gun standing on top of an SUV attempting to make the crossing, with two other agents poking around at the innards of the ve-hickle with a German Shepherd sniffing around the tires, and all I could think, just like Winston Smith in 1984 with his "Do it to Julia," was "Thank goodness it happened to A and not me."
After standing for ten minutes while the sales people hunt around for T's glasses, I remember he told me two days ago on the phone he had had to go down to Palomas for a dental emergency and would pick up his glasses himself. A and I beat an apologetic retreat and take off for the Pink Store, who need to update the bit on their website about "No visas or passports needed".
We have a great poke around in the store and contribute absolutely nothing to Mexico's retail economy but keep their service industry going by spending $12 on lunch for the two of us. Then it's off to Pharmacia Express for me to stock up on anti-biotics for the next time I scrape my leg on a rusty piece of rebar and for A to pick some prescription-needed-in-the-U.S. medication as she's quit her job (the third person I know to have done this this summer - Uranus in Aries in action?) and no longer has health insurance.
Off we go now to Border Patrol Checkpoint, or whatever it's called. A is asked what's she bringing over the border and answers truthfully with name of psychotropic drug. "Where's your prescription?" asks Mr. Border Control Agent, armed with machine gun. "I don't have one" says A, "I never needed one before." "You need a prescription for [name your psychotropic medication here]," says Border Agent. "But I never needed one before" says A, and "You do now" says BA. "If you need a prescription, it's a narcotic." "But, but -" we both say, realizing at the same time this is hopeless. "You need to take it back to the pharmacy" continues Mr. Machine Gun, to which A responds "But they don't take refunds."
"They will" says Machine Gun, and, glossing over the bit about my suggesting A call her doctor in Silver but her doctor's office doesn't answer and the woman in Pharmacia Express calling the doctor who would usually write prescriptions if prescriptions were needed who turned out to be unreachable because she'd gone to Juarez, after 30 minutes they did, A got her refund and off we went again to Border Control - second Take Two of the day.
A different agent was on duty - a woman - who asked to see A's passport, ushered her through without asking any questions, took my Green Card and ushered me through as well. As we walked to the Volvo we saw Mr. Machine Gun standing on top of an SUV attempting to make the crossing, with two other agents poking around at the innards of the ve-hickle with a German Shepherd sniffing around the tires, and all I could think, just like Winston Smith in 1984 with his "Do it to Julia," was "Thank goodness it happened to A and not me."
01 September, 2011
Mars sextile Jupiter with JupiterR sextile Mars
Sheesh! Thing were getting pretty frenzied over the past couple of weeks while Jupiter came within minutes of sextiling natal Mars before retrograding on Monday, but add in transiting Mars sextiling natal Jupiter, perfecting tomorrow, and it starts to get a little bit overwhelming.
I knew my month-to-month tenants were moving in this afternoon (sooner than expected) so spent the morning removing every vestige of me from the addition and dumping it into the dining room or office. I'd just begun to start sewing in earnest and had actually cut out a dress (from a pattern) for Sirjana, but that all had to be packed up and moved from the big persons' room. Clothes had to be moved out of the walk-in closet, New Yorkers removed from the side of the bed and the silly bathroom given a cursory clean.
Round about mid-morning, I had to call Tracfone to add service time as today was my last day. I had tried yesterday to remove my old hacked credit card from my account online and replace it with my new as-yet-unhacked card. Impossible. Failed, failed, failed, was the only message I got when I attempted to pay for my minutes with my new card online, so yesterday I gave up and today made the supreme sacrifice and called the 800 number. No need to go into details, but after an hour on the phone I was told I needed to go a *retail outlet* and buy a card there. And can I use my phone today, I ask. Yes. And can I use my phone tomorrow? I can't answer that, says person from halfway round the world. When you go to a retail outlet and buy a card, that will reactivate your phone and you will then be able to use it again. I know this is not your fault, I say, but this is not a satisfactory outcome and I hope this call is being recorded.
By this time, I was running behind with my scheduled morning's activities, so took off for down-town, impressing myself mightily by dropping a big bag of itemized stuff at the thrift store before it closed at noon. I was then able to proceed to Vicki's for lunch with two women friends, and for the first time ever arrived before either of them did. This convinced me that all plans for the day were going to work out in spite of the Tracfone hurdle, and when lunch was over earlier than I'd expected I decided to go to Walmart and get groceries and the mulch and salt pellets I needed before I picked up A, the student helping me out in the past few weeks. I'd been obsessing since Monday when I sprained my arm or whatever I did over whether I was going to pick him up and have him come to Walmart with me while I was paying him his big $10 an hour, or if there was some way I could go to Walmart without him, get what I needed and then go and pick him up. Once I remembered/realized that the people in the garden center would load the salt pellets and mulch into the car for me, I realized I could go without him
So, on my last day of phone service, having cleverly written down Avery's phone number on a yellow stickie and taken it with me to lunch, I called him, told him I'd be at his house to pick him up around two and took myself off to Walmart to get groceries and the mulch and salt pellets. I got the groceries and paid for them, went to the garden center, bought three bags of mulch and three bags of salt pellets, told them I'd drive the car round for it all to be loaded and promptly took off into town to pick up Avery, remembering only when I was a block from his house that I'd, er, forgotten to pick up the salt pellets and mulch.
With my grandmother's "More haste, less speed" ringing in my ears, I drove Avery back to Walmart, went to the garden center where three bags of salt pellets and three bags of black mulch were sitting on a pallet waiting for me, had them loaded into the Volvo and drove off to 14 Village, arriving a few minutes after my month-to-month tenants. I put Avery to work lugging the 40-pound bags of salt up the well house and got the groceries put away just in time before the man who maintains the well called to say he'd be up in 15 minutes.
I'd called him earlier in the week under the pretext of having a new tenant who needed the functioning of the well explained to him, glossing over the fact I've been in the house for nine years and yet couldn't explain it to new tenant myself. Jimmy was as gracious as most Silver City business owners and waited patiently for me to scribble down every piece of information he gave me about what was the pump (THAT was a revelation), what was the pressure regulator, how you turned off valves that supplied water to the house if there was a leak, what the blue thing down on the floor with a little dial on it was, how you could tell from the outside how much water was in the holding tank (THAT was another revelation), etc. etc. etc. And, glory of glories, when he'd finished and I asked him to send me a bill, he told me there was no charge as I was a good customer, defined, when I thanked him, as anyone who paid a bill on time. Does that have something to do with Jupiter in Virgo, my natal placement, and the two Jupiter-touching transits, me living to serve and be a good girl and all?
Once he'd left it was back to giving Avery tasks, at this point thinking my head was about to come off my shoulders and reminding me once again there is no way on God's earth I could go back to a *real* job. I eventually took Avery back to town an hour early, dropped him off at his house, bought some poor man's Kahlua at Food Casket, filled the gas tank for the trip to Palomas tomorrow, came back to #14 and made myself a big fat drink.
Tomorrow the Mars sextile Jupiter perfects at 23:01, and so far all I have to do is drive to Palomas for a 9:15 appointment to get my three caps, come home, go to knitting, have Scott New Renter help me take the plant table and house plants to the friend who is going to babysit them over the winter, come home and then go for dinner with my renters of two years ago who decamped with two pillows which I now need back and who have said I need not stay long but am very welcome to eat and run. See label.
I knew my month-to-month tenants were moving in this afternoon (sooner than expected) so spent the morning removing every vestige of me from the addition and dumping it into the dining room or office. I'd just begun to start sewing in earnest and had actually cut out a dress (from a pattern) for Sirjana, but that all had to be packed up and moved from the big persons' room. Clothes had to be moved out of the walk-in closet, New Yorkers removed from the side of the bed and the silly bathroom given a cursory clean.
Round about mid-morning, I had to call Tracfone to add service time as today was my last day. I had tried yesterday to remove my old hacked credit card from my account online and replace it with my new as-yet-unhacked card. Impossible. Failed, failed, failed, was the only message I got when I attempted to pay for my minutes with my new card online, so yesterday I gave up and today made the supreme sacrifice and called the 800 number. No need to go into details, but after an hour on the phone I was told I needed to go a *retail outlet* and buy a card there. And can I use my phone today, I ask. Yes. And can I use my phone tomorrow? I can't answer that, says person from halfway round the world. When you go to a retail outlet and buy a card, that will reactivate your phone and you will then be able to use it again. I know this is not your fault, I say, but this is not a satisfactory outcome and I hope this call is being recorded.
By this time, I was running behind with my scheduled morning's activities, so took off for down-town, impressing myself mightily by dropping a big bag of itemized stuff at the thrift store before it closed at noon. I was then able to proceed to Vicki's for lunch with two women friends, and for the first time ever arrived before either of them did. This convinced me that all plans for the day were going to work out in spite of the Tracfone hurdle, and when lunch was over earlier than I'd expected I decided to go to Walmart and get groceries and the mulch and salt pellets I needed before I picked up A, the student helping me out in the past few weeks. I'd been obsessing since Monday when I sprained my arm or whatever I did over whether I was going to pick him up and have him come to Walmart with me while I was paying him his big $10 an hour, or if there was some way I could go to Walmart without him, get what I needed and then go and pick him up. Once I remembered/realized that the people in the garden center would load the salt pellets and mulch into the car for me, I realized I could go without him
So, on my last day of phone service, having cleverly written down Avery's phone number on a yellow stickie and taken it with me to lunch, I called him, told him I'd be at his house to pick him up around two and took myself off to Walmart to get groceries and the mulch and salt pellets. I got the groceries and paid for them, went to the garden center, bought three bags of mulch and three bags of salt pellets, told them I'd drive the car round for it all to be loaded and promptly took off into town to pick up Avery, remembering only when I was a block from his house that I'd, er, forgotten to pick up the salt pellets and mulch.
With my grandmother's "More haste, less speed" ringing in my ears, I drove Avery back to Walmart, went to the garden center where three bags of salt pellets and three bags of black mulch were sitting on a pallet waiting for me, had them loaded into the Volvo and drove off to 14 Village, arriving a few minutes after my month-to-month tenants. I put Avery to work lugging the 40-pound bags of salt up the well house and got the groceries put away just in time before the man who maintains the well called to say he'd be up in 15 minutes.
I'd called him earlier in the week under the pretext of having a new tenant who needed the functioning of the well explained to him, glossing over the fact I've been in the house for nine years and yet couldn't explain it to new tenant myself. Jimmy was as gracious as most Silver City business owners and waited patiently for me to scribble down every piece of information he gave me about what was the pump (THAT was a revelation), what was the pressure regulator, how you turned off valves that supplied water to the house if there was a leak, what the blue thing down on the floor with a little dial on it was, how you could tell from the outside how much water was in the holding tank (THAT was another revelation), etc. etc. etc. And, glory of glories, when he'd finished and I asked him to send me a bill, he told me there was no charge as I was a good customer, defined, when I thanked him, as anyone who paid a bill on time. Does that have something to do with Jupiter in Virgo, my natal placement, and the two Jupiter-touching transits, me living to serve and be a good girl and all?
Once he'd left it was back to giving Avery tasks, at this point thinking my head was about to come off my shoulders and reminding me once again there is no way on God's earth I could go back to a *real* job. I eventually took Avery back to town an hour early, dropped him off at his house, bought some poor man's Kahlua at Food Casket, filled the gas tank for the trip to Palomas tomorrow, came back to #14 and made myself a big fat drink.
Tomorrow the Mars sextile Jupiter perfects at 23:01, and so far all I have to do is drive to Palomas for a 9:15 appointment to get my three caps, come home, go to knitting, have Scott New Renter help me take the plant table and house plants to the friend who is going to babysit them over the winter, come home and then go for dinner with my renters of two years ago who decamped with two pillows which I now need back and who have said I need not stay long but am very welcome to eat and run. See label.
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