VirgoVoice

I'm just sayin'

Heart Attack – Schmart Attack

Years ago when my family lived closer to each other we spent Thanksgiving Day together. Distance and work schedules make that nearly impossible nowadays. However, some of those Thanksgiving stories will live on forever, such as the one with my brother ending up in the hospital. Not for food-gone-bad kind of thing nor did we have any Jerry Springer moments. It could have happened to a lot of people. Really. I think.

Picture the family sitting around the living room sighing with their belt buckles undone, barely able to move after the feasting on enough food to feed a family of four for a week. You know all the Thanksgiving traditional foods, turkey with an abundance of gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, yams, cranberry sauce, soft chewy rolls, you name it it was there. As if that wasn’t enough it’s topped off with pumpkin pie served with a heaping dollop of whipped cream. There wasn’t much conversation at this point, just a couple of barely audible grumblings, ” Oh man, I ate tooooo much.”  As we lingered in the living room the little kids went off to jump on beds or something. We didn’t have enough energy to get up and tell them to stop. At least not right away. At some point my brother did excuse himself saying he was going to check on the kids. That was nice of him! However, after about 15 minutes we all noticed he hadn’t returned. I rolled off the couch and went to see what he was up to.

I found him in the bedroom laying on the bed, complaining of chest pains and how hot it was. He told me, ” I ate too much.” Well, who hadn’t? But no one else was sweating like a flagman in Phoenix. He was so uncomfortable he had concerns and decided he should go to the hospital. I offered to drive him, his wife would stay with the kids. Within 30 minutes we arrived at the emergency room – we were not the only ones there on Thanksgiving. We waited along with other over-stuffed looking patients. After about an hour of our emergency room waiting experience a doctor saw him. The doctor examined him, asked questions and determined that my brother had just over-indulged and his gall bladder was protesting. A nurse gave him a shot to relax something and they sent him home, which was back to my place, they were staying the night. I got us home safely and everyone was asleep by then. So, we too retired for the night. But not the whole night because the phone rang at 3 a.m.. It was Dr. So and So. He said that my brother’s blood work had come back and he should return to the hospital RIGHT AWAY. Holy moly, I hurried to wake him and off  we went to the ER again. I had no idea what could be the issue. The hospital won’t give that kind of information over the phone. When we arrived they took my brother immediately into an examination room and told him his blood work indicated he was having a heart attack. WOW. That’s what the chest pains were about? We were really surprised – no personal or family history of heart disease. The doctor recommended he stay over night for observation and was told the cardiologist would make his rounds early in the morning around six.

I left my brother at the hospital and went home to tell his wife ( she stayed with the little ones). So in the morning we were waiting for a call to let us know what was going on. Eight o’clock went by. Then nine o’clock. By 10:00 a.m. we said that’s it, we’re going to the hospital. We all piled in the car and went to the hospital, all the while imagining the worst. When we got there and found his room he was fully clothed on top of the bed watching some Cheech & Chong movie.

We immediately started asking questions; “What did the doctor say?” “How long you in for? “What happened?”  We all stood there waiting to hear the prognosis. My brother looked at us and said, “They got the wrong guy. They weren’t my test results.” Our mouths dropped open, we looked at each other and began to laugh. Only this could happen in our family; a fake heart attack. We remember this story every year as we gorge ourselves, AGAIN. However, we still wonder about the guy whose blood work showed HE was having a heart attack. What happened to him? Is his family remembering the Thanksgiving when dear old dad was treated for a gall bladder issue when in fact he was having a freakin’ heart attack? Really, where is that guy today? I’m just sayin’.

 

PS – I think heaping dollop might be an oxy-moron… maybe.

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Change Of Plans – Change A Life

Most of my family, real and extended, do not live near me. Hence, I get to see the inside of airports regularly. I know the security drill pretty well. When it comes to getting airline reservations I think I’m the champ at getting great deals. Probably because I am also a planner, hey, I’m a Virgo! I am not one who waits to the last minute and takes whatever route or numerous layovers just to get wherever it is I’m heading. And I do not like to have hours to spend in an airport for layovers. Well, wait, there are some airports that are not that bad to get stuck in. Minneapolis, Minnesota ( MSP ) is huge. It has so many stores and restaurants it’s a like a mall. Which is kind of funny because Minneapolis is home to  the Great Mall of America! The GMA even includes a small roller coaster and other amusement park type rides for young kids. The airport doesn’t offer that, but if you have to be stuck in an airport that’s not a bad one to be stuck in.

Getting stuck in an airport is one thing, but being stuck on a plane on the runway would be traveling hell in my book. Luckily, I have never been stuck on a plane, on the runway. If that ever happened to me I am afraid I would have to fake a medical emergency. Something requiring an ambulance. Say, a heart attack. I have had the plane taxi out to the runway and have to wait our turn to take off. But not hours. I have been stuck on planes with stinky people, with crying babies, with loud groups of women who started their ‘girls-weekend’ in the limo. I have had the talker sit next to me. I have had unaccompanied minors sit next to me which is what happened recently when I flew on a short trip. Unaccompanied minor AND a talker. The kid was a talker and only ten-years old. I actually wanted to fake being deaf when he wanted to show me his Pokemon card collection or something in that category.  So I took the lead and asked where he’d been. He told me he’d been at his dad’s place. He went on to tell me how his dad took time off from work and they went camping. Just the two of them. He showed me a rock he found on their hike. He liked the rock because it was really smooth and shaped like a heart. He held it out for me to see. The kid said he was going to keep the rock forever. I told him he could carry it in his pocket and think about his dad and their camping trip whenever he wanted. He shared with me his parents don’t live together any more. He told me his parents had never been married. But it’s still like a divorce, he added. He got quiet after that. So I got out my magazine and before I could open it he tells me his dad packed him a bunch of snacks. He took out a bag from his back pack and started rifling through all the goodies he brought, laying them on the ‘snack tray’.  He named all his choices; fruit roll-ups, (strawberry’s his favorite) Skittles ( his most favorite candy in the world ) some trail mix ( he feigned gagging here) he showed me a small can of Pringles ( he raised his eyebrows at me). This kid was set for a three day trek. Our flight was an hour and twenty minutes. He narrated his struggle to make a choice from the array of snack items he’d laid out on the tray in front of him. Eenie, meenie miney mo… It was not going to be one of those flights where I just enjoyed my magazine and chilled. After choosing the Skittles and offering me some from the pile in his hand, ( Uh, No thank you) said kid showed me his video game thingee. I’m not sure what it was, he lost me at , “all you have to do…”  I watched him blow something up and out-run something on his video screen. I asked how high of points did he have. He looked at me kind of funny. Oh, it’s not like pinball where you compete for points – I think in the new video games a person wins by competing on a higher level. I think. I didn’t really get it and really didn’t care if I did get it; hopefully there wasn’t a quiz later!  The little guy seemed entrenched in his game so I pulled out the magazine again and got comfortable, opened it up and then the kid wanted to show me how to make the hero-figure jump a car or something like that. “Oh wow,” I said. I smiled looked him in the eye. He held my gaze for a second or two and said, “My mom says I talk a lot.”  Now came the hard part; “Really? Are you kidding me? “Nope,” he said. And I had a flash back to my grade school days when EVERY report card I received had at least one comment about how much I talked in class. As a matter of fact, the only French I can speak came from my sixth grade teacher who would take a deep breath and say to me , again, Fermez votre bouch, s’il vous plait. Shut your mouth, please. So I told the kid he didn’t talk too much and I closed the magazine and we talked the rest of the way. And I use the term “we” lightly. But maybe, just maybe, one day he’ll take the time to listen to some old lady on the plane who some say talks too much.

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There’s No Place Like Home

Today’s the first day back on the computer after a two-week hiatus from the computer. Thankfully, it’s like riding a bicycle. Well, except for the password thing. I had to think about my passwords. I actually had to get out the password-cheat-sheet, after-all, I changed most of them in recent months. I still occasionally find myself typing in the old ones. That’s pretty frustrating until I remember, “Ah-ha, changed that one.”

I was on a ‘memory-lane’ vacation; I went back ‘home’. I had the opportunity to go to San Diego, that’s where I consider ‘home’, no matter how long it’s been since I lived there. It’s where I went to school and formed lifetime friendships. It was pretty cool to drive around the old neighborhood and remember who lived where.When I drove by the house I grew up in the new owner was outside and came over to the car and visited. He said my family’s name and hand-prints were still forged in concrete where we put them 52-years ago! He told me some of the changes he had made to the house. That wasn’t as weird as I thought it might be – hearing of the changes, like he converted the fireplace back to wood burning, which my parents had converted to natural gas. I can remember my parents doing that, my mother thought it was ‘cleaner’. But really, who the heck NEEDS a fireplace in San Diego?

I visited places along the beach where my friends and I as teen-agers would hang out. Amazing how some things seemed the same and some had changed but still had familiarity. Like La Jolla Cove; back in the ’60s the cove was the perfect spot for a love-in. Yep, in San Diego there were several places on a Sunday afternoon one could gather for a ‘love-in’. Which meant girls wearing flowers in their hair ( cue up the cowsills  song ) tapping their tambourines and passing  the peace pipe! La Jolla cove had some nice improvements since my last visit. Way back when… the only way to get to the beach front was climbing down the cliffs or jumping off an outcropping called “the clam”; which I never did. But I wanted to, just never could get up the courage. As I looked at it this time, I thought that was probably one of the smartest decisions I ever made as a fifteen year old. It still looked dangerous. However, in recent times, our tax dollars have added a stairway to the small beach where one could swim in the underwater preserve. Which you could share with some very large sea lions. They are really cute to watch. I watched them bobbing in the waves, I could watch them for hours, well, that is if they didn’t stink. But at least they are safe from obstructions in that area, like surf boards and fishermen. Body surfing is allowed and that was cool to see a couple of guys out there riding the waves. And one of those guys body-surfing could probably have shared with you some of his experiences at the cove in the ’60s. As they say, “He was no spring chicken”! Of course I took some photos – now I have some new desktop images. Enjoy!

Look how fun this looks. Don’t know if it’s difficult or not. I never tried it. But it’s just man and nature as one.

When in the water these sea lions don’t look so large, but on land, close up they look pretty big. I didn’t want to disturb this one, I was very quiet. Partially because I have seen videos where they can be aggressive and wasn’t sure how fast they could move! It was awesome to see it up close though.

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The Last Mile’s the Longest

Recently, I have heard a couple of phrases that I’m just not sure about. Not sure if they( the phrases not the people) are oxy morons or just people not thinking clearly about what they are saying. You’ve probably heard at sometime in your life oxy-morons like jumbo shrimp, free rent, old news. The other day, I heard someone say, “She over-exaggerates everything.” I had to look twice to see if the person was being silly intentionally. But no, they meant to say that. Is stating someone “over-exaggerates EVERYTHING,” an exaggeration in itself? And can you really OVER exaggerate.  OVER exaggerate? Isn’t exaggerating already OVER the top  – so using the term OVER exaggerating is a waste of breath and unnecessary. Really.

Along the same line, I heard the other night on the news a newscaster use the term ‘senseless crime.’ I tried to think of a crime that made sense. Couldn’t come up with one. Killing or maiming someone in self defense is not a crime, although it MAKES SENSE to kill or maim a person about to kill or maim you. But I’ve never heard anyone say, “Oh, now THAT crime makes sense.”  Another phrase I have often heard people say is, “I’m thinking out loud.” How? Is that something like ventriloquism?  Thinking out loud – last time I checked, my thinking went on inside my head. I’m assuming all the little voices telling me what to do inside my head is really me thinking. I think?

How about “act naturally”? Usually, this is said as the cops are waving you and your drunk friends over at a sobriety check point. But if you’re acting, is that natural? I’m just sayin’. But the one that wins the prize this month for the most oxy-moronish phrase is…. drum roll here, “uncontrollable diarrhea.”  Really? Uncontrollable diarrhea? When is diarrhea controllable? And if you COULD control it, would it be diarrhea? And what would you do to control it? And why would you want to CONTROL it? Wouldn’t you want to get rid of it? You don’t want it hanging around and find out you really don’t have it controlled. And because diarrhea is not controllable, I think it’s the best ‘call-in-sick-excuse’, ever. Really. If you call your work and tell them you have a cold and they really need you at work you can take some meds and get rid of your stuffy nose and can get by for the day. You might feel like crap, but you can work. But if you have diarrhea you can’t even drive to the store to get yourself some anti-diarrhea medication. It’s just not a chance most people are willing to take. And how can your boss guilt you into coming to work anyway? What would that conversation be like;         YOU: ” Hello, yeah I won’t be in to work. I have diarrhea.”  BOSS: “Man, we are really busy today. Can’t you just come in for a little while?” YOU: Dude, I have diarre… gotta go. bye.” Seriously  it’s not something you can ‘control’. So I think it can be left unsaid, if you have diarrhea, I KNOW it’s uncontrollable.

I’m telling you though, if you think you have ridden the wave of diarrhea and you go to work, only to find out your diarrhea is not ‘under control’ and you crap your pants, it will not matter what good you have ever done in this world; if you are the best teacher, the best volunteer, a girl scout leader, a Bible Camp Counselor, Bill Gates, speaker of he house – No matter what accolades you have hanging on your wall, if you crap your pants you will always be known as the person who crapped their pants. I can just hear people around the water cooler, ” Hey, did you hear Joe is being honored tonight for his fundraising skills for babies with AIDS and for his years of work with orphaned elephants?”  “Joe who? Oh, the guy who crapped his pants.”  I’m just sayin’. It’s not uncontrollable Diarrhea, it’s just plain ol’ diarrhea.

PS- Statistics show one out of four people SUFFER from diarrhea. So does that mean the other three enjoy it? I’m just askin’.

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Not Sure It’s A Win

I read a story last week about a Florida based children’s party event; your kids can swim with baby alligators – in the pool, with the gator’s mouth taped shut. SERIOUSLY. There is really something wrong with that, folks. First of all, it upsets me that they tape the gators mouth shut. And secondly, allowing your kid to get in a pool with a gator who pees and poops in water? Oh yea, and the part about there being potential for something to go awry and your kid is maimed or killed …  all for only $175.00 I’m just sayin’. NOT right.

I wasn’t even going to mention the kid’s pool/gator/later therapy party. It just happened. What really caught my eye in the newspaper this morning – yes newspaper, all sections. Okay, I skip the sport’s page unless I’ve absolutely read everything else. So, today I read a blurb about a guy, again, in Florida. A lot of weird stuff seems to happen in Florida. Anyway, 32-year-old Edward Archbold died shortly after eating dozens of live cockroaches with worm chasers. Eating and cockroaches shouldn’t even be used in the same sentence. Unless you say, “Hey look, a cockroach is eating another cockroach.” What the heck is wrong with people? LIVE COCKROACHES. I wonder what kind they were.  American Cockroach, big ol’ brown German Cockroach, the huge Madagascar Cockroach? It really doesn’t make it a lot better for me where they traveled from or if the roaches were dead and deep-fried. Not happening. Archbold’s cause of death is unknown. Really? Do you think there’s a medical term for man-over-doses on cockroaches? What’s it going to say on that man’s death certificate?  1) Died of humiliation, oh yea, and 2) he over-dosed on cockroaches. I am positive over-dosing on live bugs will not be my claim to fame. Just the thought of touching a disgusting, disease carrying roach makes my skin crawl. There’s not enough anti-bacterial hand-sanitizer for me to do that. No. No. No.

Well, dead Ed Archbold, winner of the cockroach-eating contest will not get to enjoy his prize; a live python. Seems like a lose-lose situation to me. I think poor Archbold ended up on the losing end of that win either way.  RIP.

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Show and Tell . . .

In a black and white photography class I took a decade or more ago we experimented with different types of  black and white film. Remember film? One of the films we worked with briefly was infra-red. It’s really hard to know what results you’ll get with infra-red film. Perhaps if a person worked with it regularly they would get to know the characteristics of the it. But we just had one class assignment so for me it was hit or miss – I had no preconceived notion as to what to expect. And it’s a good thing I didn’t have any expectations, I may have been disappointed. I recently found the one image I printed from the roll. There were some others that were okay. But I thought this one was the best of the experiment. Just thought I’d share…

The image, a tree in a pasture just south of the bridge that crosses over the Stanislaus River north of Modesto, California and south of Escalon, California was taken with infra-red film.

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anythingonline.com

I was really frustrated with a web site yesterday. I was just trying to place a photo order and I have never used the company’s web site before. After all the uploading and order placing, I got to the page where I clicked ‘order’. After I clicked ‘order‘ it kept asking me how many recipients did I want to send this order to and it wanted to import their addresses. I DID NOT want to send it to any one. I didn’t want it importing my contact list. I just wanted the order to come to ME. To my house. That’s it. Seemed simple. Well, I suppose it was if you consider yourself, the person ordering the item, a recipient and not customer.  AAAAYYYY! Once I added my name to their request for a recipient, it took me to the name, address and credit card info. It took me several tries – which doesn’t seem like much except every time I would start over, the website wanted to re-load all the photos I had uploaded. So you see my frustration here?

I am surprised that we don’t hear of more computer rage. I can picture some body losing it one day and smack their monitor around a bit. You don’t want to do it too hard and have to replace it – and really it’s only the messenger. It’s the CPU that’s screwing around with you. But mess with that and you have messed with your life. Your pictures are on there, your ability to Skype is on there. What about your banking? Ordering your pizza? How about flowers for your mom or fruit basket for your Aunt Rita? And then there’s that part you need for the dishwasher.

I bet the onset of computers changed the lives of many agoraphobics. Agoraphobics have a fear of open spaces compounded by social anxiety. That is why so many agoraphobics are captives in their own homes, tethered there by fear. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agoraphobia  But imagine how a computer would change the life of an agoraphobic. I suppose some one would have to get a computer to them in the first place since they’re not going out to buy one. It would certainly be difficult to have a support group for agoraphobics. Whose house would they meet at? And would it really be therapy if they Skyped their meetings? But this got me to thinking.

Really, in today’s computer world what would I be missing if  I never went outside again? I can have my groceries delivered. I can watch movies on my computer and or television. I can order anything on line. I bet I could order alligator burger meat. There are advantages to not leaving home. I could sell my truck and not have vehicle expenses; gas, maintenance, insurance, licensing. I could work from home and not have to spend money on wardrobe. It’s not as though I’d stop all contact with the outside world. I can have company. I’m just not leaving. If people want to see me they’d have to come over. I wonder how long it would take before a self  imposed ‘agoraphobic-like’ person could stay at home without leaving their property. Hey, I think that could be a reality show. It couldn’t be worse than Toddlers & Tiaras. I’m just sayin’, see how long it takes before somebody cracks and just has to go for a walk or see the beach in person or dine out in a seaside restaurant. Or they run out of wine and can’t get it delivered until the next day. Okay. I’m going to start working on that.

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R I P Tinker

October 21, 1994 – September 22, 2012

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It’s A Threepeat…

…not a Phil Jackson kind of threepeat when the Lakers won three championships in  a row. But a  (insert drum roll here) snake kind of threepeat. Yep, it’s another snake story. What are the odds I would find another snake on my property in such a short time. It isn’t as though I live in the Congo. I live in suburbia. One MAJOR difference about this snake – well, in my book it’s major, the difference was it was in my HOUSE!!! Slithering across my kitchen floor. WTHell? But once again, it was the cutest canine cop, Phoebe Rae, who alerted me to something awry in our house. Her bark was so intense, not the ” how dare another dog walk past my house” bark. I knew something was different. I had been enjoying the evening sunset from my patio when she started barking fiercely enough for me to find out what her problem was.

Well, her problem was a snake in her kitchen. It was a teeny, tiny snake. However, it appeared to have the same markings as the Western Rattlesnake in my backyard last week. Okay, I admit I sort of freaked out. I have never forgotten an article I read stating that baby rattlers are more venomous than the adults. Some kind of Mother Nature protection system. Honestly, I don’t know if that’s true, It’s just what I remember. So, of course one might jump on the counter to get a bird’s eye view of the snake. There were two of us – one went to get a bucket to put over it until further decision as what to do next. And the other took a picture! I did that after sequestering the dogs in another room. As I was taking a picture it started to move. HELP! I did not want a rattle snake meandering around my house, moving about like it owned the place. Hell No. It was about 7:40 in the evening, I called animal control thinking they had an emergency number. ‘Cause I was thinking this was an emergency. A Rattle  Snake in my house. I called and got a recording, that asked if this concerned a wild animal, an injured animal, an animal that has come in contact with a human, the list went on –  I figured a snake in a house had to fall in there somewhere. So I pushed #2  and got someone right away. I told them I had a rattle snake in my kitchen. “I’m going to transfer you to that line.” What? There’s a special line for snakes in the house? That line had a recording informing me, “There are two calls ahead of you.” Who knew that late in the evening there would be two other wildlife emergency’s at the same time? Eventually, I spoke to a live person and told her I had a  baby rattle snake  trapped under a bucket in my kitchen.

The animal control agency told me the responding officer had two other emergency’s in front of me so she would be there, it would just be during ‘extended hours’. I didn’t care of her hours were extended, I suppose that will justify her overtime, just get here at some point.  So now we just wait. I blocked off the doorway into the kitchen with a baby-gate and let the dogs out and Phoebe laid on her dog bed on the this side of the kitchen door and just stared at the bucket. Lassie would have been proud of her the way she had communicated to me, ” Mom, come here. Hurry. Hurry.” It was Phoebe’s way of saying, “Timmy’s in the well.”  (You’d have to remember Lassie on Sunday nights to know that one.) Two hours later and scores of checking to be sure the bucket was still in place the animal control officer finally showed up. I directed her to the bucket, assured her it was tiny, but I was pretty sure it was a rattler. Well, not exactly. She lifted the bucket and said, “Oh, what you have here is a Garden Snake.” I told her I thought it’s markings looked just like a rattle snake. She said that is its defense; resembling a rattler to keep predators away. But wouldn’t you think that being mistaken for a rattle snake has more disadvantages? Maybe not in the wild, but in someone’s kitchen. The officer picked it up with one of those snake picker-upper thingees and took it outside and released it in my front yard. Well, not before I got another picture. I feel a lot better knowing it wasn’t a rattle snake. However, I have been hesitating before I enter a room. It hasn’t even been 24 hours. Not sure what can happen next in this household… I’m just sayin’.

WARNING: Snake pictures below – you tell me, don’t you think the Garden Snake looks similar to a Western Rattle Snake?

The way you can tell a Garden Snake from a Rattle Snake when they are babies is the Garden Snake has a pointed tail and the Rattle Snake will have a rounded tail. So if you are close enough to a snake to see if its tail is pointed or round you can decide to either run like the wind or just admire nature’s beauty; a Garden Snake.

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It’s Not The End, But You Can See It From Here!

Well, here we are nearing the end of the Virgo cycle of astrological signs. And it’s my birthday; Happy stupid Birthday. Growing up in the 1960’s I never thought I’d live to be 60. Well, that day is here. Sixty. 6-Oh. I heard 60 is the new 40.  (The person who told me that is racing towards the 60 goal line – of course they would want to believe that) Perhaps, that’s right, though. Just this past weekend I was hauling rocks  – not like on a chain gang, but relocating them from one part of the yard to another. I don’t think my mom would have been doing that at 60. Actually never. But she wasn’t a Virgo – the most desired astrological sign. Research shows that September has the highest birthrate.  Some say it’s August ( those are the premature September births) Virgos are born nine months after the New Year. I guess that’s because no one has any money left after Christmas so they ‘entertain’ at home. I’m one of the lucky ones! As a matter of fact I am a very lucky Virgo. According to the Chinese Zodiac, different than the western zodiac, I am a Dragon. A Virgo Dragon. Who could ask for anything more? Strangely enough, of all the Chinese signs – which are all ‘animals’ the Dragon is mythological. But to be born in the year of the Dragon is so desirable – and 2012 is the year of the Dragon.  It has been reported that millions of Chinese were trying to conceive in 2012. I wonder how that has effected the Chinese economy. Are people staying home more? Or has Rice Wine sales excelled? Incense sales up? According to the Chinese Zodiac, the Dragon is the mightiest of the signs. Yep, the mightiest. The Chinese believe Dragons symbolize such character traits as dominance and ambition. Supposedly, Dragons prefer to ” live by their own rules and if left on their own, are usually successful. They’re driven, unafraid of challenges, and willing to take risks. They’re passionate in all they do and they do things in grand fashion.” Grand fashion? Hummm. I’ll have to think about that.

It is believed that in the western world astrological beliefs correspond between celestial observations and terrestrial events. Millions of people entrust their lives and daily decision makings according to their sign. There is so much to know about one’s sign; are you an earth , water, fire, air?  There has to be something to the ebb and flow of earth’s gravitational pull; farmers have used the moon to determine plantings, explorers have used the stars to direct them to unknown places. So it isn’t unreasonable that at some point humans have used it to base their destiny by celestial observations. Evidence has shown, on cave walls, that these observations were noted as early as the second millennium bc. It all provides an interesting read – Virgo’s are noted to be organized, neat and orderly and baby-steppers in decion making. Am I going to buy stock based on my horoscope? Am I going to end or start a relationship based on my sign? I think not. But I am going to do as I please today.  I just have to narrow it down. Perhaps in true Virgo fashion I’ll put my ideas in a bowl and pick one out. I’m just sayin’.

 

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