Just think! And this cartoon was from two years ago. Pre-mask muzzles. Pre-abject fear and compliance. Pre-social distancing and orders to limit numbers on T-Day. Pre-testing, testing, testing . . .
Given the daily, hourly, minute-by-minute revelations in the “news cycle” now, all swirling around electiongate, it’s hard to imagine how much further families have split mentally, emotionally, and spiritually since 2018.
Of course, everything depends, as usual, on “sources.” Do you still faithfully listen to NPR and read mainstream news? Are you on the internet, questing for all sorts of perspectives?
Several of our Green Acres Village podmates went off to be with family this year, so we’re going to hold our T-Day dinner next Thursday instead, when they will have returned.
This is the first time in many years that I have not been in Massachusetts with son Sean, and grandkids for T-Day. Just didn’t want to risk getting stopped going across some state border on either way out or back!
But my other son, Colin Cudmore — who lives here in Bloomington now (I dragged him out of Massachusetts about ten years ago, and boy, is he glad!) — and I decided to look for an open-for-in-dining ethnic restaurant, figuring because they probably don’t observe U.S. Thanksgiving, our chances were good. So we cruised down 4th street’s amazing collection of Burmese, Chinese, Thai, Japanese, Korean, Indian,Turkish, etc. restaurants. A few were open, but nothing felt right. I then reluctantly mentioned that I noticed Bob Evans was open.
Gag! He loved the idea. So we drove out there, and I ended up eating only pumpkin pie and cole slaw. Couldn’t stomach their turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, bread, canned beans. But Colin, who normally eats well like I do, scarfed it down with pleasure and took my leftovers home.
I told him being in a Bob Evans reminded me of eating on I-90 on the way to Massachusetts for Thanksgiving! That’s the only time I’ve been in one.
Most people there looked defeated, depleted. Not us. We’re as alive as ever, though stunned by twilight zone Bloomington now that IU students, as of last weekend, are out of town until February. And the few folks who do walk around wear masks and seem lost within, as if even relieved to not have to pretend to be present in the world, their masks like a child’s bankie (blanket) . . . Zombieland. ZZZZZ. BUT! Our young waiter (looked like a young man who wants to be a woman), was amazing, heart and soul wide open and shining through the only feature visible on his masked face, his eyes. We both very much appreciated not only his attentive service, but his very being. So you never know! Never know what will happen next. Likely, it will come as a complete shock. So get and stay balanced, folks, centered. And breathe, long and deep.
Yup. 2020. A brand new world; tumultuous, not fun; but I have a feeling, utterly necessary, as the purging finale to the Jupiter/Saturn/Pluto in Capricorn Deep State begins its crashing fall into oblivion.
I notice more and more people now speaking about the Jupiter/Saturn conjunction coming right up at 0° Aquarius on the Winter Solstice. That, folks, is the real beginning of the Aquarian Age. Though rocky at first, it will settle into brilliant innovation and celebration. Just you wait!
Interesting. My dear second husband Dick (the only one of four husbands still alive!), who had been my high school sweetheart, and to whom I was married for two loving years in our 30s, emailed me, with this header: WHAT ABOUT THE CONJUNCTION?
He’s become an amateur astronomer since he retired from the newspaper business. I was married to him when I started to learn astrology . . . See Coming Back Home.
So I called him back: “Astrologer calling Astronomer . . .” He laughed, and told me he’s going to try to get a photo of the two planets together that night. Good! I’ll put it up here.