Project Veritas: OLIGARCHY rocks!

Project Veritas has fast become an inspiration to the whole world. And this song and dance video clearly illustrates the intense nature of their hutzpah. What a wonderfully audacious way to transmit the feeling of setting a powerful intention and then going for it, no holds barred, no stone unturned. Project Veritas is to twitter, CNN, facebook, the NYT, WaPo and other social media and mainstream propaganda/censorship monstrosities, what David was to Goliath. Yes! OLIGARCHY rocks!

Hmmm . . . wonder how long youtube will leave this up.

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Look at this question. Absorb it. I’ve reversed the usual question “How to get from here to there?”  which is one of straining towards, trying to devise plans for, getting to goals in space and time, which are, by definition, not here, but there.

So how do we get from there to here? How do we withdraw all our projections and center ourselves deeply within our own embodied selves. How do we, in short, come home.

I remember driving from Terre Haute to Bloomington, Indiana, for the first time. I was to join my husband, Jeff Joel, who had just enrolled in Indiana University Law School. The decision to come here rather than there (wherever there is) came slowly.

He had applied to a number of law schools, as a 55-year-old Princeton/MIT mathematician, starting over in the middle of his life. The first place that accepted him was Indiana. He was excited, told me I’d like it. But I, filled with the progressive indoctrination of my ’60s hippie self, couldn’t imagine relocating to the midwest. All I knew was east coast, west coast, and the mountain west. Nothing else was worthy. I was a bi-coastal/rocky mountain new age snob.

A week later he got into the University of Oregon. I was excited! Yes! Let’s go there!

He really wanted to go to Indiana, but acceded to my desire. We started making plans.

But then, really strange . . . I kept hearing a soft internal voice, saying, over and over again, “Indiana, Indiana, Indiana.” What? I tried to bat it away. Didn’t work. It kept coming. I told Jeff. He was overjoyed, because he knew that I always followed inner guidance, and obviously, this was that.

When it came time to leave Jackson Wyoming, where I had lived for 18 years, and where he had joined me for the final twelve, Jeff left first with the moving van in his car with the two kitties, and I followed in my car, two weeks later. So now, to the point of this story.

After a four day drive, not at all looking forward to Indiana, but following inner guidance even so, I found myself driving  Rt 46 from Terre Haute to Bloomington, a narrow, hilly, winding road, much of it forested, with homesteads along the way — when all of a sudden, I was invaded by a strange and powerful feeling. What is this feeling? . . . oh wow, I actually had to acknowledge to myself: “I am feeling AT HOME!” Home! I had never felt such a feeling before. It was beyond strange for this free spirit, who had viewed herself all her life as a bird, lighting on one tree after another, but never staying for long. BTW: even though I lived in Jackson Hole, in a yurt in Kelly for most of those years, I never did feel grounded there, and had treated the yurt as a launching pad, for travels far and wide. Finally, I had to admit that I couldn’t put a root down in that mountain valley, even though I knew it was beyond time for me to do just that. But, Indiana? Give me a break! As I said, I was a new age snob.

So, can you imagine my surprise, my wonder, at, for the first time in my life, “feeling at home” as I drove that one hour winding road towards my Bloomington destination.

Finally, I had gotten from there to here.

Three months later Jeff died. And I found myself alone in our little suburban home that he had bought with the intention that we would be there the three years of law school and then move elsewhere.

And if I had gotten from there to here regarding location on planet earth, now I had to grapple with the continuous, by turns jagged, roaring, sloggy, howling feelings coursing through. Finally, I had landed. Yes. Finally. HERE, inside my own grieving body.

And now, eighteen years later, here I still am. Eighteen years in Jackson, eighteen years here. But in this place, I did put a root down, through my upright body into the ground, and it keeps digging deeper and deeper.

My little suburban home has been transformed into one hub of a dynamic little three home permaculture village, Green Acres Permaculture Village. And we’re nowhere done with our evolutionary process which spirals from the center of the self (myself, yourself, everybody here as a self, a distinct individual self, plus: ourself!) outwards into the neighborhood, the town, the region, the globe, the cosmos.

So yes, putting a root down meant, as well, getting more and more in touch with my own embodied self. Throughout my conscious grieving process after Jeff’s death, I had to learn to truly listen to my body, what it feels, what it wants, and when.

And one thing this body does not want, on a primal instinctive level, is anything to do with covidiana.

My mind aligns with my body, and views this plandemic/scamdemic as a gigantic global psy-op, designed to capture terrorized humans into the despotic, long-planned New World Order by playing on the F.E.A.R. (false evidence appearing real) disembodied people have of both death itself, as well as their own and others’ bodies.

Re: the difference between germ theory into which we are all indoctrinated, and terrain theory which is explained very well by Dr. Zach Bush, is the difference between scientism (which goes for discovery of “causes” via analysis into smallest parts possible) and  wholistic, permacultural understanding.

Covid Chronicles: “TWO DIFFERENT WORLDS WE LIVE IN . . .” Germ Theory v. Terrain Theory

Ommigod. Please do watch this. Very well done! Totally gory. Made me cringe. No wonder my body refuses to have anything to do with this so-called vax.

[Update: May 4, 2021: I just tried to give you the url for the bitchute video below, but didn’t succeed. If you wish to see it, go to Marian Goodman comment on this post.]



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COVID TRANSFORMATIONS? This morning, while walking with puppy Shadow . . .

Notice, as a prelude to the story I’m about to tell: I do NOT wear a mask in public, ever, unless “required” inside stores. And even then, don’t cover nose unless a clerk insists (only twice, so far) . . . and frankly, have just about decided to begin to talk back when they do.



I’ve long recognized that my daily walks with puppy Shadow are a spiritual practice, a precious hour when I endeavor to greet everyone whom I pass by in the eye — if they aren’t looking down at a screen — followed by at least a warm smile, and sometimes a “good morning!” or “hello!”

I’ve been doing this for many years.

Beginning in March 2020, and continuing through today, the responsiveness from passers-by has been gradually shifting.

First of all, not so many screens! If the person passing by is masked, they more often seem to be lost in thought, deeply inside their own inner world. Which is, I feel, a good thing. For the masks, while at one level biologically polluting our lungs, are also an invitation to introspection,  in — let’s face it — very short supply until everything we took for granted came to a sudden, grinding halt, back in March 2020.

Second, their masks make it easier for me to look them in the eye when the only facial feature I see is their eyes! Since I can’t recognize a “frown” inside a mask, I cheerfully, even at times joyfully, trill out my “hello!” — no matter what their inner state.

Third, since especially the April 26 Scorpio Full Moon, I notice myself becoming more and more up front in my encounters with strangers (see this, for the latest), and am blessed with an uptick in extraordinary meetings, which sometimes blossom into minutes-long miracles.

For example, this morning:

Shadow and I were heading back from our usual 3-4 mile morning walk on a sidewalk we often travel. As we were heading down a slight incline at the edge of a small park, I noticed an unmasked man come out of the house on the corner across that street. The man was walking a dog, an energetic pit bull. By the time Shadow and I got to the same sidewalk, he and his pit pull were about 30 feet ahead of us.

On these occasions, given the size and energy of another person’s dog, I sometimes go to the middle of the street to pass them, and other times I just find excuses to stay behind (lingering with Shadow as he sniffs and pees on various “bulletin boards” marked by other dogs’ pee).

But this morning, somehow the man heard us, and turned around. I asked, “Can they say hello?” my usual question to a dog walker. “Yes!” he responded, “She’s very friendly.” “And Shadow is very diplomatic,” I assured him. The two dogs met, Shadow wagging his tail vociferously to signal harmlessness on his part.

But then the dog came up to me. She was obviously a young dog, and as she got closer, and made some kind of a sudden, surprising move, I freaked internally, and backed off at the same time as the man pulled his dog back. I apologized, said I had been attacked by pit bulls on several occasions — 

— and that though I’m fine with pit bulls as well as other dogs we encounter on our walks, a strong, deeply buried memory must still be alerting me to possible danger.

The man apologized profusely, during which I reassured him even more profusely.

That tiny chaotic node set the rest of our conversation in motion.

“I’m not a dog person,” he launched in. “But we have a son who is epileptic, and we heard that this breed can detect when epileptics are about to have a seizure. So we got the dog, and it’s the best dog I’ve ever known. Friendly, alert, and very good for our son.”

What he’s diagnosed with, he said, is “smooth brain. Usually the life expectancy of these kids is about two years. But now he’s fourteen . . .” Then, “Actually, he’s my step-son.”

I asked if there were other children. “Yes, two — my wife’s other son who is 12, and my daughter who is 13.”

Besides the dog, the smooth brain child must have someone with him at all times. Either a parent or the nurse whom they hire five days a week.

I told him I do recall noticing, on that same corner, an obviously developmentally challenged teen-aged boy with a woman in blue scrubs who appeared to be a helper, standing waiting for what I assumed was a school bus.

When I commiserated with this man on how difficult it must be to be bearing this long-term responsibility, this daily burden, he responded “Yes . . . especially when it’s a step-son.” This admission prompted me to deepen the conversation:

“Well, you know,” I began, looking off into the distance, “You might think this crazy, but then you may not. . . When a person is bearing such a heavy, continuous burden in life, I often wonder what were the soul agreements between lives that would have brought these souls together in this way. And,” I continued,”I wonder if the person is asking himself how he has changed internally as a result of this extraordinary challenge. Something about the heart opening . . ?”

At this, he launched into an incredible flow of words, confessing that yes, it’s difficult, and even more difficult, he repeated, because it’s his step-son. “I often wonder why I took on such a challenge, but then,” he continued, “I’ve been with him since he was five or six.”

He zeroed in on why he was suddenly so energized. “A few years ago, we were living closer to Indianapolis, and one day I went as a volunteer to my daughter’s school, where handicapped kids were also bussed in. One of these children suddenly ran over to me, wanted to greet me, hold my hand, hug me, talk to me. I was astonished. Why?

“Later, as I thought about it, I wondered if he sensed that my heart was open to him, that my heart had been wrenched open due to life with our mentally and emotionally challenged son.”

“A few days later,” he continued, “I saw the child again, and this time I was the one who ran up to him! With a big hug and hello.”

Yes! This man did not think me crazy. In fact, my surprise tack in the direction of what is usually considered out of bounds in casual conversation, spurred him to tell me about the hard-won gift he had been granted due to the “burden” of living with a handicapped step-son.

“Had I not experienced life with this son, I would have been more off-putting. I wonder if this handicapped child knew that I was open to him.” As he said this, there was a far-away gleam in his eyes, and joy infused his face.

Earlier, I had said that his dog probably sensed my hidden visceral fear, and that it was fine, I couldn’t blame him for it. But — it was good for me to realize it’s still there!

We continued on in this vein for a few more minutes, our encounter with each other having opened avenues within ourselves that, had we not stopped to let the dogs greet each other, would have not occurred. We were conversing about hidden, invisible currents which we humans nonetheless feel, and which have the capacity to change us, irrevocably. Of course I’m reminded of Neptune, and how it has been infusing daily life 

As we parted, I said, “I now know who lives in that corner house!” He replied, “Yes, and if you ever need anything, let us know!”

Both of us turned, full of gratitude, and headed home.

A few minutes later, here comes a masked man. Big mask. Can barely see his eyes. I greet him as usual, about ten feet out. Then, amazing — this has NOT happened before — as we passed each other he rapidly pulled down his mask, and smiled, obviously glad for my permission (not wearing a mask) to be free of the damn thing.

And yet a few minutes later still, another man, this one not masked, but seemingly not open to my greeting either. (Is it because he’s black? I wondered, and thus accustomed to ignoring old white women, given racism, etc.). But then, just as he passed, he called out, “GOOD MORNING!” Astonished, I greeted him in kind, and continued, “How you doing?” “TERRIFIC!” he answered, his face infused with joy.

As you can imagine, these three encounters “made my day.”

All of which makes me wonder: would the heartfelt tone of these encounters with strangers been possible pre-Covid? Or has “the virus” altered us in fundamental ways, even though we don’t always recognize it.

For over a decade, after our morning walks, I’ve intoned, as I hand over his post-walk treat, “This is the BEST DAY EVER! eh Shadow?”

You betcha! It sure is.


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May Day! Mayday? Both meanings signify, especially this year 2021

Today, May Day, is traditionally celebrated as a pagan holiday, one of the four annual cross-quarter days, this one (in the northern hemisphere) half-way between Spring Equinox and Summer Solstice.

The juices of nature’s fertility rise up and take over, magnetizing the mingling of male and female energies in recreation and procreation.

Hmmm . . . is that happening this year? Or will young lovers intermingle with their masks on, signaling compliance, submission, obedience.

More: I seem to remember, as a kid, May Day baskets of flowers, as well as dancing around the maypole, as shown here:

That is May Day.

But what is mayday? Or better: “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!”

The juxtaposition between this annual sap rising, or even I should say, kundalini rising, and the continuing long-term emergency “distress” signal pulsed out by the masked ones feels both palpable and implosive. Hopefully, those who allow themselves to inhabit the fiery/fertile energies of Earth as she catalyzes the warming Sun’s rays to snap latent energies into full on expression, can influence/inspire/connect/commune with the muffled masked ones in ways that nudge them to release F.E.A.R. (False Evidence Appearing Real). Yes, let us allow in and align with the primal, Plutonian life force in a rebirth of the LOVE that fills and fuels us all as we hold hands and dance our way to (permacultural) paradise around our dear Mother Earth.




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Sun Conjunct Uranus Exact Today! Breakdown? Breakthrough?

As I begin to write this post, 1:52 PM EDT, the Sun is moving towards exact conjunction with Uranus. What alarming, sudden, earth-shaking, news is upsetting your applecart today? Or will, shortly? And/or: what old stuck body/mind/soul patterns have been inexorably shifting, dissolving, and now today and over the next few days, suddenly breaking you free of old karma that has held you back forever?

I don’t know what old karma I’ve been working with — and actually, I suspect it’s more collective than personal — though I do know that yesterday I felt very underwater, held down, almost as if “what’s the point of it all?” This is not normal for me, and frankly, I suspect that some kind of frequency weapon was used yesterday, to murk up the currents, already swirling with the strange juxtaposition of  both F.E.A.R. (False Evidence Appearing Real) (the masked ones), and excitement, the smell of freedom in the air (unmasked faces erupting into smiles).

But yesterday, geez yesterday! Reminded me somewhat of one of the days just prior to the Scorpio Full Moon! Then, at our weekly Green Acres Village Community Dinner last night, I discovered that two more people here also felt the same way I did; or we all think so, since we all had trouble actually putting into words the strange malaise we suffered through.

Maybe that was a sign that the eruption was near? I have no idea. In any case, the Sun will reach Uranus at 10°41 Taurus at exactly 3:45 pm EDT today when set—— for D.C. which, as some of you may be aware, the Democrats are now wanting to turn into the 51st state —

— and “The Donald,” on telegram, says that okay, if so, the federal government needs to be dispersed across all 51 states, rather than located in D.C. only. Bingo!

BTW: I hear that DJT is going to start up his MAGA rallies again.

Oh boy, can you imagine the momentum that will build with this ignition? And this, during the historic 40-day 2020 election audit in Maricopa County Arizona, which many are seeing as the first domino to fall, with five swing states to follow?

Keep in mind that DJT’s chart shows 8° Taurus at the midheaven. This time period is bound to present sudden surprises in both the way he is viewed in the world, and the role he is playing during this extraordinary year like no other.

But the main planet that I would like to point to in this Sun/Uranus chart above, is Neptune, sitting at 22° Pisces, within only two degrees of the Descendant of the chart. Remember: the most powerful points in any chart are those on the four angles. Any planet found on any one of them is thereby brought into prominence.

You might want to review this piece now:

Wetiko, an unconscious Neptune in Pisces syndrome, has materialized a “field phenomenon” called “THE VIRUS”

And this one from yesterday:

Scorpio Full Moon Aftermath: Fear, or LOVE, this is the only choice, and we make it unceasingly, with every breath we take

Actually, no need to read them over. Just pay attention to the titles. Neptune signifies, when not unconscious (and yucky, dispirited, addicted, confused) but instead, highly conscious, the miraculous, compassionate, all embracing LOVE that fills and fuels the universe.

But, be warned. This all-encompassing LOVE can get co-opted, stopped in its expansive thrust, by ego.

Sun/Uranus at 11° Taurus, sabian symbol (always read for the next whole degree):


Dane Rudyhar comments:

“The psycho-mental nature of a human being takes form out of the fulfillment and transcendence of biological functions and drives, much as the bud appears as the sap rises, and bursts forth into bloom. “As the roots, so the flowers” is an old axiom. The consciousnness attaches itself to this wondrous efflorescence: it lavishes its attention upon it, its love — alas, usually a possessive kind of love (This is my garden!”) Thus the ego develops. It may develop in a negative, resentful way if a belated frost destroys the buds.”






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Scorpio Full Moon Aftermath: Fear? Or LOVE. This is the only choice, and we make it unceasingly, with every breath we take.

Note: See the six other posts on this just past Full Moon that continues to reverberate as the Sun now approaches exact conjunction with Uranus in Taurus. Start here.

Just received news that my old friend Ray died within six hours of that powerful Full Moon which conjuncted his Scorpio Sun. Actually, his widow called me within ten minutes of his death, to say “You predicted it, Annie!” — in a jubilant mood. But I didn’t see the message. Strange.

She told me that the night after Ray died she had a nightmare dream — that she had forgotten something, done something wrong. The dream woke her up and wouldn’t go away. She wondered if she should write the dream down, when she suddenly began to cry; the crying deepened into wracking sobbing that went on and on, all that emotion buried for so long, all those feelings that she couldn’t afford to access while he was alive, during those eight years when she cared for him full time, and especially during the last few weeks, when his dementia turned him mean.

So Ray is now gone. Releasing his widow and son to their lives. Way to go Ray!

I know I sound crass to many people, those who, I venture are still terrified of death, and cover it over with encomiums to the beloved, syrupy “I’m so sorry” remarks to those “left behind,” on and on. I can remember my chronic discomfort when people, usually whom I did not know well, but they knew my husband had died, offered me these sentimental phrases which, frankly, I wanted to just bat away as not only superfluous, but absurd.

Back when one of my uncles died, the favorite uncle for me, and known by his siblings as immensely witty, I went back to the funeral to show my respect. Approaching his widow, I did the same thing we are taught to do, “Oh I’m so sorry . .  .” and she stopped me short. “I’m not sorry. He was mean to me.”

Whew! Okay. He was gone, and she decided to get real.

Both this culture’s fear of death, and the way we’re taught to behave when someone has died, all remind me of covidiana and how this plandemic/scamdemic was brilliantly staged to trigger that underlying fear. Suddenly, the fear that had been underneath all along emerged as front and center. And once fear is unconsciously engaged, it swells to fill not just the body/mind, but to seep out into the environment as a psychic contagion.

I remember when the plandemic began I didn’t believe that “the virus” existed. Then, within a few weeks, I realized that the virus did exist, having now been conjured up by fear! In other words, the fear created the virus!

Or I should say, the fear created the occasion in which “the virus” could take hold, both personally and socially. Seth, as channeled by Jane Roberts had much to say about viruses, pandemics, etc. Here’s a compilation:

Seth Speaks about Viruses and Epidemics


“Initially there is a psychic contagion: Despair moves faster than a mosquito, or any outward carrier of a given disease. The mental state brings about the activation of a virus that is, in those terms, passive. Despair may seem passive only because it feels that exterior action is hopeless – but its fires rage inwardly, and that kind of contagion can leap from bed to bed and from heart to heart. It touches those, however, who are in the same state only, and to some extent it brings about an acceleration in which something can indeed be done in terms of group action.”

But this psychic contagion wouldn’t be possible without fear of death.

And because I do not fear death I am not “in the same state” that would “cause” me to get sick from covid. Duh!

If we want to break the control that the so-called “elites” have over us, then we need to become highly aware of the state of mind we are in when we fear whatever they tell us to be afraid of.

The fear of death goes along with fear of the body. I wonder, are they the same thing?

Descartes showed the way in the 17th century, by bifurcating the person into a body and a mind, and then saying only my mind is me! The body becomes an “object,” something that I drag along with me, and must continuously placate, lest it defy my will, and cause pain, suffering, death!

Whatever we are going through with this astonishing shift in the way humans relate to one another, it’s somehow tied in with this deep cultural terror of both death and one’s own body. Those who fear their own bodies do not recognize or work with their body’s brilliant immune system. Duh!

And yet, when fear recedes, what takes its place? LOVE. Those really are the only two “emotions” possible. And the first is merely the absence of the second. Fear contracts. Love expands.

Question: is the universe afraid?

No, the universe is LOVE, operating everywhere and in all things, divinity in action.






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Here’s MY transformation, thanks to Scorpio Full Moon aftermath

Note: See the unusual number of posts (five) I’ve already done discussing the just past Scorpio Full Moon, starting with this one.

Interesting. Yesterday, all day long, it was as if my body felt strangely weak and as if  underwater, held down by a thousand pound weight. I hoped this unusual murky lethargy was just due to lingering effects from the powerful Scorpio Full Moon; hoped that by the time the Moon moved into Sagittarius, I would be back in my energized groove.

As I write this, the Moon sits at 0°31 Sagittarius. And yes, I’m back on track. In fact, I jumped the Sagittarian gun this morning. . .

Because, for really the first time ever, after 15 years wanting to do it with ease, I easily wore my baby picture teeshirt out in public. And, when anybody glanced at it, would then tell them it is my baby picture and ask them to get theirs! Put it on a teeshirt! “Can you imagine what would happen to this world if everybody started to wear their baby pictures? Can you imagine if everybody began to show their original, beautiful, vulnerable selves to one another, that soul that shines through the one who came in fully and expressively his or herself — only to then, suddenly, or gradually, be shut down by layers (masks) of conditioning, indoctrination, and so on by parents, siblings, schools and other authorities?”

I talked like this to several people, and then even talked like this to three people at once, all of them sitting waiting on an outdoor porch for lunch, at the restaurant son Colin and I sometimes go to after our bi-weekly Wednesday acutorture sessions. All were entranced, eager, open. As if a bolt of lightning suddenly electrified their hearts.

Which left me wondering. Why am I so energized to wear my baby picture out in public now, and: what has changed in the Neptunian frequency field that holds us all in its soft invisible grip, that both makes me feel less vulnerable/crazy/completely nuts when I wear it outside, and helps others open, eager to receive?

Because I have tried to wear it outside before, once in a while, over the years. But each time I felt so weird I couldn’t continue.

But this time I could. Not only could, but did, with alacrity.

Of course, one obvious way is to look at the situation astrologically. The planet Saturn, with its 29.5 year cycle, and a quarter cycle of 7.5 years, takes about 15 years to transit from the place in the zodiac when, in this case, the Baby Picture Project ( began, in 2006, until the “Full Moon” time of full-on illumination. Which happens to be now, 2021.

On the other hand, one could say that my growing willingness to wear this audacious/silly? teeshirt out in public is also synchronized with the fact that over the past year the entire world has been passing through a dark night of the soul, thanks to Covid; that the enforced isolation, buttressed by the stripping away of the usual distractions (like movies, sports, and other spectator games), bars, restaurants, other formerly public places — and deeper — all the usual markers that used to count for a “successful life” — college degrees, the job market and ladder — so much has changed! So very very much. The stripping of these roles (masks) which intermingled and even composed our “personas” (the public faces we show to the world, our self-image), have reduced some to bitter, lonely, disease and fear-ridden, near robotized, muffle-masked sheep, and in contrast,  have spurred others to connect, perhaps even for the very first time, with who they really are, what their life purpose really is, now that the “normality” of materialistic greed and selfishness has been shown up as absurd and meaningless.

Socially distanced, we long for each other.

Mask wearing, we long for each other’s smiles.

We had no idea, until now, how much we miss each other, as well as how much we’ve missed allowing our real, original selves to show up! How long has it been? — each of us dares to ask  in our heart of hearts, in our very souls, as we lay awake and alone in the dead of night wondering how long this collective nightmare is going to go on.

So. Here comes this 78-year-old crone who dares to tell us about her baby picture, to show it to us, and to ask us to find our own and wear it too! And hell, why not go further, and send me your story of how you found that picture you chose, why you chose that particular photo, the qualities of your essential original nature that you see in that photo, and send to me, for inclusion as a blogpost in  And then, if you dare, put your photo on a tee-shirt, with on the back. (We can do this for you, if you wish) and above all, WEAR IT IN PUBLIC, and if you dare, again, talk to others about why you wear it.

Yep, that’s me. That’s my change, my turn around. My Plutonian empowerment thanks to the unusually powerful Moon in Scorpio. And you know what? I doubt I’ll ever return to that old bashfulness. Because I just don’t care anymore. I want to live, I want to love, I want to connect with each and every soul that comes my way.

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On the day after the profound Scorpio Full Moon, all is not lost!

So. What happened yesterday?

This! To me! All is not lost!

I had a hair appointment, which I forgot until she showed up at the door with her hair-cutting bag.

Timi, who used to be a neighbor, who has cut my hair for 15 years and who has six kids while working full time, IS GOING TO RUN FOR THE MONROE COUNTY SCHOOL BOARD.

YES! This 53-year-old, who strongly believes in the right of each child to grow up in his or her own way, is impassioned, articulate, and exactly what we need at this time when school children are still forced to wear masks, even outside during recess.

Check out Tucker’s rant last night on this very subject.

Instantly, I told Timi I’d be her Campaign Manager. This gal is AWAKE. And fully alive. 53 years old, she’s just getting started.

After we were done, I told her I had a gift for her.

Went and got one of the five supposedly gold and silver plated Trump coins that I sent for,  on a whim (free, except for postage), and handed it to her.

Wow! Then turned it over . . . she doubled up in laughter, and you will too.

As General Mike Flynn, Juan O Savin, and others put it, “we’re going to have to take our country back”  — and not just from China — starting at the grassroots and on up. Full Moon in Scorpio, with Pluto turning: POWER, empowerment, opening our hearts, minds and souls to the primal life force.

So, how many Timis are out there? Ready to do their part?

Well, for one, Timi tells me her sister-in-law is also going to run for School Board, in a suburb of Indianapolis. Yes again!

One more bit of paraphernalia . . . got one of JP Sears teeshirts, to wear in this politically correct, masked, socially distanced academic town.

Here we go!

Oh hell! One more.

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