Pisces at Home

The plan was to move to Portland Maine, and live a nice, calm life alone on the storybook coast with the magic of Stephen King sneaking around somewhere nearby. I would verbally say "hermit" during a conversation about my ambitions in life. "Artist," about how I was going to make a mark on the world. No drama. No ties. My own life.

If someone at that time had said, "You know, in ten years you'll be a married mother of three boys living in Portland, Oregon," I would have laughed nervously and told them to go sleep it off, then just talk to them rationally the next day.

And yet... wondrous things happen.

The life I've had since I made these grand plans began sort of like: when you find a plain old buried chest, and, after struggling to dig it out of deep, sucking mud, and breaking the stubborn lock open, you marvel at golden time pieces and looking glasses, a clicking telescope and star charts, an ancient silver music box with haunting, tinging songs that you've never heard before, and a yellow half-burned map stuck in an old glass bottle, preserved perfectly with a waxed cork. A wooden chest full of adventure! Who'd have thought!

Not without heartache and hanging by my fingernails just to keep going, this adventure has been very fulfilling. Having shifted from being one of three women in a family with one man, to becoming the ONLY woman in a family with five males (I am including our dog in this), has been quite an adjustment. Plus two of them are Leos. And there's a Virgo, and an Aries. I don't know whether animals have signs, but I am at least counting them as family members so that I can say there is one other female in the house: Cronsky. Lotta good she does me... Brat.

So the stories will flow. Lessons, laughter, and each one named for their sign, insight into the life of this female Pisces may or may not inspire anyone, but will hopefully entertain those who read here.

#maine #hermit #buriedchest #brat