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How and why grow a Tale Bone

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Hansel and Gretel A few weeks ago a woman I know through my travels and engagement with astrology online left a comment on a thread we were both chewing (and commenting) on. I suggested it might be helpful to find ways to feed her tale bone. Her reply was hopeful (and probably curious), but, she said she needed some tips about the tale bone because google wasn't being cooperative. I led her here where she discovered the tale bone was a made up thing; come to think of it I've been making things up all my life. Naming things and giving people nicknames is genetic. My dad did it with everyone. The neighborhood and cousins were named after breakfast cereal and soda (Snap, and Crackle; Squeak and Squawk; Nola Bola CocaCola... ) And perhaps it's no accident, but a destiny-of- pairing thing to be partnered with someone who disassembles and reassembles words to suit his meaning. Astrologically, the naming of 'the tale bone' is one of those examples of Jupiter...
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There's a rumor, this time ...

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Light comes slowly in the woods. Time wears no wristwatches here. There's a rumor this time is the time. No more tampering with clocks from now on.  Will light come slowly out there, beyond the edge of Alder's shadow?  ~ In town today we saw our friend who lives rough, holds a sign as if to help others with a language they would rather not understand. HOMELESS, Need Help Pete stopped the car when he saw the shorter man in the rear view mirror. "How you doing? How was the winter? We been wondering 'bout you?" Light comes slowly in the woods. Time wears no wristwatches here. There's a rumor this time is the time. No more tampering with clocks from now on. Will light come slowly out there, beyond the edge where rooted, footed, settled, owned, rented properlies squeeze all else tightly. NO ROOM, No Help ~ A page from Mrs Noah's Pockets  In bed today we lay together in the dark where light comes slowly in t...
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Fasten your safety pins!

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"It was a day a duck could love. For that matter the week was a duck's paradise. Dressed for the season in my long skirt, paisley wool shawl, and tea cozy hat with the red hibiscus over my left ear my feet splashed in puddles... The wind began to dance with me as I lifted my nose and sniffed from beneath the felt hat now much soaked through with rain. No fairies. But, a large copper pin about the size of a butterfly dropped from the cherry red awning above me and landed on my right shoe. A pin. A safety pin. "My Ma, "I said to myself. Besides being famous for carrying a flashlight my mother always wore at least one but more often a couple safety pins. Just in case. Long before it was punk fashion, safety pins are a talisman of security hard-wired in my DNA like knowing how to make something out of nothing. I fondled the pin and felt the distance of time between us compress... The Safety Pin Cafe Years ago, and not far away, we lived in the woods at t...
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