At the time of my birth, four planets and the sun converged in the fifth house, with all other planets forming a configuration that resembles a parabolic mirror whose focal point is said fifth house. For those of you who do not speak english from the "Middle Hippie Era" that would mean, a person who at the core will take pleasure in the romance embodied in every encounter, delight in children, be easily entertained and do everything in his power to avoid Normal. While I recognize that such a focus could, in the universe of the superstitious yield a perspective, if you will, largely dependent upon the notion that Romance is at the heart of everything, and that everything else is simply waiting for Romance to galvanize its birth. If we don't fall for it, it's usually not worth pursuing. If we follow the spark, little else matters and while there is  good and bad to all things, the tug of Romance holds the promise that compels us to excel, to merge as joyfully as possible with the process of growing, evolving, of lending meaning to this wildly unpredictable whirlwind of let go. I can remember as a boy I went to see David Oistrach play his violin at Carnegie Hall. Part solo recital and part with piano accompaniment. My parents knew he was my hero and understanding the impact such a moment could have, seized it. We were high up in the balcony as I recall and he looked quite small as he walked out on stage. He stood for a moment, raised the violin to his shoulder and filled the hall with Perfect. I already had a boner for the violin, but that sealed the deal. Now many years later, I remember little of the actual pieces played. Musty memory of being dressed up and itchy and every velvety seat occupied in a Hall thick with the kind of soul I did not understand.  But whats fresh in my memory is the strong remains of the Romance I felt for the music, the instrument and this man whose oneness with his craft sold chicken skin for a living. That inspiration held the promise that compelled me to excel, or at the very least, stumble on. There may be people who could give a hoot about Romance between humans. A condition brought about, no doubt by an incident with glorious beginnings turning sour and leaving one curled up in a corner sucking ones thumb and mumbling "mahmah, mahmah". Been there. But for all those who have thrown in the towel, there are scores more for whom the wave of Romance must be sought out with the zeal of some demented surfer dude who drops Everything to renew his vows in the tube. Romance is Love's shadow. Inseparable in the light, indistinguishable in the dark. Fall for something, stand for something, for all Romance takes us home. I'm not sure if I should even mention, for fear of jinxing it, but we've enjoyed virtually rain free weather for the past three weeks now. I have, for the first time in many months started to spot water a few trees here and there that have a bit of a thirsty look around the edges. What I'm hoping is that we're on the border of a dry spell, unusual for this time of year, but welcome in every way. It's that time when the invasive vines and grasses begin to slowly withdraw from their months long onslaught and the grasses on the hillsides are popping flowers as they sense the ground drying up and respond by showing some small sign of surrender. Commander Willie Wideman has flown the coop after a five month sentence at the Rancho. He was ordered here by a judge after starting a bar brawl in which fourteen bloody, dust covered teeth were retrieved from the floor while Willie,  handcuffed, hanging from a rafter, smiled fully. He told the judge he was sorry and all; had a bumpy childhood and such and could he please be farmed out to an ankle bracelet facility where his hands could dance with the dirt. The judge just smiled a declared, "five months at the Rancho." He gave it two thumbs up and a "roger that". Now its a little known fact that the Wwoof organization has coordinated with parole/probation officers nationwide to place violent but penitent souls at farms that can't make it selling food, so accept a generous government stipend to chance it with a nut case or two. Income streams. So aside from the drunken howling at the moon, chasing down deer with his teeth and that thing with the two chickens, he reached the status of "mensch with training wheels" and swears he'll be back for more after his winter gig as a ski instructor, where he gets to act cool for the bunnies and send obnoxious children hurtling down the mountain on trails far in advance of their capability. You go boy. We've all got a price, so I know you will all forgive me when I tell you that there came a moment when an old friend from prep school who also happens to be a Saudi prince made me an offer on nurse Kristen that I simply couldn't refuse. He had his private jet warmed up and ready when he whisked the freshly  abducted honey girl off to the balmy climes of the middle east. I was content in the notion that while this might not have been a future that she would have scripted, she was in good hands, would be treated well and retired after seven years to a life of luxury and a closet full of burkini's. Wasn't three days before he called me and said that she had the concubines quaffing green drinks and reading Kate Millet. Said they were getting more and more pissed, in a calm sort of way with each passing day. He decided to strike pre-emptively and send her back to Maui before the entire social structure of his sex life went up in revolt. Said I could keep the money. That I would need it to defend myself from what he called "the inevitable". So if anyone sees her around the campus, tell her I moved to Peru and am playing mandolin on a street corner for roasted guinea pigs and ayahuasca. Week in review: Its Fucking Raining.................. The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp