Daisy May

When I was 15 or so, I was introduced to the world of Astrology – here’s what I learned:

  • I’m a Sun-Sign Leo
  • Leo’s are arrogant, lazy, bossy, penny-wise and pound-foolish
  • You can’t read the chart of a saint.

You hadn’t heard the last one?  Well, then, I’ll explain.

A saint has spent a lifetime overcoming their baser nature and reaching for the high ideals we humans aspire to.   Therefore, they have perfected themselves to a point where you can’t make any predictions given their astrological chart, because they’ve learned how to turn their flaws into assets and are humbled by the fact that their greatest gifts still sometimes get used for less-than-stellar reasons.

I’ve spent over 30 years trying to prove that just because I’m a Leo, doesn’t mean I’m totally bad.   Yes, I laze around taking naps and such, but I also am willing to work 20 hours a day, if pushing it will get the job done.

Yes, I’m bossy, but I spend a lot of quiet time contemplating, reading and researching, so if I push a point, there’s probably a very good, historical, reason why.

I’m still penny-wise and pound-foolish – hey, if I become perfect, then I’ll probably fall short of the Humility Award…(you can thank Ben Franklin for pointing this out to me.)

I consider the world my class-room – and I have a pretty fair memory – so yes, I think I’m smarter than the average bear – doesn’t mean I don’t like Yogi…

**********

But the one thing I’ve never gotten over – being a sucker for sincere compliments.

Even if it’s not a compliment, I’m pretty good at turning it into one.

For example, I’ve often been called “Daisy Mae” – and that’s a compliment…

For one, I’m proud of the fact that I can charge barefoot across ground that makes grown men who majored in High School Jock status wince and pussy-foot around like a bunch of wussies.

For two, Daisy is a legend in our family.

Daisy was hill folk and a farmer’s wife.   She hailed from southern Ohio and was known  county ( or maybe state) -wide for her tough, no-nonsense approach to life coupled with her iron will and  muscles.

Seems one day, two men were moving  stove.   They’d gotten it as far as the truck, but were hem-hawing around trying to figure out the best way to get it loaded.   Daisy, never a patient person, finally lost it and with a muttered curse (or hillbilly talk) that translated, meant, “Oh, for Christ’s sakes already!”,  shoved the men out the way, grabbed hold and hefted the stove into the truck by herself, dusted off her hands and stomped off muttering about the worthlessness of fool men…

Over the years my ‘going after something like I was killing snakes’  has netted me the affectionate, “Well, Daisy…” from those who know me and the story.

And yes, I take it as a compliment.

P.S.  You can still read my chart – saint’s aren’t allowed to cuss…which is of paramount importance when killing snakes…

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