When Pigs Fly was the name, moniker, handle for a BBQ place, as I recall, in the Big Bend area, of Texas. We stopped, I think it was a Virgo girlfriend, but I can’t be sure, after this much time, all kind of runs together, those Texas girls. (Women, really, but it’s a locality term, nothing to do with, oh, never mind.)
The place had a flying pig for a sign, more as an interesting piece of art rather than a sign, or company logo. We stopped, and I chatted with the guy, sort of in-charge, sort of just an affable chap (Sagittarius) with that West Texas drawl and his sun-crisped look of weathered leather.
“I wanted to open a bar so I could get beer at wholesale prices.”
I nodded.
“The town told me that ‘pigs would fly’ before I got a license.”
I nodded.
“The doctor up in (Amarillo? Lubbock? Midland?) told me if I drank one more beer it would be my last as my liver would give out.”
I nodded.
“I get beer at wholesale prices, and we named the place, ‘When Pigs Fly,’ because now, I can get all the beer I want, but I can’t drink any of it.”
Not exactly a verbatim chronology, or exact transcript because that’s another girlfriend still mad at me, for whatever I did wrong, and although I took copious notes at the time, I can find no written record of the event. Kind of sad, as I wanted to refer back to that, and see what happened.
Google availed me naught, and so that’s the story as it sits.
Pieces of the story echo back as that’s part of what’s going on, and, of course, part of this is a Mercury Retrograde infused mental meander.
- Officially, Mercury is no longer “Retrograde” as of today. Folks: we are not out of the woods on this one, and in case the symbolism has escaped? It should be obvious what this one was about, and are we still getting ready to address those concerns?
I can recall the hot, West Texas dirt, the northern edge of the Chihuahua Desert, the dry, wool-blanket heat on a late summer’s afternoon, the crunch of the weathered rocks underfoot, the sign, a flying pig as an emblematic symbol.
Not the same sign.
When Pigs Fly