There are no certificates of astrological achievement on my wall, just enough suffering to seek answers and enough fateful meandering to help find a few. And anyone can be starstruck, without even looking up. So this is my story. (Nostalgia is a slippery slope of indulgence and you'll miss nothing really if you skip it.)

It was my 14th summer, on a cool fateful day in Woolworths. My big sister Anne and I were wandering the aisles when a tall, shiny weight scale called to us and we approached, lean and unafraid.

It offered up a zodiac scroll, my first, and I anxiously unfurled this curling enigma...."Your perfect mate is Gemini", it began..."Johnny is a Gemini!" Annie blared and I knew we'd found the Holy Grail.

Six months later Johnny was long forgotten when Annie brought home the hot blue bestseller Linda Goodman's Sun Signs and it blew my tiny mind. A book so beautifully written and so brutally true it's laugh-out-loud funny. It fully ignited the New Age and my burning curiosity (and it should be required reading for tormented tweens & teens. Just my opinion).

Total gamechanger. I finally knew it's only natural to be me and not "more like your sweet, QUIET little sister.." who scripted our family chaos by assigning me the scapegoat role. I was no match for this wily whopper weaver and fell into every trap with roaring indignation. And the maddest is always the baddest, as my little sister knew too well. Only natural to be her, too.

So I clung to my sun bible like a lifeline through the first years of high school, asking every friendly face "What's your sign?", the question of the decade. And I read to whoever indulged me, 100s between school and the city buses alone. Good times.

The 70s were a heady time and Anne and I hit the hottest astrology classes in Hahvid Squeya and lucked into one with Ms Isabel Hickey, who singled me out for a public dissection. It was a mortifying intro to my inner mechanics and a deep EUREKA! Moment at barely 17.

In a burst of serendipity in '74, NYC radio astrologer Paul Guercio came to our town to set up shop, just down the road from Friendly's. And we were two Friendly girls looking for a little enlightenment.

So Paul soon turned up at our double doors like hardcore javaheads do. We pumped him with free refills as he leaked his scheme in that booming radio voice: he'd burn the Cosmic Muffin and show old Boston how a real astrologer operates. And then we heard these fateful words: "Come to my classes, girls. I'm just down the road and I bet you two love floor pillows." Well duh.
Yes he was but no he didn't.

So we sauntered down to 83 Sycamore to expand our minds in cozy comfort. Life was good and I almost knew it.

Paul and I were roomies. I booked his consults and he mentored me for four instructive years. Annie went off to make babies and awhile later I did too. Paul said it's what Slummerville townies do and I took it as a compliment.

I'd seen his burnout when desperate seekers bled him dry and I knew consulting wasn't for me. I struggled to steer my own life, let alone anyone else's. So I pondered a different path to my celestial destination.

Teaching was a dream, so a how-to book could fit the bill. "I'll map out the landscape so no one gets lost in the weeds. No head spins or eye rolls or forget the whole thing."

Imagine walking your 1000 acres 1000 times with only memory to guide you. Until you stumble on a detailed map and suddenly see the whole thng. And your little hill is really a magical cavern, with a singing waterfall, dancing emeralds and an endless pot of gold!

Now it's '91 and my family is settled in Lexington, when a Good man rides into town to open a copy shop. He calls it Copy Plus, with a shiny line of Macs for rent, just what I need to develop my concepts! Three seasons later this Triple Aries Mac Wizard woos me into his arms and my feet stop touching the ground.

Fourth dimensional rendering

More time passes and the Wizard teaches me vital skills to build my site and do a (very) little writing as we raise our beautiful blended brood. Our baby boy soon makes five, emerging on the summer solstice like he's having second thoughts. But the feeling apparently passes and and life is Good man.

MEANWHILE back in '93...
Paul was forecasting politics when a shady physicist made him an offer he couldn't refuse: guide his government coders to program a forecasting graph. They called it TimeTraks and made the media rounds as the Merlin Project.

In 2016 Paul hired me to field a flood of inquiries after TimeTraks forecasted a Trump-Sanders face-off. No one else saw that one coming, but Bernie burned the faithful and handed it to Hillary. And the rest is history. Not even a ruthless will can trump a low energy TimeTrak.

2016 prediction show links: 1 2

In 2019 Paul departed this world and the physicist departed with the TimeTraks. Paul left the world a little wiser and taught his students to keep it simple; to make astrology more accessible and no less profound. His friendship and coattails are missed.