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 anywhere at any time, without even looking up. So here's my own story, such as it is. And please excuse my self indulgence. Nostalgia is a slippery slope.

It happened to me in 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 curled enigma..."Leo's perfect mate is Gemini" it began..."Johnny is a Gemini, Linny!" Annie blared and I knew we'd found the Holy Grail.

1971. Don't do the math.

Six months later Johnny was long forgotten when Annie blew my tiny mind with the hot blue bestseller "Linda Goodman's Sun Signs. So beautifully written and so brutally true it's laugh-out-loud funny. No wonder it ignited the New Age.

Total gamechanger. I finally understood that it's only natural to be me and not "more like your sweet little..." diabolical sister, who scripted our family chaos and cursed me with the scapegoat role. I was no match for this wily whopper weaver. I wasn't clever or cunning, just reactive, so I roared like a raging lion and cried myself to sleep a lot. Perfect casting. Only natural to be her, too.

(Some experiences can cut so deep they lay tracks that attract the blindly wounded. Something about trauma suppression and leaky energy.)

So I clung to Sun Signs like a lifeline through the early years of high school. "What's your sign?" I asked whoever caught my eye and read to whoever indulged me, hundreds between school and the city buses alone. Good times.

The 70s were a heady time and Anne and I hit some of the hottest astrology lectures around Hahvid Squeya. We lucked into a lecture with Isabel Hickey and she singled me out for a public dissection. I was barely seventeen and it was a mortifying intro to the planetary frequencies. A true EUREKA! Moment.

It was 1974 when a burst of serendipity brought New York City radio astrologer Paul Guercio to our city. He settled in just down the road from Friendly's and we were two Friendly girls, looking for a little enlightenment.

Paul soon turned up at our double doors, like all hardcore coffee drinkers do. We pumped him with free refills and he charmed us with his booming vocals, confiding his scheme to burn the Cosmic Muffin and show Boston how a real astrologer operates. He then said these fateful words: "Come to my classes, girls. I'm just down the road and I bet you two love floor pillows." Well duh.
So we sauntered down to 83 Sycamore to expand our minds in cozy comfort. Life was good. And I almost knew it through the haze of lingering trauma.

One seven year Saturn cycle later, Paul and I were roomies. I booked his consultations and he (ahem) mentored me for four instructive years. Annie went off to make babies and awhile later I did too. It's what Somerville townies do. Paul said so. I don't think it was a compliment.

And in our roomie days I'd witnessed his burnout after too many consultations when desperate seekers sucked him dry, and I knew it wasn't for me. I doubted I'd learn to safely drive my own life and I had no desire to drive anyone else's. So I pondered my path and somehow astrology would be my destination.

I thought a how-to book might be in the stars. I'd simplify the basics to map out the landscape so no one would get lost in the weeds. No head spins or eye rolls from my how-to book, or forget the whole thing.

Imagine walking your 1000 acres 1000 times with only your memory to guide you. Until you're handed a topographical map and suddenly realize that your little hill is a hidden cavern with singing waterfalls, dancing emeralds and an endless pot of gold.

Much more was ahead to shape my dream, but with Taurus rising I tend to moove slow, so it's possible I'll die first. But dreams never do or life would be udderly hopeless. And in the long past the future feels like endless time to chew my cud and ponder the possibilities...

So it's '91 and we're settled in Lexington when a Good_man blew into town to manifest his own dream of a print shop called Copy Plus (Mac rentals and a whole lot more ). Just what I needed to manifest my concepts! Three seasons later and despite my protestations, this larger-than-life triple Aries Mac Wizard wooed me into his arms and my feet stopped touching the ground.

Fourth dimensional rendering

Time passed and the Wizard taught me computer skills and helped me build my website. I did a (very) little writing and we raised our beautiful blended family. And the blessed being we conceived in love arrived on the summer solstice like he was having second thoughts. Life was Good, man.

MEANWHILE...
Paul was still doing his political forecasting thing when a government physicist made him an offer he couldn't refuse: "work with my programmers to develop a forecasting graph." A few months later they had 'TimeTraks'. It was 1993 and they took it on the road as The Merlin Project. They even did a threefer on Larry King!

In 2016 Paul hired me to help with a flood of inquiries after the TimeTraks predicted what no one else had, a Trump-Sanders face-off. But free will had the final say and Bernie decided to back away to let HRC move into position. But not even the most invincible will can overcome a low energy TimeTrak.

In 2019 Paul died suddenly (before it was all the rage) after a devastating betrayal. But he left this world a little wiser and no one can take that from anyone.
The physicist departed with the TimeTraks and that was that.

Paul was my friend, mentor and tormentor, who taught me, Annie and all his students to keep it simple. Because simple makes astrology more accessible and not less profound. His friendship and coattails are sorely missed.

Thanks for visiting. I hope you find something useful.