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 this is my story. Please forgive my nostalgic indulgence. It's a slippery slope and you won't miss a thing if you skip it.

I was 14 when the stars struck, on a cool fateful summer 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 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 and fully ignited the New Age.

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 loudest is always the wrongest, so my 'sweet, quiet little sister' was never wrong. Only natural to be her, too.

I clung to my sun bible like a lifeline through the first years of high school, asking every open face the question of the decade, "What's your sign?" 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. She singled me out for a public dissection, a mortifying intro to my inner mechanics at barely seventeen and a deep EUREKA! Moment.

In '74, in a burst of serendipity, NYC radio astrologer Paul Guercio came to our rough and tumble town. He set up shop down the road from Friendly's and two Friendly sisters looking for a little enlightenment.

Paul soon turned up at our double doors like hardcore javaheads do and we pumped him with free refills as he leaked his scheme in his radio vocals. 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 "That's what Slummerville townies do" and I took it as a compliment.

I'd seen his burnout after consults with desperate seekers who bled him dry and I knew it wasn't for me. I struggled to steer my own life without crashing, let alone anyone else's. So I pondered a different path, where astrology was still my destination.

Teaching was my first dream and a how-to book could fit the bill. I'd stick to the basics and map out the landscape so nobody would get lost in the weeds. No head spins or eye rolls when a Virgo Mercury shows the lay of the land.

Imagine you've walked your 1000 acres 1000 times with only your memory to guide you. Then you're handed a detailed map and discover that your little hill is actually a deep 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. It's ironically-named Copy Plus, with a shiny line of Macs for rent and 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 it passes and life is Good man.

MEANWHILE back in '93...
Paul was forecasting politics when a government physicist made him an offer he should've refused: guide his programmer to develop a forecasting graph. They called it TimeTraks and made the media rounds as the Merlin Project. That was all for Paul; the physicist had all he'd come for.

In 2016 Paul hired me to field a flood of inquiries after TimeTraks forecasted a Trump-Sanders face-off no one else saw coming. But old Bernie backed away and not even a ruthless will can trump a low energy TimeTrak.

2016 prediction show links: 1 2

In 2019 Paul died after a devastating betrayal and the physicist departed with the TimeTraks. Paul left the world a little wiser and no one can take that from anyone. And he taught his students to keep it simple to make astrology more accessible and no less profound. I miss his friendship and his coattails, too.

Now it's 2026, my children are grown, my concepts have finally taken shape and my dream is alive & well. But with Taurus rising I may well die first.