P Midheaven STILL opposing Chiron, and more

I could never see that Chiron had anything to do with sex until I read the previous post and yet another lightbulb in my *understanding* of astrology lit up. Quite where this epiphany leaves me I'm not sure, as my thinking tends more towards believing the reason I found myself *running* my niece's B&B while I was in England and she was in Spain was down to natal Chiron being in Virgo and the P Midheaven opposing it was putting me in my proper place, me loving to serve and all.

Of course, the opposition did also put me in England for a production of a play I wrote, so it wasn't all running off to Asda to stock up on toilet paper for the New York B&Bers. Some of it was going to a rehearsal three nights before opening and being completely stunned by the miscasting, attempts at American accents and the total lack of comprehension of the script by the director, but as she blithely told me when I attempted to suggest a slight change of pace in the actors' galloping delivery, "they've been doing it that way for so long it's too late to change now."

Seeing my mentally handicapped brother, the child of the man staying in Spain at my sister's house and my mother, was as chironic as it can get, thank you very much, and as I'm writing this almost three weeks later I can gloss over it and if I type quickly I won't have to dwell on how heart-breaking it is to see him. And if I type even more quickly and get this sentence out of the way I won't have to think about how I vowed to myself to send him a postcard as soon as I got back to the US and two weeks later have yet to do it.

Progressed Midheaven Opposed to Chiron, cont'd.

So I go to Spain and spend a week with my sister and brother-in-law in the little market town where they live, 40 minutes inland from the Costa del Sol. My other sister, who lives in England, is in the same town visiting her daughter, my niece, and to complete the family dynamic, the man my mother married after she divorced my father is already ensconced at my sister's house, as the woman he married after my mother died is in respite and the time that she is there and the time I'm supposed to be spending with my sister overlap and my sister is incapable of saying no.

I wouldn't say that as a child I hated him, more than I was acutely uncomfortable in his presence. The atmosphere when he and my mother were together was charged with a sexuality I couldn't understand but was always aware of, not that I was with them much because my mother packed me and my younger sister off to live with our father and his sister and her husband 200 miles away so she (my mother) and new love could enjoy life together unencumbered by inconveniences like children. The idyllic life my mother hoped for was brought to an abrupt end a year or so later when my brother was born and proved to be mentally handicapped, something neither of his parents were equipped to cope with -- not, of course, that too many people are.

Funny that the day I *choose* to write this is the day Venus opposes Chiron, when the title aspect has been approaching for weeks and perfects the week we're in now, April 17th to 23rd. What I've written so far is darker and deeper than anything I've touched on before in these postings, and any more delving I do into the subject matter needs more careful consideration than I can give it sitting up in bed in my hallway in Cambridge, safely back in the land of paper towel and no washing up bowls, wondering if I can creep back upstairs and make another cup of coffee without waking Star Child.

Progressed Midheaven Opposed to Chiron

First, the now usual catch-up. Left Cambridge in a frenzy on March 25, took the bus to New York and couldn't get into my apartment as the workmen who re-plastered the bedroom ceiling used a lock when they left I haven't used for 30 years. That was Sun square Saturn, thank you very much, and it cost me only $310 to call a locksmith and have him let me in. Re-plastered ceiling looks very nice except they re-plastered 12 inches down a newly painted wall.

Saturday 26th, in an even greater frenzy, went to Chinatown with N to buy New York teeshirts for the twins I'd be meeting for the first time when I got to London. Opened the new $310 lock and walked into the apartment to a ringing phone. Client I've been copyediting for wanted to send me first layout of his book and could I do a rewrite of the bits I hadn't yet seen (!), proofread the rest and send it back ASAP? Told him I might need a bit of time as was about to leave for Europe for three weeks (Mars sextile MC). Not a problem, he said, and I took out half the clothes I had in a wheelie bag a la Arthur Frommer and took a cab to Kennedy.

Went to check-in machine at American area and was directed to an agent. Started to walk towards an agent, stopped by trouble-shooting walkabout man and told to go back to machine. Went back to machine area, showed ticket to trouble-shooting woman there, told to go to counter. Trouble-shooting man apologized. Got to check-in real live woman at counter and told to go to Terminal 7 as it was an Iberian flight. "This happens all the time," she said. "People get their tickets online at the American site and don't realize it's operated by Iberia." Look at ticket printout and see, underneath the American logo and the words American Airlines, "Operated by Iberia."

"You can take a cab," she says. "This is terminal 8 so if you take the sky-train you'll have to go all the way around." "I've just taken a cab, thanks," I say, and trundle off to the sky-train, getting on one going in the wrong direction to the other end of the line but realizing what I'd done after only one stop.

Check-in at Iberia very civilized, no machines, real live people, plenty of time, served edible food with a bottle of wine on the flight, went to sleep, woke up, served edible breakfast and got to Madrid on time at 8 am.

To be continued