So let's forget about all the truly nasty stuff going on in the background and focus in on what this blog was once supposed to be about - everyday astrology, and how, if you're obsessed enough, which I haven't been of late, you can experience it playing itself out in your life day by day. (Of course, to immediately qualify what I just wrote, as usual, I'm aware the background stuff has a huge effect on the everyday stuff, just in case somebody might think I'm not.)
Anyway, as I haven't been posting very often lately (as though I ever did), readers are probably unaware that I lost my camera a week ago when sightseeing with friends who were visiting from Silver. Whether I put it down somewhere in Uniqlo and forgot or had my pocket picked makes no difference; the PowerShot SX110 IS I never really liked because it had way more features than I needed or could understand was gone, and I decided to give myself another Christmas present and get myself an easier-to-operate camera.
Skipping over a week of watching 1940s English black and white movies on YouTube while despairing over my lot (re truly nasty stuff going on in the background, not lost camera), yesterday, as the subject title perfected, found me at the Point and Shoot counter in B&H finalizing my order with Marty for a Sony Cybershot DSC-H70 with 16.1 megapixels and a 10x optical zoom (the only thing the PowerShot had that I really liked).
MARTY: Are you a university professor?
ME: (choking) No, I'm a babysitter.
MARTY: Oh, I thought for sure coming from Cambridge you had something to do with Harvard.
ME: Well, the woman I work for works there.
And with that scintillating scrap of dialog, I can remind myself I'm a playwright and get myself out of here and go over to Colony Music, where I need to get a couple of beginner piano scale and chord books so I can use my other Christmas present. I've got Mercury (the Trickster) square Jupiter this morning.
31 December, 2011
18 December, 2011
Mercury Sextile Neptune Again, and a Lot More
So instead of watching Jeeves and Wooster all day I watched The Way We Live Now, again thanks to YouTube, and thanks to Jupiter conjunct Venus, which I've been sneering at for the past two weeks and thinking that for once I'd escaped, I have the world's cheapest (and lightest - eight and a half pounds - far more important considering my current nomadic state) electronic keyboard arriving tomorrow as my Christmas present to myself, thanks to Amazon.
And thanks to my sister, I've realized a bit late that the Progressed Venus square Pluto transit that I've been waiting to manifest is instead in full force right now with another couple of years to go, a chilling and more than sobering thought. It's me and Ahma and I can only say her possessiveness over Star Child, which I simply had not realized - the words dumb ass come to mind - was as all-consuming and powerful as it is. Counseling, (which I thought would help, and I suppose in some dreadful way has, as it's brought this out into the open, even though it took my sister to point it out to me), is the culprit, and if you think this sentence is tangled you should try being inside my head, where all of that is scrambling around with well what happens when I go ahead and sublet and then don't have anywhere to live because I can't go on with life in the hallway, and what will I do with Sweet Pea if I move into a SRO in Cambridge (I should be so lucky) and suppose I go back to Silver to pick up the Volvo to drive to Morongo and it doesn't work and if it does Sweet Pea gets eaten by coyotes, and when I look at transits and progressions for 2012 all I want to do is be knocked unconscious on December 31 of this year and woken up on January 1, 2013.
Happy Christmas.
And thanks to my sister, I've realized a bit late that the Progressed Venus square Pluto transit that I've been waiting to manifest is instead in full force right now with another couple of years to go, a chilling and more than sobering thought. It's me and Ahma and I can only say her possessiveness over Star Child, which I simply had not realized - the words dumb ass come to mind - was as all-consuming and powerful as it is. Counseling, (which I thought would help, and I suppose in some dreadful way has, as it's brought this out into the open, even though it took my sister to point it out to me), is the culprit, and if you think this sentence is tangled you should try being inside my head, where all of that is scrambling around with well what happens when I go ahead and sublet and then don't have anywhere to live because I can't go on with life in the hallway, and what will I do with Sweet Pea if I move into a SRO in Cambridge (I should be so lucky) and suppose I go back to Silver to pick up the Volvo to drive to Morongo and it doesn't work and if it does Sweet Pea gets eaten by coyotes, and when I look at transits and progressions for 2012 all I want to do is be knocked unconscious on December 31 of this year and woken up on January 1, 2013.
Happy Christmas.
11 December, 2011
The Kindness of Strangers
Or, going to the library and then out for dinner without your glasses
So with Sun square Jupiter I finally get myself to the main branch of the Cambridge Public Library, going on to the Institute of Contemporary Art to watch best British commercials of 2010 (Venus trine Jupiter) with P, my one and only friend in Boston. (Saturday, prone on my bed in the hallway stuffing myself with licorice, I googled Boston Public Library Main Branch over and over again, hoping to come up with the branch on Broadway in Cambridge duh! I was looking for trying to check Sunday hours - yesterday the brain began to work and I realized I had to google Cambridge. It is not easy groping one's way around a new city at such an advanced age.)
It's a beautiful day, the sun's shining and I hoof it to Harvard Square, hoping I can skirt around the yard (now closed to those without student ID because of the Occupy Cambridge going on inside) and get to the library where I used to take Star Child for sing-along before she started college, discover I can, walk to the library, get all excited at the thought of actually being able to read Inside Scientology and reach in my bag for my reading glasses, which I immediately realize (all four pairs) are back at #326.
I see a stack right there on the ground floor called New Books and stand there squinting at the spines but can't see the book in the Rs, so indulge in my new ask-for-help-when-you-need-it behavior and go to the desk with big circles over it saying Questions? and Answers. The almost frighteningly helpful to a New Yorker young woman behind the desk immediately pulls up three copies of it on the computer, tell me they're all Speed Reads, which I translate correctly to One Week Expresses, and offers to take me over to the stack where they are to get a copy. Feeling a little as though I need a white cane or a service dog, I follow along behind, and when we get to the books she brightly tells me one of them is already in general circulation so I won't need to have it back in a week, a good thing as I go to New York on Wednesday for three weeks and wouldn't have been able to finish it in three days.
Having managed to take my library card along, if not my glasses, I check out the book and tap my way down the street back to Harvard Square to take the T (how Bostonian is that?) to meet P at ICA, my first visit to the museum - any museum apart from the aquarium - since my zip code changed to 02138. We watch the one-hour film of Commercials, most of which I understand, some of which are funny, all of which are l-o-n-g, and then wander around the gift store with me picking objects up, waving the price tag under P's nose and saying "How much is this?"
The real trouble starts when we go to Legal Seafoods and are presented with a six page small type menu by a clone of the young woman behind the Questions? desk at the library. "Is there anything special I can help you with?" she says. "Yes," I say. "Do you have a spare pair of reading glasses anywhere for pitiful people who came out without theirs?" They don't, and she takes me seriously when I ask if she'll read the menu to me, but P obliges when I narrow it down a bit - "What isn't mahi-mahi, is fried and is under $25," and I don't need glasses to read the print on the packet of Walker's mince tarts that P has brought me for Christmas.
On the T on the way back from my Jupiterian (?) visit to the wilds of the Boston waterfront, I discover if I hold the library book just far enough away from my face and turn it at just the right angle to the light I can make out the print, and work my way through the first ten lines of the introduction by the time the train pulls into Harvard Square fifteen minutes later. This adventure in reading stops the minute I get back *home,* when I grab a pair of 2.0s, crawl under the covers in my little bed in the hallway and race through another ten lines before I fall asleep.
So with Sun square Jupiter I finally get myself to the main branch of the Cambridge Public Library, going on to the Institute of Contemporary Art to watch best British commercials of 2010 (Venus trine Jupiter) with P, my one and only friend in Boston. (Saturday, prone on my bed in the hallway stuffing myself with licorice, I googled Boston Public Library Main Branch over and over again, hoping to come up with the branch on Broadway in Cambridge duh! I was looking for trying to check Sunday hours - yesterday the brain began to work and I realized I had to google Cambridge. It is not easy groping one's way around a new city at such an advanced age.)
It's a beautiful day, the sun's shining and I hoof it to Harvard Square, hoping I can skirt around the yard (now closed to those without student ID because of the Occupy Cambridge going on inside) and get to the library where I used to take Star Child for sing-along before she started college, discover I can, walk to the library, get all excited at the thought of actually being able to read Inside Scientology and reach in my bag for my reading glasses, which I immediately realize (all four pairs) are back at #326.
I see a stack right there on the ground floor called New Books and stand there squinting at the spines but can't see the book in the Rs, so indulge in my new ask-for-help-when-you-need-it behavior and go to the desk with big circles over it saying Questions? and Answers. The almost frighteningly helpful to a New Yorker young woman behind the desk immediately pulls up three copies of it on the computer, tell me they're all Speed Reads, which I translate correctly to One Week Expresses, and offers to take me over to the stack where they are to get a copy. Feeling a little as though I need a white cane or a service dog, I follow along behind, and when we get to the books she brightly tells me one of them is already in general circulation so I won't need to have it back in a week, a good thing as I go to New York on Wednesday for three weeks and wouldn't have been able to finish it in three days.
Having managed to take my library card along, if not my glasses, I check out the book and tap my way down the street back to Harvard Square to take the T (how Bostonian is that?) to meet P at ICA, my first visit to the museum - any museum apart from the aquarium - since my zip code changed to 02138. We watch the one-hour film of Commercials, most of which I understand, some of which are funny, all of which are l-o-n-g, and then wander around the gift store with me picking objects up, waving the price tag under P's nose and saying "How much is this?"
The real trouble starts when we go to Legal Seafoods and are presented with a six page small type menu by a clone of the young woman behind the Questions? desk at the library. "Is there anything special I can help you with?" she says. "Yes," I say. "Do you have a spare pair of reading glasses anywhere for pitiful people who came out without theirs?" They don't, and she takes me seriously when I ask if she'll read the menu to me, but P obliges when I narrow it down a bit - "What isn't mahi-mahi, is fried and is under $25," and I don't need glasses to read the print on the packet of Walker's mince tarts that P has brought me for Christmas.
On the T on the way back from my Jupiterian (?) visit to the wilds of the Boston waterfront, I discover if I hold the library book just far enough away from my face and turn it at just the right angle to the light I can make out the print, and work my way through the first ten lines of the introduction by the time the train pulls into Harvard Square fifteen minutes later. This adventure in reading stops the minute I get back *home,* when I grab a pair of 2.0s, crawl under the covers in my little bed in the hallway and race through another ten lines before I fall asleep.
10 December, 2011
Life in the Hallway, Continued
So Ahma and I had a family therapy session on Tuesday morning, with Star Child safely in school. This is with Saturn on the Moon for Ahma and Saturn opposed to Mercury for me - yes, A and I have the Moon and Mercury in opposition natally, and have always managed to annoy each other not quite enough to cause a rift, but along comes Star Child and that no longer applies. I had my own session yesterday morning, Ahma will have an individual session and then we go back to what is essentially couples therapy - funny, really, or it will be in about ten years.
So here it is Saturday, a few hours after the eclipse, with my Saturn opposed to Mercury exact tomorrow (A's S to the Moon was exact the day after our joint session) and there's something almost enjoyable about lying here on my little bed in the hallway in broad daylight with no inclination to do anything else watching Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry in episode after episode of Jeeves and Wooster (with Mercury sextile Neptune) and eating far too much licorice (Venus sextile the Sun).
Looking ahead at transits for next year makes me want to seek out a clinic where I can be put to sleep for twelve months, but I don't think they have any of those, so I'll just take a little nap and watch some Mapp and Lucia when I wake up.
So here it is Saturday, a few hours after the eclipse, with my Saturn opposed to Mercury exact tomorrow (A's S to the Moon was exact the day after our joint session) and there's something almost enjoyable about lying here on my little bed in the hallway in broad daylight with no inclination to do anything else watching Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry in episode after episode of Jeeves and Wooster (with Mercury sextile Neptune) and eating far too much licorice (Venus sextile the Sun).
Looking ahead at transits for next year makes me want to seek out a clinic where I can be put to sleep for twelve months, but I don't think they have any of those, so I'll just take a little nap and watch some Mapp and Lucia when I wake up.
05 December, 2011
Maybe If I Called This Life In the Hallway...
.... I'd write something more often, as, heaven forbid, after *discovering* astrology 15 years ago and jumping into it with both feet, it seems the thrill is finally gone, the love affair is over, the obsession with checking aspects daily too difficult to keep up with (!) now that life revolves around a three-and-a-half-year-old, and when it doesn't I'm on a bus going down to New York just in time to unpack before it's time to turn around and come back again. Violins, please, and pass the tissues. It's Saturn opposed to Mercury.
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