Oracle at Butterfly

Mom was a big believer in Dell Hororscope Magazine, which she purchased religiously (along with a 3 Muskateers bar) from the newsstand at Sol’s Pharmacy where it was possible to see “gentleman’s magazines,” and other lurid sundries which she did NOT want to answer questions about.  She would study these slim newsprint volumes for clues to the demise of Richard Nixon, the possibility of Economic Collapse, and ironically, news of good fortune for people she liked.  She kept them stacked around her corner of the couch long after their expiration date had passed, perhaps hoping one day to shake a particularly prescient headline in someone’s face, “You SEE?   I knew it!”

In these post internet days, it seems beyond belief to describe the mysteriosity surrounding matters astrological – the casting of charts using methods as ancient as, well, yes, the ancients, interpreting nuances of scribbled rune-like glyphs without Google to clear it all up for you, took, you know, effort.  In retrospect, I think nothing would have pleased her more than for one of her children to become an astrologer, although it would have been a thankless job, arguing with Mom, because she would tell you she didn’t need any formal training to know what was written in the stars.


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