This was yesterday, when I was busy planning future courses of action with decisiveness and firmness, but supposedly (astrodient as usual) also a time when love and affection were uppermost in my mind.
What this does is confirm for me the validity of a *poem* I once wrote while studying with Michael Lutin and being tasked with reporting what Valentine's Day that year had brought to us, his theory being that read as many cookbooks as you want, you will not *understand* astrology until you see how each aspect manifests for you.
This was four or five years after 9/11, a seminal event in my life, and about the time various and assorted insurance companies were at last willing to acknowledge the *event* had been of some import to me and my earning ability, me being left behind on the 37th floor of Tower Two when the rest of the floor had been evacuated and all, and Valentine's Day coincided with my being granted a sum of money equal to a couple of years' salary.
My *homework* read:
I think that Venus in my chart
Is crasser far than love and art.
Instead of "Oh I love you honey"
I got a great big wad of money.
So, with Venus on my midheaven, I made an appointment by phone to have a will drawn up and another appointment to close the refinancing loan on the house, spent the day completely by myself except for Ginger and was happy as a clam.
Why clams though? Who knows if they're happy? Is that why they use them?
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