Oh, oh. I think this may be an unusual day.
This morning, I flipped the page of my digital edition of the Toronto Star, and read the following sentence, set in bold type on a completely blank background. "We are sorry. This page is not available from the publisher."
Normally, this highly irregular occurrence wouldn't cause most readers to be concerned, but for me it meant something much more unsettling.
It meant I couldn't read my horoscope.
You see, I've been following my fate in the stars for more than 50 years, and even though the skeptic in me knows that horoscopes are just a bunch of hooey, my romantic side never likes to discount the idea that maybe, just maybe, we should pay attention to that which cannot be explained. It's kind of like a faith -- perhaps no tangible proof, but a feeling that hedging one's bets couldn't hurt.
My mom introduced me to "the scopies", as she liked to call them. She was a firm believer. She bought those little horoscope books they used to sell at the checkout in the grocery store and swore that Tauruses shouldn't be married to Scorpios.
I'm a Leo. My husband is a Leo. Leos are supposed to be headstrong and proud, fierce in their convictions, energetic, loving, magnetic "people people". Somewhere I read an article about liaisons between certain signs that said two Leos weren't a perfect fit but it could work. It did.
I remember one astrologer who used to assign a "star count" (pun intended, I'm sure) to your day, much like a movie review. You could be facing a full-on, super successful, five star day. On the other hand, you didn't much like to read your day would unfold to a measly one star rating.
Yesterday my horoscope said the moon is moving into my sign. Exactly what that means I don't really know, but maybe something's going to happen. Cue the mystery!
The best part of the daily horoscopes, though, is the day's prediction. I love it when I find out that Leo will solve a long-standing problem, or gain a clearer understanding of an issue. At the end of the day I find myself reflecting on whether or not certain predictions had actually come true.
Just how much does our birthdate affect our destinies? Is it science or superstition, fact or fiction? Do I really believe? Nah. Well ... maybe.
The answer to that question could be in the stars.