I don't believe in Astrology. Not the kind that says, because I was born on a particular day in a particular place I should expect the unexpected, be cautious in business after 12:00, look for true love at 5:00. It seems odd that Astrology has nothing to say about taking vitamins, eating lots of vegetables or getting enough fresh air and sleep. As if the stars are oblivious to such things. There was, however, that lady in pink capri pants at the market a few nights ago — probably an unrelated story. Still, it might be nice to know where and when such things were about to happen so you never missed anything. The sort of Astrology I do believe in controls, at least influences, the great cycles, the ones humans have difficulty grasping. Our lives are so terribly brief. A great deal of our culture is based unknowingly on Astrology.

My son Christopher found and saved my Birth Certificate from a pile of things set to be thrown away. Unless things relate directly to my father, they are of no interest to him. He has often done things for others, but with a secret withheld. The secret, of course, is how they benefit him, or how much in the long run they will end up costing you. You might object that I am related to my father, before wondering if you overstepped the mark. I look enough like my father to make that question moot. I am my father's son in every way that is not moral or ethical. Hard to imagine how I became my mother's son. Imagining her submitting to conjugal relations stretches credulity. Still, there must have been a time.

Anyway, there in that pile of things was a piece of paper my son found very important — his father's Birth Certificate. He is now its guardian. I know now, because of an accident that seemed predestined, that I was born at 1:09 in the afternoon, June 26, 1945 — a fact that had long eluded me. With the help of Google, I found my coordinates, and with that I became a full-fledged chartable subject.

I share a birthday with the United Nations, as I discovered some time ago. It was signed into existence in San Francisco the day I was born. Long Beach is only 500 miles south of San Francisco. So, in theory, other than age, of course, we have things in common. We both turned out to be somewhat ineffectual. Wars rage and the United Nations chitchats about the weather. The same wars rage and I write posts about Astrology. Other than that, and our taste in Architecture, I can't think of anything we have in common.

For the record:  June 26, 1945   1:09 PM   33° 48' 15" N   118° 9' 29" W

It seems terribly insufficient for summing up an entire life — genes have the decency to be unnervingly complicated. Date, time and place. Less data than a single line. However — it amounts to grasping at straws — my hope is that the date and time of the signing into existence of the United Nations was based on some unfathomable, yet valid system of Astrological analysis. Such that, somewhere in the great scheme of things, it turns out finaly that each of us was a magnificent idea whose time had not yet come.