Suzanne White - The New Astrology

THE NEW ASTROLOGY FOR THE21 ST CENTURY

By Suzanne White

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Published by:
Suzanne White
1986-2019 by Suzanne White

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Other Books by this Author:

Chinese Astrology Plain and Simple
The New Chinese Astrology
The Astrology of Love

The New Astrology is really good, clean,informative fun, and Whites adept prose is lucid, candid andcrackling with humor. --Times, El Paso, Texas

...Ms. White [has] put together two ancientbeliefs to further explain heavenly forces on earthly events.--The Buffalo News

..Its written with a light, humorous touchthat should attract the browser as well as the seriousdevotee.--Booklist, Chicago, Illinois

You will be surprised how often this newcombination system hits the nail on the head and furnishes a muchmore accurate description of the personality you areinvestigating. --SCC Booknews Review

This book is dedicated to my mother, Elva LouiseMcMullen Hoskins, who is gone from this world, but who would havebeen happy to share this page with my courageous kids, April DaisyWhite and Autumn Lee White; my brothers, George, Peter and JohnHoskins; my niece Pamela Potenza; and my loyal friends KittyWeissberger, Val Paul Pierotti, Stan Albro, Nathaniel Webster, JeanValre Pignal, Roselyne Pignal, Michael Armani, Joseph Stoddart,Couquite Hoffenberg, Jean Louis Besson, Mary Lee Castellani, PaulaAlba, Marguerite and Paulette Ratier, Ted and Joan Zimmermann,Scott Weiss, Miekle Blossom, Ina Dellera, Gloria Jones, MarinaVann, Richard and Shiela Lukins, Tony Lees-Johnson, Jane Russell,Jerry and Barbara Littlefield, Michele and Mark Princi, MollyFriedrich, Consuelo and Dick Baehr, Linda Grey, Clarissa and EdWatson, Francine and John Pascal, Johnny Romero, Lawrence Grant,Irma Kurtz, Gene Dye, Phyllis and Dan Elstein, Richard Klein, IrmaPride Home, Sally Helgesen, Sylvie de la Rochefoucauld, AnnKennerly, David Barclay, John Laupheimer, Yvon Lebihan, BernardAubin, Dd Laqua, Wolfgang Paul, Maria Jos Desa, JulietteBoisriveaud, Anne Lavaur, and all the others who so dauntlesslystuck by me when I was at my baldest and most afraid.

Thanks, of course, to my loving doctors: JamesGaston, Richard Cooper, Yves Decroix, Jean-Claude Durand, MichelSoussaline and to all those daring women in the white crepe-soledshoes who change tangled sheets and murmur comfort in the dead ofnight.

2019 - Updated thanks to Dorothy Bray of MillValley, California without whose loving friendship, hospitality andsupport, I would have long since been obliged to stop writingbooks.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Catch Suzanne in Three Places Online

https://www.facebook.com/SuzanneWhiteastro

https://www.suzannewhite.com

https://www.thenewastrology.com

Introduction

Some years ago I ran away from Paris, France, tolive in the glistening outer reaches of mythical Long island, NewYork, U.SA. I was 38. Perhaps I thought Id languished in Parislong enoughtoo long, in fact. My daughters spoke accented English.I missed milkshakes and back porches. The Hamptons, they told me,was the in place for writers to hang out. Now, after muchdiligence and uncanny good luck, Id written a couple of successfulbooks. Noblesse oblige, I moved directly to the Hamptons, where thereal writers lived. I sincerely believed I had arrived. Mydaughters were cheerful and balanced. Their French accentsdisappeared overnight. The streets flowed with milkshakes. I hadnot yet really written a bestseller, but that could wait. I hadjust fallen plumb in love with a gorgeous tennis pro!

It was June. The endless Long Island beacheswith their stilted dune houses and generous expanses of white sandwere already beckoning, promising a summer thick with golden bodiesand chic folks from the city. My new house, a picturesque replicaof a 17th-century pioneers salt box, amalgamated all my dreamsinto one cozy cottage: two fireplaces, a brand new kitchen, anoffice for Mom (me), and a sweet bedroom under the eaves for eachof the prettiest new girls in town, Daisy and Autumn White.Naturally there was a back porch.

I really believed I had, after all the difficultyears on my own trying to become a published writer, made it. Mylife was so complete that I had hardly noticed how skinny I hadbecome. Over the past couple of months Id been jogging regularlyand moving a lot of furniture and hanging pictures and curtains. Iguess I figured it was normal to have lost some weight. You cannever be too thin or too rich, I would quip to my strapping newboyfriend, so sure of myself, so cockyuntil the day I satsplashing in my lovely new beige bathtub, examined my favoriteright breast, and found a lump the size of my thumbnail sittingright up there next to the axillary nodes. From that day forward,the beautiful June sunshine wept onto my perfectly grainedauthentic broad oak parquet floor. The jig was decidedly up.

Obviously it was serious. This time, I could notjust flail about looking for solutions in the eyes of some wise oldsage who might tell me I ought to consider a career change. Youdont go to an astrologer for a breast lump. So I went to ahospital and had my breast removed. Then, I lay slowly dying underthe debilitating spell of twelve months of chemotherapy treatments.I lost my lovely house and my tennis pro. And, being too sick totake care of them, I even lost my kids for a few months. They weresent far away to boarding school.

By the end of that siege on body and soul, myobjectivity meter not only registered below zero, it read tilt.Everywhere I looked were side effects of the poisonous drugs.Crippling arthritis had invaded my every joint. All my beautiful,thick dark hair had departed my scalp. Unable to retain anythingbut starches and sugars for over a year, I had gained fifty pounds.My teeth were all loose. I knew what it felt like to be old.

Nevertheless, as soon as both arms were free ofintravenous devices, I grabbed a pretty little girl under each ofthem, borrowed air fare, and flew us all back to Paris whence I hademerged so naively enthusiastic but four years earlier. On the wayin from the airport I leapt from the cab and kissed the lion atDenfert-Rochereau. The kids munched soulfully on pains auchocolat.

What does this have to do with The NewAstrology? Well, when you are ill, you tend to lie around a lotthinking about what it must be like to be dead. Sooner or later younotice you have what is known as time on your hands. If I onlyhad a few months left, I didnt see why I should waste them mooningover worms and urns or sizes of headstones.

But fret I did, nevertheless. I was scared andworried and not ever certain that Id be around long enough to seemy kids grow up. Id lost my punch, my strength had ebbed, mydreams had been dashed on the ragged rocks of truth. The doctorsassured me that with a little luck and plenty of patience I wouldbe perfectly all right from then on. Id done what 1 could to stemthe dangerous illness. I was mending nicely.