This week marks the peak of our holiday season, and I want to take a moment to express my heartfelt gratitude to all my readers and amazing supporters. Over the many years of my practice, you have stood by me—whether I was up, down, or somewhere in between. Thank you, thank you, and thank you. Your unwavering support means everything to me.
I started my practice back in 1977 after leaving a job in Advertising Retail Sales for the Lesher company. At that time, there was little hope for promotions for managers. It was the seventies, and things have certainly changed since then. During those years, I returned to school to earn my M.B.A., thinking management would be the path forward. Little did I know that the lack of opportunities for women would steer me toward becoming someone quite different than most – a full-time astrologer. The journey hasn’t always been easy, but every step has been remarkable. I owe so much to all of you—former clients, students, mentors, teachers, family members, and countless others who have guided me. Each of you has been a signpost along my road of change.
Reflecting on my journey brings to mind a special memory from my childhood that I’d like to share with you this Christmas. It’s a little story from when I was about four or five, living with my parents and brother in a walk-up apartment on the South Side of Chicago. We didn’t have much back then, but this funny story resurfaced recently, and I thought it would be the perfect Christmas gift to you—my readers. It is about hunting – so forgive me – but the intent of the story is really not about hunting but the intent to provide food for his family.
The story is about my dad trying to provide for his family when things weren’t so good for us and it is a story that always brings a smile to my face. So, I am sharing it with you. Despite our many battles, he was always trying to take care of us. This is one of those times.
Story: He had gone hunting in the early morning not because he liked hunting but because he figured if he caught something, we’d have a nice dinner. He knew Mom was a great cook and even in our little yellow walled apartment with a kitchen the size of a large closet, something on that stove always smelled good. How does anyone take a simple thing like spaghetti with a little burned butter, a good pungent olive oil, some fresh seasoning from last summer’s garden and produce a meal for a king or queen?
The magic ingredient was adding the smelly, but delicious Mizithra cheese to the spaghetti at the right time. But tonight, or tomorrow night, we’d have something delicious but where was Dad? It was getting dark because it was now October and though he and his friend, weren’t really hunters, it was the ‘thing’ guys did. Even a five-foot-tall man weighing only about 135 pounds (Dad) could do this for his family and anyway, this was what you did in October in the Midwest – you’d go pheasant or duck hunting. It was a beautiful time of year, too, because the leaves, by this time had burnished into yellow, golds and reds and the air was so crisp and dry that if you touched someone, you’d feel an electric spark and there were many ducks and pheasants ready to be the centerpiece of someone’s dinner.
At around 7 o clock at night just as the Sun was finishing its daily run across a gray sky and as the light bulb lights in the tiny kitchen were turned on, making those yellow walls even more yellow, the door opened with a much heavier sound than usual. Into the kitchen, fully padded, and wet, hunting fatigues in colors of ochre and olive, my dad dragged in a huge bundle of the day’s hunt.
When he opened it, he proudly revealed not one or two but many black and charcoal feathered ducks with their still tiny shiny metal-looking bills and… they had a slight smell. Apparently, he hadn’t bothered to acknowledge the smell because he was so proud that he had such a big haul and told my mother to prepare the ducks for tomorrow night’s feast. And my mother, who was from Brooklyn, who’d never defeathered a duck in her life, dutifully began the next 24-hour chore so we’d have our feast the following night.
But there was one hitch, after the defeathering and the cleaning, while Dad was at work the next day, she did everything she always did with her special seasonings and special cook’s touch, but something still didn’t smell right as the ducks continued to cook in their pot. The more they cooked, the more they smelled. We kids went outside until our neighbor upstairs, himself an experienced hunter, came down to report the odd smell coming through the thin plywood and vinyl floorboards in their apartment.
Mom told him she had done everything right – the right ingredients and procedure all according to her recipe. Instead, our upstairs neighbor, who always was kind to us, lovingly told my extremely sensitive and embarrassed mother these were not hunting ducks to be eaten, but instead mud ducks that are scavenger ducks and that was the smell. Dad would be surprised when he came home. It was back to spaghetti and a few more nights, but not for long….
Wishing you and your loved ones a wonderful holiday season! No matter how things are right now, focusing on the good things we do have can really help put things into perspective. I’m especially thankful for the support and kindness you’ve shown me throughout the years, it truly means the world to me. I will be taking a couple of weeks off for the holidays as I prepare to return to Florida in mid-January after the Eclipse workshop I am presenting for Astrology Hub on January 10 at the San Ramon Marriott in San Ramon, California.
With sincere gratitude, Georgia Stathis
