Marcia Sherrill
Marcia dials up the world’s leading design astrologer for a virtual house call
Marcia Sherrill
Steve Pomberg

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You can only imagine my excitement when I first phoned London’s most celebrated astrologer, Paul Wade, who is also regarded as the world’s leading design psychic to boot! Me, who has seen every John Edwards show and read every book by James Von Prague (wherever did he get that name?), tethered by modern telecommunications to none other than the wondrous Paul Wade.

Could Wade actually see the Bosnian minefield that is my bedroom? Could he discern the chaos theory at work in my cabinets and drawers? Would he, with his psychic powers of discernment, notice the tattered window treatments in the living room; the giant Houles crimson tiebacks used by my French bulldog, Peach Blossom, as chew toys?

After an initial consult—where I was forced to get my mother, Jojo, to rescue my birth certificate from the archaeological dig that is her storage room, for my birth hour—I was all set for some darn good news. And the Astrology Wizard did not disappoint.

During our first few minutes on the phone, he zeroed in on the exact month of my (his words) “harrowing financial decline. It could not possibly get worse.” Yes, he nailed it—the very month my divorce began, stripping me of all financial security. In the hour-long reading, with much consideration of my birth charts and the planets, Wade assured me that there was good news. I would, in fact, be leaving my tiny New York pied-à-terre (a gussied-up way of saying cramped studio) and moving into a sprawling “French Country-ish” home, replete with exotic sculptures and paintings (I have a collection of Haitian sculpture and Jamaican art). This psychic was on fire!
That is, until he drew out his atlas and suggested I consult a map. What? I was happy in Manhattan. Where was I going? How would Anabelle cope? At 12 years old her parting words to me as she begrudgingly left for camp in Maine in June were, “I will leave Manhattan over my cold dead body.” Words that chilled.

 As I dragged out a plastic globe, Wade and I set about fixing my ideal home along a line that ran from Cuba through Negril up to West Virginia and Pennsylvania, Atlanta thankfully making the cut. But Manhattan? That was out. Said Wade, “You are not living in the comfortable, grand way that a Leo should. You can’t swing your keyboard in your apartment!” Had he seen me hurling my Dell across the room when it caught a Trojan virus?

I implored him to reconsider, but he insisted. “Yes, you are moving to a rambling home with thousands of books [at last count I had 4,000] with a roaring fire with four chairs pulled up around it. Big is good for you,” he said. “Huge is better.”

He did focus extensively on “relationships,” catching me off guard me with this stunner: “I will not be surprised if you marry again, maybe [God help me] to an older man, perhaps much older who is handy with his hands…you know, someone who could fix a car.” Yikes!

How to break all this news to Anabelle, just back from camp? Needless to say, she was none too keen on the move and then—eureka!—I knew that what Paul said was true. Cuba was certainly not the perfect home for Miss Anabelle Kleinberg; but then I started hearing my late father’s voice—him singing and strumming the guitar: “Country roads, take me home/to the place, I be-long/West Virginia, mountain momma/take me home, country roads.” But Appalachia? I—the original mountain momma—am currently searching for real estate in the hills and hollars, and Anabelle is toying with the idea of making new friends at the one-room schoolhouse. Heck, they might end up being long-lost relatives—I just hope she doesn’t end up marrying a distant cousin. She had said she liked blonds; she just didn’t mention anything about teeth.

Editor’s note: As of press deadline, Marcia was still happily ensconced in her current abode, although she has become addicted to astrologer Paul Wade. For more information, visit or check out his book, Home Astrology: Creating the Perfect Home for Your Star Sign (Hamlyn).