The
hour is late. The neighborhood quiet. Before climbing into my bed to close the
day, I make a final trip to the recycling bin that my son has hauled to the
curb for next-morning’s pick-up. After tossing the day’s newspaper in the bin,
I stand on the sidewalk and look up. Up past the boughs of the massive live oak
that has commanded this spot of ground for many decades or perhaps a century, I
gaze at the points of light dotting the blackness. Stars. Stars scattered above
the housetops and trees from horizon to horizon. So many stars. Some appear in
clusters, some set apart. Some bright, some dim. Some only appear after a few
minutes of my eyes adjusting to the dark. But I know there are many, many more
out there. The light of a streetlamp and the glow from the nearby highway
obscure the multitude that congregate in the vast expanse over my head. But I
know the stars are up there.
 |
| Michael & Leilana talk about the stars in a scene from Reality Bites |
I’ve
always loved stars. I remember ordering a book about the sky from one of the
Scholastic Book Club flyers distributed monthly at my elementary school. In
college, I signed up for an Astronomy class to fill the science requirement for
my degree. My campus contained a small planetarium, and, even though my class
met during the day, I thought we would at least visit the facility; perhaps
even be given the chance to return at night to wonder at the celestial realm
above us. But, no. And the class instruction was also a disappointment –a plethora
of graphs, a myriad of charts. Our textbook was severely bereft of majestic
photographs. There’s a scene in the 1994 film Reality Bites in which Winona Ryder’s Leilana and Ben Stiller’s
Michael, on their first date and sitting in his convertible with the top down,
talk about their shared love of astronomy. Michael laments that his college astronomy
class was too much math and not enough just looking at the stars. Leilana
agreed, and my sentiment is the same. The classes are nothing like the
planetarium field trips of my childhood.
I
recall visiting the planetarium several times.
I loved leaning back in the cushioned, reclining chairs as the lights
slowly dimmed, peaceful music played, a soothing voice spoke, and the stars begin
to make their appearance in the sky – so, so many of them. A little, white
arrow slid around the heavens directing my eyes to the appropriate spots in the
majesty overhead. The voice spoke of the Milky Way while the arrow swept along
its length. Years later, on a beach in Bermuda, I saw for the first time the
true Milky Way. The soothing voice was replaced by the raucous cacophony of a
chorus of tree frogs serenading me while I sank my toes into the pink sand and
marveled at the milky trail spilled across the velvet black sky.
 |
| Stars Appearing over Bermuda |
 |
| Milky Way |
The
Milky Way did not disappoint unlike my experience with Halley’s Comet. “First
appearance since 1910! Only chance to see it in your lifetime!” the experts
squawked. So I made a pilgrimage with a boyfriend away from the bright lights
of Birmingham, Alabama. We parked his truck among a line of other pilgrims’
vehicles on the side of U.S. Highway 280 in Shelby County. He hauled his
telescope from the bed of the truck and set it up in the grass. I shivered in the February-cold and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark while he located the
comet with binoculars and then pointed his telescope at the object. “Okay, have
a look!” he called. Despite having been told what to expect, I couldn’t help be
disappointed. Just a tiny smudge marred the spot - not a brightly burning head
trailing a glowing streak through the sky like all the cartoon versions of
comets. Oh, well.
 |
| Halley's Comet in 1910 as seen from Earth |
 |
| Halley's Comet in 1986 as seen from Earth |
I’ve
experienced other astronomical disappointments throughout the years, usually
involving meteor showers. I’ve followed the instructions to the letter:
Go out at 2:12 a.m. Face west by
southwest. Fix your eyes on a spot at a 42 degree angle from the horizon. Then
follow a line from there into the constellation Hebredibes. Locate nebular
MJ-X4R which will, of course, be very
faint. Stare at that location until your eyes cross and tears of boredom roll
down your checks. Then, at 3:48 a.m., be prepared to be amazed as meteors
streak across the sky at a rate of as many as 1 every 12 minutes! Of course,
there may not be that many. And if the sky is cloudy, you might not see any.
And we can’t be sure there will be as many as the last time Earth encountered
this shower 97 years ago.
My, my,
such fun! But next time I think I’ll do something much more exciting - like
sleep.
There was one astronomical event
that turned out not to be a bust that I shared with my Mama. An annular solar
eclipse was going to happen with prime viewing right over Alabama. We read
about how to make a paper plate viewer to see the event. On the appointed day
and time we went into our backyard, carrying the paper plate thingy with us.
There, on a sheet of white paper held beneath a small hole we had made in the
center of the plate, we watched as the moon’s shadow began to bite away the
sun’s disk. We were chattering excitedly about what we were seeing when a voice
boomed from the other side of the fence, “DON’T LOOK AT IT!” Our dear neighbor
obviously cared enough to shout a warning so that we didn’t burn away our
retinas. Despite the fright which caused us to drop the paper plate thingy, we
rated our attempt at seeing the event a success.
 |
| Path of Eclipse |
I’ve watched lunar eclipses, too,
through the years. Seems there is always something going on with the moon. I’ve
seen Blood Moons, Harvest Moons, and Orange Moons caused by a haze of African
Saharan dust blown across the Atlantic. At least twice a year, the weatherman
tells me to go out and gaze upon the largest moon I’ll get to see for the next
100 years. I look up, and the man in the moon looks down on me and smiles.
 |
| Harvest Moon |
 |
| Blood Moon |
My 10-year-old daughter shares my
fascination with the night sky. For a present, she requested The Great Courses’ “Our Night Sky.” She
watched each of the 12 thirty minute lessons
intently. Then grasping the free planisphere that accompanied the DVD, she led
me outside into the wintry night. We turned the wheels to line up our position,
and then she excitedly pointed out the constellations over our heads. Her
favorite was Orion (“Oh-Ryan,” she says), because he was the easiest to spot,
even without the planisphere.
 |
| The Constellation Orion |
I
like finding Orion for that reason, too, and I can usually locate Venus, though
I can’t always swear I’m right. I think there are few things more embarrassing,
astronomically-speaking, than being certain that I’ve found a particular planet
or star and then realizing that it’s moving and what I’m really looking at is a
satellite or, worse yet, an airplane. Yes, airplanes and even satellites zoom
through the sky much faster than the movement of the planets and stars in the
night sky.
There
are all sorts of man-made stuff to see in the sky now. I’ve tracked the Space
Station as it passed over my house. The viewing was especially poignant because
the vessel contained an astronaut who is my neighbor in the metropolitan area
of Houston where I live just minutes from the Johnson Space Center. My little city of El Lago has been home to
many astronauts through the years; 47 at last count. (See our Astronaut Wall of Fame at http://www.ellago-tx.gov/misc/wof.htm) Neil Armstrong lived a few streets away from my street when he took that first step on the moon. Ed White, the
first American to walk in space and who died tragically in the Apollo 1 fire, was his next-door-neighbor, and the
elementary school my daughter attends bears his name. Buzz Aldrin, the second
person to walk on the moon, also lived in El Lago. Jim Lovell, commander of Apollo 13 and portrayed by Tom
Hanks in the movie, made El Lago his home for a time, as did Story Musgrave who
orbited Earth 278 times traveling over 7 million miles in 17 days, 15
hours, 53 minutes. The park around the corner from my house is named for Ray
McNair, an El Lago resident who died in the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion. All these men worked among the stars, dreamed
of the stars, and risked their lives to fly among them. They are most assuredly
stars themselves.
We
use the “star” designation for many things now, from “All-Star” athletes to
celebrity “Stars” who are often famous for nothing more than being famous for
15 minutes – less than a blink in time compared to the length of time the real
stars have been shining. Movies, books, music, TV shows and a myriad of other
things are rated with stars. Teachers place coveted gold stars on student’s
excellent school papers. Books, websites, magazine articles and seminars will
teach us all how to be star students and stars at work. Casey Kasem, a radio
star and voice of Shaggy in Scooby Doo,
admonished us at the end of every Top 40
Countdown to “keep [our] feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars.”
The stars he meant were goals, dreams, and hopes that give us a reason to get
out of bed each day and work, plan, strive, and plod through our days on this Earth. Meanwhile the stars are overhead, out-of-reach of our hands; most
out-of-reach of our eyes. “Keep reaching for the stars.” The things I reach for
are here on this earth - the intangibles and the tangibles: good health,
happiness, financial security, hugs from my children, a good book, a hot cup of
coffee, a bowl of bread pudding with whiskey sauce, and other cozy-warm things.
So
standing on the sidewalk by the recycling bin in the deep of a muggy, Texas
night, I pause and look up at the sky. I can’t identify even one of the summer
constellations, but there are so many stars. I’m here on this Earth for now.
And there are so many stars over my head. So many stars shining their light
for me to see in the dark. So many stars. And I just want to look at them.
May
your tea be sweet and your cotton high,
Leigh
Ann Thornton
No comments:
Post a Comment