I love your writing, Greg, and today's entry is extra special. It reminded me of a similar event which I experienced years ago:
Back in 2003, I was dating a psychiatrist who was physically small, but who had a penchant for all things big. One summer night, with great pride, he yanked a humungous, computerized telescope out of a closet beneath one of the stairwells in his rambling country home. He wanted to set the telescope up in his backyard, so that we could look at the stars up close. I helped him lug the telescope outside, heave it up onto a tripod, and untangle a long orange extension cord to plug into an outdoor socket. I was told that this was a state-of-the-art telescope, with all the latest bells and whistles that cutting-edge technology could provide in a telescope. After two hours of set-up, we were both sweaty and tired, when he turned the telescope on and it would not work. Undaunted, he dug up the instructions from somewhere in the stairwell closet, and tried to read them outside, with a flashlight.
That's when my eyes zoomed in on the oversized hammock that he'd set-up in the middle of his yard. Leaving him to his own devices, I ambled over to the hammock, plopped myself into it, and feasted on the wide expanse of shining stars overhead. Truly magnificent. Heaven's ceiling was twinkling with all the magic of a midsummer night's dream. Half an hour later, I had almost dozed off, when I was informed that the telescope was fully operational, and to come take a look at the stars up close. I yanked myself out of the hammock and made my way across the yard to peer into the supercharged lens...what I saw inside the lens was a smattering of three milky blobs. He muttered some ethereal explanation about the stars I was viewing...these three white blobs.
I don't know if he had any sense of disappointment in what the telescope had captured that night, but I sure did. I thanked him for the two-minute viewing that had taken two hours to produce, then I straightened myself out, and took in one last, magnificent look at the stars shining overhead. Creation had spilled and suspended all of its sparkles into the warm night sky...and all I'd had to do was look up.
I love all your posts , and this one was astonishing with the ignoble idiot penceās tweet laying bare the adolescent male fantasies of this administration. But one small correction: the winter solstice is a very encouraging time as it is actually the midpoint of winter, not the beginning. The days begin to lengthen immediately after the winter solstice. In the old calendars winter began at Samhain, our Halloween, at which time the days began to observably shorten.
OMG this reminds me of my astronomy class in college! I always enjoyed what little astronomy I knew and thought it would be great to take a class. Worst. Teacher. Ever. It was a beginning astronomy class, and he spoke over our heads like we were a bunch of fellow astronomers. After working all day, he lectured with slides for three hours in the dark. If anyone asked a question, he was so condescending, you never asked another. Now I just go outside and look at the stars. āŗļø
At least 50 years ago, I got my first glimpse at the universe through a telescope. It was on a Boy Scout camping trip where there was also a small observatory, and what must have been a pretty low-powered telescope. They had it pointed at Saturn, which showed up as a white circle with a white ring around it, appearing to go on the north-south axis. I was pretty thrilled/disappointed, but it started my interest in astronomy. These days, like the lady with the hammock story here, I only long for a place I could view the stars in all their glory, but I currently live too close to Chicago for that, but sometime, I need to make a drive west until it's ACTUALLY dark at night and take in the view.
I love your writing, Greg, and today's entry is extra special. It reminded me of a similar event which I experienced years ago:
Back in 2003, I was dating a psychiatrist who was physically small, but who had a penchant for all things big. One summer night, with great pride, he yanked a humungous, computerized telescope out of a closet beneath one of the stairwells in his rambling country home. He wanted to set the telescope up in his backyard, so that we could look at the stars up close. I helped him lug the telescope outside, heave it up onto a tripod, and untangle a long orange extension cord to plug into an outdoor socket. I was told that this was a state-of-the-art telescope, with all the latest bells and whistles that cutting-edge technology could provide in a telescope. After two hours of set-up, we were both sweaty and tired, when he turned the telescope on and it would not work. Undaunted, he dug up the instructions from somewhere in the stairwell closet, and tried to read them outside, with a flashlight.
That's when my eyes zoomed in on the oversized hammock that he'd set-up in the middle of his yard. Leaving him to his own devices, I ambled over to the hammock, plopped myself into it, and feasted on the wide expanse of shining stars overhead. Truly magnificent. Heaven's ceiling was twinkling with all the magic of a midsummer night's dream. Half an hour later, I had almost dozed off, when I was informed that the telescope was fully operational, and to come take a look at the stars up close. I yanked myself out of the hammock and made my way across the yard to peer into the supercharged lens...what I saw inside the lens was a smattering of three milky blobs. He muttered some ethereal explanation about the stars I was viewing...these three white blobs.
I don't know if he had any sense of disappointment in what the telescope had captured that night, but I sure did. I thanked him for the two-minute viewing that had taken two hours to produce, then I straightened myself out, and took in one last, magnificent look at the stars shining overhead. Creation had spilled and suspended all of its sparkles into the warm night sky...and all I'd had to do was look up.
And things are looking up indeed, Greg! 31 days.
Nice.
I love all your posts , and this one was astonishing with the ignoble idiot penceās tweet laying bare the adolescent male fantasies of this administration. But one small correction: the winter solstice is a very encouraging time as it is actually the midpoint of winter, not the beginning. The days begin to lengthen immediately after the winter solstice. In the old calendars winter began at Samhain, our Halloween, at which time the days began to observably shorten.
Nice and much needed (by me) reminder. Picture is beautiful.
OMG this reminds me of my astronomy class in college! I always enjoyed what little astronomy I knew and thought it would be great to take a class. Worst. Teacher. Ever. It was a beginning astronomy class, and he spoke over our heads like we were a bunch of fellow astronomers. After working all day, he lectured with slides for three hours in the dark. If anyone asked a question, he was so condescending, you never asked another. Now I just go outside and look at the stars. āŗļø
At least 50 years ago, I got my first glimpse at the universe through a telescope. It was on a Boy Scout camping trip where there was also a small observatory, and what must have been a pretty low-powered telescope. They had it pointed at Saturn, which showed up as a white circle with a white ring around it, appearing to go on the north-south axis. I was pretty thrilled/disappointed, but it started my interest in astronomy. These days, like the lady with the hammock story here, I only long for a place I could view the stars in all their glory, but I currently live too close to Chicago for that, but sometime, I need to make a drive west until it's ACTUALLY dark at night and take in the view.