I love this Peanuts comic strip panel from several decades ago – the culmination of a week-long story arc devoted to Linus excitedly preparing to watch a total eclipse of the sun. For a whole week, readers of Peanuts were treated to the story of Linus’s excited preparations to view this dramatic event- only to have his hopes dashed by Mother Nature (as you can see.)
Kathy and I know (sort of) what Linus felt like as he stood in the rain and looked forlornly into the sky while clutching his drenched viewing cards. Our disappointment involved a meteor shower rather than a solar eclipse- and there was no downpour involved- but otherwise we could identify with Linus’s despair and dejection. Well, despair is a bit of an overstatement- as is dejection. It’s more accurate to say that we were bummed.
Of course I’m talking about the Perseid Meteor Shower- an exceptionally splendid spectacle this particular time around because there was only a tiny sliver of moon visible – meaning that there would be no moonlight to ruin the view. Wednesday night about midnight, Kathy and I walked out into our backyard (having nixed our original plan to drive out into the countryside) expecting to see something- only to realize to our dismay that the nearby streetlights made it all but impossible to make out much of anything in the sky. (The next day I read that it takes a good 20 minutes for one’s eyes to adjust in order to see the night sky with complete clarity- but after a long day of working to help clear out her dad’s condo, we were just too tired to be that patient.) So we slunk off to bed, determined that the next night we would do it right and find some lovely remote spot in the countryside where we could see the Perseid in all its glory.
Last night, weary from yet another long day at her dad’s condo, we decided we would go to bed and get up early- having read that the meteors would be at their most spectacular in the 90 minutes before dawn. At 3:30 a.m. my alarm’s obnoxious little xylophone song rang out, at which point I leaned into Kathy and said that I didn’t think I could possibly peel myself out of bed, let alone get dressed and drive out in the country just to watch some stupid meteors. (Or words to that effect.) But Kathy (who was already awake) said this was something we just had to do, and she was right. So we slapped on some clothes, walked downstairs, and greeted some very confused golden retrievers who aren’t used to being interrupted in the middle of the night. Then we climbed into the car and drove ourselves out into the countryside, incredibly excited at what we were about to see.
However, we weren’t more than a block away from our house before I realized that the sky looked cloudy- although in the dead of night it can be tricky to know. We decided to keep driving and not stop until we had found ourselves a remote location with as little light as possible – to give ourselves the best possible chance to see something. Twelve minutes later, we were parked on the side of a very quiet country road with not a light in sight. (I wish I could also say that it was incredibly quiet except for the exquisite sounds of insects in the corn fields- but in fact we could also here the sounds of traffic from Interstate 94. Oh well.) We stepped out of the car, looked up into the sky, and slowly realized that the sky – apart from one small little patch towards the west – was completely overcast. We weren’t going to see a thing. It was such a bummer. And what made it especially frustrating was that we knew that those meteors were still up there in the sky; it’s just that we couldn’t see them.
So near and yet so far.
And yet- for as maddening as it was to look up in the sky and see nothing but clouds, it was really neat to be out there together, having stepped out of the routine of our lives for a few minutes in the hopes of seeing something truly extraordinary. Those are the kind of moments you don’t ever forget. I vividly remember to a night back in 1973 when my mom and dad rousted my siblings and me out of bed in order to see Comet Kohoutek. 42 years after the fact, I still remember that beautiful sight! (Even though the comet did not quite live up to expectations for how spectacular it would be, it was still bright and clear enough to look like an actual comet, tail and all). What makes me smile now even more than the memory of the comet itself is the thought of my mom and dad being anxious enough for us to see that amazing sight that they would wake us all up from a sound sleep. Kathy did the same thing last night- nudging her tired husband out of bed for the very same reason. And even if Mother Nature refused to cooperate, I’m really grateful that we gave it such a good try. That’s part of what life is all about- seeking out those remarkable moments …. and enjoying the attempt, even if overcast skies end up getting in the way.