Jupiter in the Night: A True Story
The car alarm blasted through the open balcony door, waking me from a sound sleep. It might have brought my brain upright even if the door had been shut, the honking was so loud and so close. I didn't resent it. I was more concerned it was my own car being broken into, or nudged, or whatever it is that sets alarms off at oh-dark-thirty.
How P. slept through it, I really have no idea.
It wasn't my car, though it was probably a vehicle just across the street. I didn't have the all clear, though, until I got out of bed and stepped onto the balcony. None of the proximity lights were on in the front yard, so I knew I was good, even if someone else wasn't. The alarm was silenced, and then I realized how nice it was outside. How not hot, compared to the bedroom. How quiet (well, now it was quiet). How peaceful. Then I remembered the meteor showers going on. I turned my face to the sky, and looked ...
FLASHBACK 35 YEARS (give or take). It was one of the few weekends I was spending with my father and his new family. Well, sort of new. They were my second-cousins before they were my step-sibs. This was the one weekend a month thing planned out by my mom and my father, and we (my brother and I) didn't have much say in the matter. Not that it was an entire hardship. We got along with our step-sibs just fine. There were other tensions, but for this weekend, we were all doing okay. It was the meteor showers that night, and everyone was excited.
We were in Chula Vista, a then-small city just south of San Diego proper and only 20 minutes from the Tijuana border. The area they lived in was east a bit, part of the canyons, farther away from SD's lights. After sleeping for a whole two hours, we kids woke back up and sneaked outside to watch the show.
Holy wish upon a star, Batman!
None of us had seen anything like it. Arcs of gold streaking across the sky ... one, then three, then eight, then dozens all at once. Fragments of light curving over our heads on their way to who knew where ... or burning up in our atmosphere. It was amazing.
Then my father came out in his robe and slippers, much as he still wears, and we all talked about the Perseid meteor shower and other astronomical events. I was taking astronomy that year in middle school, so I was all over it. This was da bomb. And my father, teacher-at-heart that he was (and still is), told me everything he knew with no sideways comments, no teasing couched as affection, no condescension. It was simply us sharing a very cool thing.
It was one of the best memories I had of my dad, and it was one of the ones that had somehow become buried out of sight.
FLASH FORWARD TO LAST NIGHT IN SEATTLE. Looking up at the sky, I immediately saw one brilliant arc of fire moving across the heavens. The light pollution in Seattle is so bright it was almost impossible to see much else, but I saw the one, and that was all it took to help me remember something amazing between my father and I. Just one falling star.
And then there was Jupiter hanging low like a jewel in the southeast. All I could think was, "How lucky am I to see this? How lucky that I was woken up so I could have this experience?"
Note To Self: Car alarms are not always bad. Life is rich. Eat it up.
How P. slept through it, I really have no idea.
It wasn't my car, though it was probably a vehicle just across the street. I didn't have the all clear, though, until I got out of bed and stepped onto the balcony. None of the proximity lights were on in the front yard, so I knew I was good, even if someone else wasn't. The alarm was silenced, and then I realized how nice it was outside. How not hot, compared to the bedroom. How quiet (well, now it was quiet). How peaceful. Then I remembered the meteor showers going on. I turned my face to the sky, and looked ...
FLASHBACK 35 YEARS (give or take). It was one of the few weekends I was spending with my father and his new family. Well, sort of new. They were my second-cousins before they were my step-sibs. This was the one weekend a month thing planned out by my mom and my father, and we (my brother and I) didn't have much say in the matter. Not that it was an entire hardship. We got along with our step-sibs just fine. There were other tensions, but for this weekend, we were all doing okay. It was the meteor showers that night, and everyone was excited.
We were in Chula Vista, a then-small city just south of San Diego proper and only 20 minutes from the Tijuana border. The area they lived in was east a bit, part of the canyons, farther away from SD's lights. After sleeping for a whole two hours, we kids woke back up and sneaked outside to watch the show.
Holy wish upon a star, Batman!
None of us had seen anything like it. Arcs of gold streaking across the sky ... one, then three, then eight, then dozens all at once. Fragments of light curving over our heads on their way to who knew where ... or burning up in our atmosphere. It was amazing.
Then my father came out in his robe and slippers, much as he still wears, and we all talked about the Perseid meteor shower and other astronomical events. I was taking astronomy that year in middle school, so I was all over it. This was da bomb. And my father, teacher-at-heart that he was (and still is), told me everything he knew with no sideways comments, no teasing couched as affection, no condescension. It was simply us sharing a very cool thing.
It was one of the best memories I had of my dad, and it was one of the ones that had somehow become buried out of sight.
FLASH FORWARD TO LAST NIGHT IN SEATTLE. Looking up at the sky, I immediately saw one brilliant arc of fire moving across the heavens. The light pollution in Seattle is so bright it was almost impossible to see much else, but I saw the one, and that was all it took to help me remember something amazing between my father and I. Just one falling star.
And then there was Jupiter hanging low like a jewel in the southeast. All I could think was, "How lucky am I to see this? How lucky that I was woken up so I could have this experience?"
Note To Self: Car alarms are not always bad. Life is rich. Eat it up.