It's not like I'm a budding astronomer. My knowledge of constellations is limited to an episode of The Brady Bunch when Jan lost some necklace looking for the "little bear" which is why I was shocked and surprised to discover, years later, that the Little Dipper isn't shaped like a bear at all but rather, an actual water dipper like those used in pioneer times.
I am also directionally-challenged, still wanting to believe that the cardinal directions are based on which way I am currently facing. If I'm facing my house, "west" would be right. Were I to face away from my house, then "west" would be to my left. Hence, my admiration for our early explorers. My goodness, every time that darn boat shifted, "west" would go out of whack! How they managed to find ANYTHING is nothing short of a miracle.
Even with numerous false alarms, we continue to search the skies for the greenish hue of the northern lights..."I think I see it," I once whisper-shouted, grabbing Brad's arm and pointing. "I think that's methane rising from the manure lagoon," Brad said, correcting me. Another time, I had us set up with sleeping bags, lawn chairs, and snacks to await the arrival of the moon eclipsing something...we waited...and waited...and waited. "It's late," I reported, frowning. "Are you sure you had the time right?" asked Brad, who knew without a doubt that I didn't have the time right. HA! Proved him wrong. My time was right. My hemisphere was wrong.
So when I announced the schedule of dates whereupon we could catch a glimpse of the International Space Station as it hurtled by, Brad was somewhat dubious. "It's a three-minute window over the course of several days," I informed him. "How do you know where to look?" he asked cautiously. I answered, quickly and confidently. "Tonight, we can see it at 9:38 at 11 degrees north until it disappears at 9:41 at 18 degrees northwest." Despite having to get up for work the next morning at 4:30, Brad agreed to look with me. Thank goodness. I had NO idea which way was northwest, let alone adding in those ridiculous degrees. "Set your alarm," he said, before settling in on the couch for a quick cat-nap. My phone rang a little after 8 and, not wanting to bother Brad, I wandered outside to chat with my friend Amy from Long Island. She was excited at my opportunity to view the orbiting space station. I explained my directional difficulties so she tried to help. "Which way does the sun rise for you?" she asked. Jeesh. This was embarrassing. I turned toward the windmills because I think I took a picture of a pretty sunrise of them once. Or was that a sunset? I chanted the cardinal directions mnemonic to find north. "Never eat soggy worms." Oh drat it! I just remembered that I took a sunrise picture of my neighbor's barn recently. I spun around and was surprised to see Brad, silhouetted in the darkness, down the road. "I gotta go," I told Amy. She yelled good-bye as I raced to join him.
"What are you looking at?" I asked him. "Are you kidding?" he said. He pointed "north" for me. I would have never guessed that in a million years. "So what's 11 degrees?" He sighed, bending his elbow into the classic right angle. "You know this is 90 degrees, right?" I breathed deeply, preparing for an EPIC fight in the middle of our seasonal dirt road. Instead, I nodded. Yes. He bent his arm half-way. I itched to raise a certain finger half-way. "Forty-five degrees," he said. "Thank you for this constructive lesson on angles," I told him, "but it's not like I can use my frickin' protractor up in the sky." He cursed under his breath. "No...you're an astrolabe," I retorted.
"There it is," he said suddenly, "Over those trees." So helpful. We live in the COUNTRY. Now I was desperate. Half of 45 is...? Doggone it! I was going to miss the International Space Station because I can't do math under pressure. Let's see...half of 48 is 24. Subtract 10 is 14. Take away 4 is 11. Which way is northwest? Oh! It disappears at 18 degrees! Add seven. Never eat shredded wheat. I'm facing away from the house so west is to my left. But Brad is looking right.
"Between the silo and the barn," he snapped. Oh! There it is! There it is! Like a low-flying, sorta-slow, shooting star. "More like a planet because the light stays steady," Brad corrected. "Planets don't move," I snapped. "Do you hear yourself when you talk?" Brad asked as we turned to walk back into the house. The alarm on my phone went off. "What time is it?" Brad asked, dreading his 4:30 am wake-up. "9:45," I said, "That's funny, the space station was early." Brad went to bed without a word...obviously stunned by the celestial show we had shared together. Just magical.
So yeah...our love may or may not have been written in the stars but, oh my goodness, I love that man to the moon and back.
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