Thursday, March 15, 2012

After watching Hugo last night we were a bit giddy, I suppose. The movie is visually rich and that's enough for us. I don't know if its because I get dumber as I age, or more tired, or more distracted, but movies don't hold my attention the way they used to. I drift in and out, rarely following one story through. Anyhow, Hugo ended and left us bubbling on a clear warm dark night, in the new moon.

We tumbled out the front door, we spilled out, were like monkeys--chattering and limby, unleashed. I was leading with Dear Boy on my heels and a flashlight in my hand. I'd noticed a web under my car seat earlier in the day and wanted my husband to look at it. It looked widowy to me and I didn't trust either of us to remember to check it in the morning. He protested the idea of checking a web at night with a flashlight yet was first to the car, taking the light from me, our widow authority. It was a wolfie, its gone now either way.

There we were in our suburban driveway surrounded by pine trees and quiet houses. I was outside all of 90 seconds before I said, "The stars are unusual tonight, look at those two, Wow, the stars are unusually bright." And that, even with all the light interference from neighboring porches.  Two stars skimming the tops of the pines caught my attention and I was certain I'd never seen them before. But the thing is, the sky overwhelms me at night. I don't study star patterns. I'm awed at the thought of star navigation.

My husband stood up and said, "Oh yeah, those two are not stars. They are planets--Venus and Saturn (maybe it was Jupiter), I think. Bruce told me today, they are closest together and to the earth right now as they ever get." We stood in silence staring a moment. Bruce is his carpooling partner. My husband keeps a set of magnetic space monkeys in his office. Bruce likes to move them around each day.

I love my family.

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