Monday 13 February 2023

Stargazing



1957

Looking up, I saw five bright stars, and traced them between the Wright’s (No 20) chimney pot, the lamp post I was standing under, our chimney pot, the next lamp post down Capel Rd.  and the Salisbury’s (No 16) Chimney pot. It was my first foray into astronomy. Decades later I knew my stars to be the constellation Cassiopeia, which, it being a clear night I can now peer at through my bedroom window, tracing its signature W across my back garden. 

I can’t recall how old I was then, but I do remember singing Perry Combo’s hit, “Catch A Falling Star And Put It In Your Pocket” as I gazed upwards. This classic was number one in the Hit Parade in 1957,  so, that makes me seven. 


2001

“Day Three: Meet The Camels.”


The Bedouin made camp for us, so after a long day trekking across the Sinai, I’d change into flowing skirt, and bolero top, tie a coin belt across my hips and join Hazel Kayes Arabian dance troup for a shimmy round the camp fire before bedding down. 

The desert nights were as cold as the days were hot, but the stars! No light pollution. Amazing. 

One night, Colena and I dragged our weapons-grade sleeping bags outside and sheltering in a circle of rocks within earshot of safety, we lay down and looked up. 

I’m taken back there by Eagles. “Peaceful Easy Feeling.” You’ll spot the line. 



2002

Third Beach Port St John’s RSA

There were fifteen of us, men and women, designated “Global Teachers” by the Millenium Commission. We were working in village schools in the Eastern Cape, and this weekend was R&R. 

I forget the name of the resort, and the names of all my travelling companions, for which I am ashamed, but I remember the evening we arrived. Tired after a day’s teaching, we fell out the bus and headed straight for the ocean which rolled in, and out, feet from our lodges.

Lying on our backs looking up (again) a townie asked what the long bright smudge across the sky was. “The western arm of our galaxy, bro, “came a reply out of the dark.” It’s the Milky Way!” Indeed it was: 




This sky belongs to the Xhosa:



2006

Port St John’s 

Jen brought her star guide and assured us if we rose early in the morning we would see Orion just above the horizon, but to our eyes, “upside down” as we’re in the Southern Hemisphere … She was right! 




2018

Ray and I spent a few days on vacation in the Olympic National Park in Washington State. A handout at the Ranger Station advertised a stargazing event, with telescope, on Hurricane Ridge. For reasons that astronomers know, but which I assume is because they’re closer (!) mountain tops are the places to be with telescopes. 

This monster was focussed on Saturn, and there it was, about as big as a marble but with its rings clearly visible. It was the height of summer, and some of the “stars” were falling out of the sky with tails of gold. Magical. 



2023 

I am full of gratitude for the amazing opportunities I have had during these seventy-two years, to look
at the infinite grandeur of the vault of heaven. I marvel that the constituents of my physical body were forged in the hearts of stars. I believe my ultimate destiny is beyond them. 

I have thought long about what music will be played at my funeral, and am determined to send everyone home with this ringing in their ears! 



PS: Don’t panic, I’ve no plans to shuffle off yet. 

Thursday 2 February 2023

Nothing Left To Say

I bumped into a former neighbour yesterday. She asked me, rather surprisingly I thought, if I was still writing a blog. “No,” I answered, “I’ve nothing left to say!” “Ridiculous!” She retorted. 

So here I am, metaphorically chewing the end of a pencil, deep in thought, conjuring up something to say. 

Alfie is musing on life and toothbrushes. There are two of them, and they are identical, you see , and there must be an explanation. “They’ve cloned,.” asserts the four year-old with conviction. “It means they’ve doubled, “ he explains, carefully, assuming I don’t know. 

Sunday was Jacob’s fourth birthday. He’s the youngest of my grandchildren, and he too, takes my education very seriously. 

The entire family are gathered along with an apparently infinite number of  very young children, making an awful lot of noise in a soft play area. It’s raucous and joyous. To be present in the midst of such exuberance is an awesome experience. I savoured it. 

Tuesday, I showed Sam, aged eight, how to use SkyView to identify the planets visible at sunset. I recalled his sister Rosie now fifteen, then aged five, looked at me with something like pity when I pointed out to her a, “three-quarters” moon. “It’s a waxing gibbous, grandma!” Comes of having a cosmologist as a mother. 

I realise now, that  I always have something to write about. Joy. I feel it now, the quiet flow of an inexplicable happiness that children who are cherished live from, and that I have never lost. 




OK, We’re Stuffed!


Do you know that projections on the economic  effects of climate change are predicted on the assumption that 87% of industry won’t be effected by because it “takes place indoors”?? 

And this includes mining. 

Professor Steve Keen tells it likes it is: you have to engage your brain, because he explains the science, and he says, “fucking” once. As his town is now on fire, I’m inclined to forgive him that. 

https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/macro-n-cheese/id1453085489?i=1000462989017