Last night I hauled the family down to the beach to catch the Perseids meteor shower. I had no idea what to expect, since I’ve never watched one before. The pictures I saw online were spectacular – the night sky crisscrossed with dozens of shooting stars!
That’s not exactly how it went here in southern Maine.
On arrival at the beach, there were lots of cars, and I thought, wow, this is really an event! But it turns out that most of the people on the beach were there to watch the weekly fireworks in downtown OOB. Which was a great show, but not what I came for. After the fireworks ended, the crowd cleared out, leaving only a handful of us still on the beach.
We settled into our chairs and waited for the main attraction.
And then, without warning, a huge streak appeared in the sky just in front of us! At first I was sure it was just another firework – it seemed SO close, and was so bright. Could this be it? We looked around, trying to figure out where this firework could possibly have come from, and gradually came to the realization that this was an all-natural firework – our first shooting star of the night!
I was so excited, and replayed it over and over again in my head. It REALLY looked like a firework. You know how you can see the tail of the firework streaking through the sky after it’s launched, and then it extinguishes for a second before the big Boom? It was just like that, but without the boom. Cool.
But it was over too fast.
By the time you saw it, it was already flaming out. And that turned out to be the story of the night. Shooting stars are fast – so fast that you hardly have a chance to turn your head to get a good look before they are gone. So fast that by the time you point them out to everyone else, it’s too late for them to get a look. So you have to be paying attention.
Which wouldn’t be a problem if there were dozens of them at the same time, like the pictures I saw. But in our case, there was about 1 shooting star every 8 minutes or so. Which is just enough time for some of us to get bored and look away. And that quick glance at your phone to see how long it’s been since the last one is just long enough for you to miss the next one. It took all of about 15 minutes for the men to be done with this. My daughter and I, however, wanted more.
So we took the boys home, and we gathered up all of the necessary gear for an evening of star gazing – sweatshirts, blankets, bug spray, beach chairs, cookies. And we headed back to the beach.
We’re not night owls, so arriving at the beach at 11 pm was an unusual experience. It made me aware of the sense of vulnerability that lurks at the back of my awareness in these situations. After all, it was just the 2 of us, alone, at night in a remote, unlit area.
And I wondered if my 15-year-old was feeling it too. Had I taught her all I needed to about these moments? I’m always on the fence about what to tell her – I want her to enjoy a great variety of adventures in her life, and I’m afraid I’ll scare her off of them with too many warnings. But at the same time, I want her to be safe, and so I’m always torn.
In this case, I want to know that she does the same threat analysis that’s always running in the back of my mind. What’s up with the 2 people sitting in the pickup truck? Is that homeless guy picking through the cans in the trash acting crazy? Are the drunk revelers up the beach looking for trouble? I don’t obsess about these things, but after quite a few years of being a woman with a tendency toward solo adventures, this type of thinking comes automatically, reflexively.
In watching my daughter, there are no outward signs that she’s running this type of evaluation in her mind. But, of course, she probably doesn’t see the signs that I’m doing it either. I find myself thinking that it’s time to ramp up the lessons in situational awareness. But not tonight.
We settle in on the beach, bundle up, share our cookies. A meteor shower is a very different type of entertainment than the loud, flashy movies and stage shows that we’re used to. It’s silent and sparse, and no one is feeding you the plot. You have to think about it to appreciate it.
A meteor shower is a collection of space debris pelting the earth. The inbound items range in size from a speck of dust to a large boulder. So what we’re watching is boulders smashing into our atmosphere. Think about that for a minute – the only thing keeping those boulders from crashing to earth is the magical bubble that is our atmosphere. You know, that thing that’s out there, but we can’t see it and we can’t touch it, and it’s got some holes in it, apparently, at least in the Ozone layer, whatever that is. And that invisible shield is all that’s protecting us from a rain storm of boulders.
Talk about vulnerable. This is vulnerability on a cosmic scale.
And I’m glad I didn’t trouble my daughter with thoughts of evil-doers on the beach. Those lesson will come, and soon. But life is short and fickle, and childhood is fleeting. And so for this one night, we relax and enjoy the show, and she is not burdened with grown-up concerns. For one more moment in time, she believes that being with Mom equals being safe.
Life is all about balance. Finding the balance between being safe and being adventurous. Between needing sleep and wanting to watch the show. Between preparing a child for the challenges they may face and living in the moment. You’ve got to find the balance, because that shield up there that’s protecting us may not survive the onslaught, but then again, it probably will. So thanks for the reminder, Perseids, to slow down and enjoy the quiet moments.
Kimba
Photo: Nasa Commons. "Perseid Meteor Shower". 12 August 2016. Online image. Flickr. 18 January 2017. <https://www.flickr.com/photos/nasacommons/29386554635/in/photolist-KVyKf3-ownxco-odboRU-owhQ5o-LLMLT6-xxwqnL-xgQUuK-xgR17g-xxwDof-xykUnH-oeuuiG-ovYPr2-oeL227-x6evq8-KZ8rgT-odaMub-oeYeo4-ovVCEw-Prwxbe
© Kimberlee Martin, 2016. All rights reserved.