Blog: Reflections from Rural Route 2

 

Saturday, January 13, 2007, 22:30

Comet. . .

As I was driving to an appointment to talk to one of the local school district administrator's Friday afternoon about a story I'm working on concerning the "No Child Left Behind" legislation, which is five years old this year, I heard an astronomer on public radio talking about the McNaught comet.

The comet, he said, came as a surprise because it brightened up so quickly. Astronomers did not think the comet would grow so bright. If the sky was clear, the McNaught comet would be visible in the western sky right after sunset and would remain visible for about 30 minutes, he said.

Friday evening the sky turned out to be clear with just a few streaks of clouds on the horizon. W hen Randy came home from work, he went outside to see if he could spot the comet. I went out to look, as well. We could not see it just by looking at the sky. (Well, actually, I think Randy said he could see it, but I couldn't.) I went back inside to finish up a newspaper story and Randy took the binoculars outside to search the sky again.

"I found it with the binoculars!" he said a few minutes later when he came into my office.

Seeing as the bottom had dropped out of the temperature Thursday night so that Friday we had a high of about 15 degrees with a below zero windchill, I was not eager to go back outside.

"I wonder if we can see it from the bedroom window?" I said.

"Only one way to find out," Randy said. "I'll go get the binoculars."

When my husband returned with the binoculars I used them to look out the bedroom window.

"Can't see a thing that might be a comet," I said.

I handed the binoculars to Randy.

Now, because my husband is taller, he was able to look out the clear glass portion of the window above the frost that was forming.

"There it is," he said.

"I can't look where you were looking. You're taller than me. I'm going to have to look through the screen side," I said.

I figured with the screen in the way, it would be just enough to make it impossible to see the comet. But I trained the binoculars to the southwest, anyway.

"Still don't see it," I said.

"See the three hills?" Randy said. "To the right of that."

I moved to the right of the three hills in a row on the horizon -- and there it was!

"I see it!" I said. "I see it!"

The McNaught comet was a streak of vertical light just above the horizon with a round white light at the bottom.

"The guy on the radio said you'd need a telescope, but the binoculars work fine," I said.

If the sky is clear, the McNaught comet will be visible Saturday evening and in the morning on Sunday to the east right around sunrise. And then we won't be able to see it anymore. As I understand it, the comet was here and gone in a week.

I went back to my newspaper story feeling highly gratified.

I had seen the comet!

LeAnn R. Ralph

  • Christmas in Dairyland,
  • Give Me a Home Where the Dairy Cows Roam,
  • Cream of the Crop and
  • Preserve Your Family History -- A Step by Step Guide for Interviewing Family Members and Writing Oral Histories
  • Where the Green Grass Grows

     

    Friday, January 12, 2007, 04:05

    A New Game

    Whenever I turn on the blow dryer in the bathroom to dry my hair, Snowflake comes on the run. She takes a flying leap, lands on my leg and then claws her way upward until she is at the point where she might be able to reach the cord.

    Then, while hanging on with three sets of claws, she swats at the cord swinging back and forth with the other paw.

    I have taken to making sure that I am wearing nice, thick pants rather than something that is made out of thin material. My legs still have scratch marks on them, but I don't bleed as much as I would if I were wearing slacks made out of a thin cotton material or if I were wearing dress slacks.

    Snowflake's behavior is, of course, the complete opposite of all my other cats. If any of the cats happen to be in the bathroom when I get the blow dryer out, they leave immediately. And quickly.

    Not Snowflake. She doesn't appear to be one bit afraid of the roaring of the blow dryer. Her only objective is to GET THAT CORD.

    Once she grabs the cord, it always gets away from her again. Which adds to the fun of the game. She wears a distinctly gleeful expression on her little kitten face as she watches the cord swinging back and forth.

    Sometimes I am able to distract her with a sock. Socks are also favorite toys for Snowflake. She rolls around on the floor with them, biting and kicking and rolling some more as that mean, nasty sock fights back. If I can entice Snowflake with a sock, then I toss it out the door into the hallway and quickly shut the door behind her so I can finish drying my hair without adding more scratches to my legs.

    Snowflake doesn't seem to mind changing activities -- after all, it's a mean nasty sock and the world (or at least our household) must be kept safe from mean, nasty socks. As far as Snowflake is concerned, it doesn't matter what kind of sock. Cotton or wool are equally dangerous to the well-being of the humans and other kitties in the house, it would seem.

    I have also taken to keeping cardboard toilet paper rolls handy when they are available. If the cotton or wool sock doesn't suit Snowflake's fancy when the blow dryer is out, a cardboard toilet paper roll might do the trick. She loves to bat the toilet paper rolls around on the linoleum floor, chasing them here and there and everywhere and making as much noise as possible.

    And then, too, I have recently begun shutting my office door when I am working on the computer. If I don't Snowflake, crawls up in my lap and jumps on the keyboard with all four feet. Sometimes she plays with the mouse and the cord for the mouse, too.

    All I can say is -- I wish I had half as much energy as Snowflake!

    LeAnn R. Ralph

  • Christmas in Dairyland,
  • Give Me a Home Where the Dairy Cows Roam,
  • Cream of the Crop and
  • Preserve Your Family History -- A Step by Step Guide for Interviewing Family Members and Writing Oral Histories
  • Where the Green Grass Grows


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