Telescope in the Corner, or Oh, How I Miss the Stars

It was the first Christmas after we got married, and my husband picked out my favorite present EVER--even though he shouldn't have spent anything at all. I've always loved the stars (my mama laughed at me when I proclaimed as a young teenager that I really wanted to be an astronomer), and my heart began to beat a little faster when I saw the tell-tale long box wrapped up under the tree that morning. It could only be one thing: a telescope!

And it was. A beautiful professional-quality star-gazing scope with extra lenses and everything. I loved it. I don't think the poor man will ever be able to top that perfect first Christmas present.

At that time, we lived in a lovely little rent house on the very outskirts of a very small town. You might even call it the country, for we had a couple of acres we could call our (rented) own and small wooded patches between us and any neighbors. Most importantly, we could see the stars. So although it was December and pretty frigid, as soon as night came I was out in the front yard focusing my new telescope on any celestial body I could find in the viewer. It's harder than you might think. The moon is easiest to locate, and so I started there.

You have no idea how stunningly brilliant our ordinary little moon really is until you've seen it close-up. Mountains and valleys, craters and shadows--I could see every detail. "Moonstruck," I think, means that you can't bring yourself to look away.

Finally I tore myself away from the moon and searched out the stars. Did you know stars come in different colors? Red, blue, yellow, icy green...they're breathtaking. I love the constellations (the ones I remember and the ones I always forget), the ancient myths and the new science that explains so many fascinating facts. I am intrigued by planets and black holes (though I never saw any of the latter), pulsars and quasars, red giants and dwarf stars. I never get tired of trying to see what astronomy books portray in such vivid detail; I could spend hours just...well, gazing.

Now, however, I live in the city. Every once in awhile I can pick out, say, Orion, with his bright sword belt, or maybe the Big Dipper--if I look really hard. Venus, the dazzling morning star, hasn't left me completely; even what my papa calls light pollution can't altogether drown her out. But the night sky here in the heart of Oklahoma City is never really dark, and so my stars remain, for the most part, hidden. Too many street lights, as beauty gives way to safety--and honestly, would I choose the alternative? Our neighborhood has its share of shady characters and "incidents." Still, I miss the stars, as my telescope sits sadly in the corner waiting for an opportunity to open the window on other worlds.

My water smells like a swimming pool

My parents have a well, which pumps out the best-tasting water in the world; my brothers and sisters and I love to go home just to drink the water. My grandma, who lives just across the field, has a well too--and her water tastes like rotten eggs. I'm not sure what makes the difference.

But I live in the city, and do not have the luxury of well water. This didn't bother me too much until recently, although I did finally install a filter under the kitchen sink so my husband would be able to drink the tap water without absolutely having to add lemon juice. It's been a ridiculously hot, dry summer, however, and I suppose the city has had trouble with its water supply, because lately I've noticed that the water in the rest of the house seems more and more chlorinated. Take, for example, the water in the bathroom. Can you recall the smell of a hotel swimming pool? That's what I get now when I wash my face...or brush my teeth...or take a shower. I guess, since I haven't had a chance to swim all summer, that I should count it as a blessing in disguise. But really, who wants to taste "swimming pool" first thing in the morning?