This morning, I was up early enough (3:30) to see 4 or 5 meteors from the annual Perseids Meteor Shower, products of comet Swift-Tuttle.
Unlike the time-lapse photos which show hundreds of dramatic streaks of light, the real thing isn’t nearly so spectacular. If you see one “shooting star” a minute, that’s considered a lot.
A couple of years ago, I brought Bob to the beach to watch a meteor shower. Surprisingly, he was patient enough to keep an eye out, and told his siblings afterwards that it was “really something”.
This, of course, motivated young James to “see” many shooting stars the following night – most likely, distortions produced by the smeared windows in my car.
The night that Bob and I saw the meteors, we went to South Cape beach to escape the ambient light from Mashpee Commons, which is bright enough to trick one into thinking that it’s almost dawn.
It was a good place to watch the sky and it would have been even better except for the appearance shortly after we got there of a loudmouth who babbled on and on, enchanted by the sound of his or her own raucous, stupid voice.
So, I passed on the beach this time and had a good enough view from the yard, which was more tranquil and, thus, more conducive to star-gazing.
Even though it’s been uncomfortably humid for days, being able to watch meteors without getting chilled to the point of pain is a definite benefit of summer, especially for people on vacation in “remote” places where you can actually see the sky.
“They” say that’s why the Perseids are so popular, because vacationers, away from their “normal” circumstances, are able to view them.
There is something wistful and even melancholy about that notion. The symbols of summer – bonfires on the beach, band concerts (no matter how cacophonous), street fairs, the ice cream truck – are sentimental proxies for the life to which the hard-working wage-earner would aspire.
Retirement is for some an extended vacation, but for most, it’s a poor substitute. Your own kid(s) are grown up and except for the lucky few, you probably can’t afford to live in the same area where you vacationed, or to treat yourself in the same way.
As much as I’d like to see Cape Cod change for the better as a place to live year-round, I must admit that when I finished an errand earlier this week that brought me to one of the wealthy “N” towns west of Boston, I was eager to get back.
Even in the winter here, we still have the lighthouses, the beaches and even an indoor carousel, to which the kids and I trudged last winter in our snow boots.
And, in spite of the curmudgeonly attitudes, Cape Codders are easier to take than their wealthier but bored and frowning fellow Massachusetts residents further North.
Following my trek off-Cape, I attended an alumni cocktail party at the home of some people I know in Pocasset, a magnificent beachfront estate with distant views of Falmouth and Woods Hole.
With luck, I might be invited back this September to the annual Wellfleet soiree, which offers interesting talk with very clever people in a compound located on the bluffs.
Earlier this summer, I visited the home of a brilliant, talented lady who vacations in an old cottage in Woods Hole. And recently, I’ve met several dynamic teachers who want to improve the quality of math and science education in the public schools.
It’s sort of like beachcoming, or maybe watching the night sky: you have to be patient, and observant, to find treasures in the flotsam, or shooting stars.