Star gazing amateur

It happens every time someone shouts, “Look a shooting star!” I look and see a quiet, still sky. I plan to stay up to watch lunar eclipses and sleep through the whole thing. When a once-in-a-lifetime comet passed nearby, it was lost in the haze along the horizon. On the day of the partial solar eclipse, the skies were overcast with sun-blocking clouds. I was an astronomical failure until my husband took Astronomy 101.
He came home with star charts and tables, excited about the oldest field of scientific study. The August after his final exam in astronomy he hauled mattresses, pillows, blankets, camera, binoculars and family outside to watch the yearly meteor shower. It was a most satisfying experience. I saw shooting stars until they no longer interested me.
A few years later, when yet another partial solar eclipse was announced, the kids and I waited in the yard with two pieces of cardboard. The top one was punctured once with a pin. The other we held underneath as recommended for a safe view of the solar eclipse.
During the eclipse we studied the speck of light on the bottom cardboard. Except for the odd dip on one side of the circle, it looked like someone had shined a flashlight through the tiny hole, “We must have pricked the cardboard unevenly.” I told the kids. Only as the partial eclipsed waned and the speck of light returned to a full perfect circle did I realize that the dip was the moon eclipsing the sun. Better luck next time understanding what I’m seeing, I decided.
With star watching: Except for the star of Bethlehem, there is always a next time. A couple weeks ago, I heard that the other eight planets would align with the moon in the southwest sky shortly after sunset for a week. Seven nights, all before my bedtime. I couldn’t miss it. I mentioned the once in a 100 years show to my husband and waited in vain. The clouds descended, the rain poured, the skies did not clear up all week.
I gave up on the planetary show and prepared for a business meeting in Little Rock. My husband drove. On the way home, I was sleeping when he shook me awake, “Look! There they are. All lined up with the moon.”
As predicted the brightly shining moon pinpointed the head of a clear, celestial path to the southwest horizon. I spotted the faint light of the two planets, the brilliance of Venus, a planet of lesser light, the red of Mars and the blue of (I think) Mercury. We lacked the requisite telescope to see Neptune and Pluto, but it was enough for me. We paused briefly at the crest of the Calion bridge for one last clear view before we descended back into the pine forests of home.
So I’ve slept through an eclipse or two. Never did see the comet of the century, but, with a little help from my amateur astronomer, I have seen the yearly shower of shooting stars and the once-in-a century planetary path to the moon.