Reflecting on 37

I turned 37 last Tuesday.  I spent the day getting to work early and staying late, working 14 hours that day, mostly due to pressure from the job.  After age 21, how else does a person spend a birthday?  I got a free meal out of it at Walnut Grove, though.  Can't argue about crab-topped filet mignon and creme brulee.  I'd like to say the dinner was in celebration of my birthday, but truthfully, it was a project milestone we had met.  Dinner was on the "house", and no one present, except for me, had any idea that I had turned a personal milestone that day as well.

In reality, I was only dimly aware of the coming date.  It was Sunday-- 2 days before the 24th-- when I really recognized that I'd be a year older soon, and I had to perform a mental calculation to determine what my age was going to be.  I had to confirm it with a calculator... and then reconfirm it.  I guess I really don't mind 37.  I'm just glad that the infant/toddler method of age declaration isn't used at this stage of life.  Can you imagine my mom telling everyone, "Cade turned 444 months old today"?

Suffice it to say, my birthday has become just another box on the calendar.  I get about as excited for my birthday as I do for the "Talk Like A Grizzled Prospector Day" which, incidentally, also occurs on January 24th. I tip my hat to the weird-o's in California, all 124 of them, that actually celebrate their Gold Rush heritage in such a manner.

Thinking the "Talk Like A Grizzled Prospector Day" was about as bad as it could get, I had to look up October 1st-- my wife's birthday-- to see if I could find something worse.  I needed a self-esteem boost.  Thank goodness I did: October 1st is "International Day of Older Persons" Day.  Once the thrill of her birthdays pass, we can slowly and rather smoothly transition into celebration of this more fitting occasion.  I felt a little better with this added nugget of knowledge.

Thirty seven years is quite a long time... something that, just a few years ago, I couldn't imagine myself seeing. But, when you consider that the #1 song on the Billboard when I was born was a song actually performed by The Carpenters, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that I'm "getting up there".  A few more trips around the sun and I'll start shuffling when I walk, demanding free handouts at Costco, talking incessantly about my devolving health, and changing into white shoes with Velcro ties.  My only hope is that I'll be able to keep my teeth-- chance bet that I'll still have my hair.

I think I'm taking it all in good stride, though.  There is no sense in dreading or fearing what lies ahead.  When the gray hairs present themselves, I'm glad I have hair to turn gray.  When the back is a bit slower to heal, I'm glad I can walk.  When I have to squint a little harder to read things, I'm glad I'm not blind.  I'm no George Clooney, so my only hope is that I don't turn into an older version of Carrot Top as the bite of age continues making its presence.

My son Ethan must have sensed my ennui and despondence the night before.  To cheer me up, he made me a breakfast sandwich-- an egg and cheese on a hamburger bun-- and stuck it in the fridge for me for the morning of B-day.  He was also instrumental in making sure I had a homemade cake, and took the time to add his own personal touches to the decorating thereof.

So, I begin Round #38 around the sun.  I'll be a bit older then, so will my wife and kids, yet somehow I think, when it comes full circle, we'll be smiling around some cake again trying to keep our eyes open for the camera flash.

Betelgeuse

Betelgeuse-- pronounced "Beetle Juice".  Yes, like the movie.

Betelgeuse has been the talk of our house lately.  Everyone that lives here, I think, know about it, what it is, where it is, what it does, and what it means.  Do you?

If you don't know, don't worry.  I had no idea until Mr. Smart Guy (Ethan) happened in on a documentary I was watching a few days ago to educate me on what I was watching.  Since then, we've had active interest in finding Betelgeuse every night.

I started watching "How the Universe Works" on Netflix.  Its fascinating.  But, I'm a science dork, so I'm fascinated by things that would send the average human being into convulsions.  I can watch with intense interest a documentary on the life cycle of the tawny-crowned honeyeater, yet have NO IDEA what the latest hot show is on cable these days, or what is now showing in theaters.  I'm an enigma-- sue me.

One of the 8 or 9 episodes of this documentary was on stars and, as you may have guessed (or not), Betelgeuse is one of them... one of the biggest-- and the topic of the discussion at the point of Ethan's entrance into the room where I was watching.

A computer generated image of the sun comes up on the screen.  They zoom out to show the next sized star.  Zoom out again for the next... so on and so forth, until this big orange-blue thing comes up, big enough that the sun, in comparison, had disappeared from the screen completely.  Before the narrator says anything, Ethan says, "That's Betelgeuse.  It means 'Armpit of the Mighty One'".

Within 2 seconds, Mike Rowe (the narrator) says, "This is Betelgeuse, which means 'Armpit of the Mighty One."  When Ethan said it, I chuckled.  When Mike Rowe said it, I choked, nearly making the water I was drinking come out of my nose.  What else does this kid know?

Well, for one, Ethan was wrong... Betelgeuse is not a billion time bigger than our own sun, as he quickly claimed.  It is 1.6 billion times larger than our sun, so he was off by 600 million.  Ha-ha.  So, if Betelgeuse were our sun, it would extend past Jupiter... or so they say.  Another way to look at it-- if Betelgeuse were the size of Heinz Field in Pittsburgh, the sun would be the size of a grain of sand at center field.  Its the 8th largest star found, and one of the brightest, despite its light taking about 650 years to reach Earth.

I'm sure Ethan knows, though, but felt you might need updating in case the subject comes up between you and Ethan at any point in the future.  It hurts a bit to be outsmarted by a 9 year old.

For those of us less intellectually blessed, here is the location of Betelgeuse-- look for the constellation Orion, and then locate the orange blob just above and to the left of his belt.  Betelgeuse marks Orion's armpit... hence its name.

I used to think of myself as a smart person.  Not anymore.  My only knowledge of Betelgeuse was the movie, spelled "Beetle Juice".  Thanks to my 9 year old, I'm not as smart as I once thought.

To save me from my embarrassment, in walks Preston.  He started watching with interest as well, and when the discussion turned to possible Earth-like planets, Preston asked me if there were people on other planets out there in space.  I asked him what he thought.  His answer: "Well, not people... zombies, maybe, but not people."  Now, this kids HAS to be mine.  We think alike.

After the show, Ethan grabbed his telescope and opened the backdoor to find it (it was in the southern hemisphere, he said... and he was right), exposing the entire first floor of our house to the 10 degree night weather.  He wanted to see the circling dust surrounding Betelgeuse, but he was not aware that his $90 telescope was only good for looking at the moon and, perhaps, the neighbors.  He tried, though.

And so, my intelligence is on a steady decline.  Chrissa, since inception into her teenager phase, has alluded to my idiocy on a regular basis.  I never believed her.  Maybe there is truth to it after all.

Future science genius

I Was NOT Ready For My Close-Up

I never really knew how the underside of my truck looked.  As I laid there on my back in the snow and ice, I wasn't impressed with it, either.  It was dirty, rusty, and covered with salt, which I could easily spot thanks to the reflection of light off the snow we had received the night before.  I had no reason to be there, yet there I was.  I could tell it was still snowing-- the flakes caught the light and twinkled at me from a thousand different angles before they fell to the ground.  I suppose it could have been the stars in my own head that made me think it was still snowing, but regardless, it was peaceful.

I'm sure it was also a bit funny to someone watching this scene.  I wasn't sure if anyone had witnessed it, though.  I know I would have been laughing.  There I was, part-way under my truck, laying in the snow in my leather coat and gabardines and Hugo Boss shoes.  It'd be funnier had these unseen witnesses known I was lying on the ice scraper as well, every thing bent in odd positions.  I had no idea where my briefcase ended up.

Ten or twenty seconds prior, I was trying to remove the snow and ice from the windshield of my truck.  Pittsburgh finally got the snow we had been lacking since the onset of winter, and to add a little steak sauce to the seasonal present, the snow was preceded by rain from the day and night before, leaving a nice shiny surface upon which the snow would lay.

Hugo Boss and ice are not good combinations, particularly when one is trying to get out the door in a hurry.  I contend that the most slippery (or is it "slipperiest"?) surface is not a fresh watermelon seed lying in a Teflon coated pan.  It is not a banana peel on a newly waxed wood floor.  I don't believe it is a block of ice on giant mirror.  It is a grown man wearing Hugo Boss shoes on a snow-and-ice covered driveway trying to scrape the windows clean.

I was not late for work.  Rather, I had an appointment to get the truck to the mechanic.  I wasn't sure if they'd be able to repair the newly-bent radio antennae in addition to the mechanic issues, though.  The antennae caught my jacket as I plummeted to the earth, bending it to a 90-degree angle.

Twelve hours prior to this, the truck-- which has had a history of spitting and coughing at odd times-- began to violently shake and stall and backfire like an old man trying to eat too much peanut butter while trying to get to an appointment in Wexford.  Normally, the truck would do this and, within a few minutes, resolve itself.  This time was different.  He started at the corner of Franklin and Hazelwood Farms and didn't let up till we arrived at our destination. My hope was that the truck would burst into flames once Ethan and I had cleared the area so that I could end this costly and frustrating relationship.  I had been dealing with this mechanical problem for years and a string of mechanics couldn't tell me what was wrong with it.

So, getting the truck to its appointment before going to work was important , which is why I was in my Hugo Boss shoes and gabardines, which is why I was trying to scrape the snow and ice off my windshield in said attire, which is why I suddenly, and without warning, ended up face-up on my back in the snow in the driveway, partially under my truck looking at the under-carriage for no particular reason at all.

Incidentally, I got the truck to the shop on time, and the truck was repaired.  Runs great, but time will tell if the old-man-eating-peanut-butter episodes are resolved.  I got a new antennae, too, to replace the one that was left still attached to the truck but at a new angle parallel to the ground after my graceful slip from the vertical position.

Now, excuse me as I go ice my butt.