Why should cats have all the fun? By the end of this post, hopefully one of us will knock over the Christmas tree.
It’s Friday, which means it’s time for the astronomical observation.
Thing is, folks…it’s been cloudy. And raining buckets. Fortunately, I have a whole tree full of stars right behind me to tell you about.
Spinning a Yarn
I learned something about light today. Visible light is a tiny part of the electromagnetic spectrum. This includes radio waves, x rays, microwaves, 5G…you name it.
If this spectrum were charted to scale on a line that connected New York and Los Angeles, the part that we could see would be about as thick as a piece of yarn.
It being Friday, and time to get into the alt text for my blind buddies (and a new mode of experiencing for the rest of us), we’ll be using that yarn-width, and adding a bit to it as well. Take the Christmas tree, for example.
O Christmas Tree
The Norway Spruce behind me is roughly five and a half feet tall, by three feet wide. It’s needles are a dark forest green, tinged with just the faintest idea of yellow.
A motley collection of ornaments hang from the branches. (Most of the A-list weird gems are still packed away in an elusive box.) A red and white glass ladybug, a faded fake apple with JOSHUA’S FIRST CHRISTMAS in flaking white letters, a small tan wooden reindeer, some dark red bulbs, and several cloth stockings adorn the shapely branches.
The tree is definitely too good for these strange misfit memories. But the lights redeem everything.
Multi-color lights are my favorite, but I have to turn around to tell you their exact colors. Hang on…
Blue, green, yellow, red, and magenta. There.
I’m noticing closer, thanks to you.
Gettin’ artsy
There’s variance, and these haven’t been faded by outdoor use. Some of the yellows are a deep amber, others are paler. The blues are the dimmest, sparkling with the mystery of Christmas deep in green caves of the branches. The greens glitter with an antique fade. The reds and yellows throw a warm glow against the wood-paneled wall, a delightfully cozy hue of memories.
Cue up the Cambridge Singers, and listen to the warmth, mystery, and humanity of a choir of unseen voices floating on cold December air. To me, that matches the glow of the little tree behind me.
There’s a timelessness to the lights and the sounds. Every year they appear, fresh yet ancient, that season again.
If I squint my eyes, the tree vanishes, and only points of color remain, constellations of memories, hopes, and nostalgia.
Echoes
The glow of the lights, or sounds of the voices transport me. I hear them, or see them. Suddenly I’m five years old, bundled in a puffy coat, buckled in the backseat of the family car, wondering about moving.
Then I’m twenty nine, stuck in metropolitan traffic as the winter twilight fades over the interstate. The choir softly sings on the radio, and without warning, I miss my grandfather keenly.
A whiff of spruce greets me as I lean in to look at the lights on the little tree. Frosty nights, grocery store entrances with trees leaning for sale, family traditions, and yearning all rush in.
Where does it all go?
The notes float on, timeless, cycling, remembering.
The little tree shines on in the night, the stars in the sky settling in the branches.
Cat Time
No matter what your level of sight is, snag the nearest Christmas tree and check it out. (If you don’t have one, the nearest grocery store might have a forlorn one left.) Feel those needles. Smell that spruce. Grab a light bulb, and notice the warmth. The colors shine through my fingers. This yellow light reminds me of Capella, alpha star in Auriga. The red one is a bit more vivid than Mars.
Dig some Cambridge Singers while you do so.
And if you knock the tree over….
Science!
Merry Christmas.
Josh