We Didn’t Get Shot and the Cops Didn’t Come

How old was I when I first realized that one of the greatest things I could do to increase my happiness was to lower my expectations? Perhaps it was about the time that Mick Jagger was informing us in his iconic rock whine that you can’t always get what you want. Probably later than that. I’m a slow learner.

At any rate, it is taking to heart epiphanies like this that can lead to a more contented life.

For example, last Saturday night I wanted to see the Northern Lights. I had read in the newspaper that they might be visible around midnight, if the sky was clear. It was only a possibility, but I called my friend Becky. She is an astronomy whiz. She teaches star-gazing to the Girl Scouts, and once taught me how to see the Andromeda galaxy through my binoculars.

I told Becky, "The Northern Lights might be out tonight!"

"Oh, great!" she said, "Where will they be?"

Pause.

"Um," I said, "in the northern sky?"

She broke out laughing and said, "That was an astronomy joke."

We agreed to drive up to the north end that night, to a cul-de-sac Becky knows where the viewing of the northern sky is prime. She went there with another friend to watch the Perseid meteor showers a couple of years ago.

That is why, at about 11:30 that night, Becky, my grand daughter, and I headed up to the north end with folding chairs in the trunk and high hopes of seeing the aurora borealis.

When we arrived I realized that this cul-de-sac had houses on all sides. The last time Becky came to this spot, she knew someone who lived on the street, so had some connection with someone who could partially explain why she was there. This time we were showing up without anyone there knowing who we were or why we were there. Ah. Suddenly looking for the Northern Lights became a surreptitious, and – who knew? - dangerous activity.

I turned the car around and parked it heading out of the cul-de-sac, just in case we had to make a fast getaway, and we got out and set up our chairs.

Becky told me and the grand daughter to be vewy, vewy quiet, like Elmer Fudd hunting the wabbit, so we wouldn’t disturb anyone.

A dog barked.

A door opened and someone looked out.

"Someone looking to see what’s going on," Becky said. I tried to be quiet and we settled in to our chairs to wait for the northern lights.

It was clear that night. The Big Dipper was in the center of our field of vision like the attention hog it is. I saw Cassiopeia off to the east and remembered the time the trio* was driving at night some twenty years ago, and Libbie pointed to the sky and said, "That’s Cassiopeia," and a moment later Velvet said, "Cassiopeia for the trees."

*"The trio" would be Women, Women & Song, Libbie Anthony, Velvet Neifert, and me. We were the queens of uppity women’s music on the island back in the 1980s. At the time we were all six-foot tall blonde models in our 20s, independently wealthy, with no problems, so we were free to pursue a music career. Good times.

Back to last Saturday.

Becky pointed to stars and planets and constellations, and told me how to find the way to the center of the universe: you imagine a straight line between Antares and Arcturus, and then from the midpoint of that line you take a right angle vector, roughly southwest from where we were, and that, Becky said, is the way to the center of the universe. I wondered if this was another astronomy joke.

We waited and watched and whispered until a while after midnight when my grand daughter announced she was ‘way cold and tired. We decided that the Northern Lights were a no-show, and we bundled our chairs and ourselves back into the car, and set out for home with the car heater on.

"At least it was clear and we got some good star-gazing in," Becky said.

"Yes," I said. "And no one shot at us and the cops didn’t come."

See? Expecting the worst and not having it happen can make life cheerier. Lowered expectations. Get them low enough and you’ll never be disappointed.