Peonies. Because this place could use something bright. Something unabashed and splashy and bold.

Something pretty and soft, when all I see out the window is desert, brown. And the greedy clouds that hold onto their rain even when they crowd the sky each afternoon, as they often do throughout monsoon season (may they let loose the rain, soon).

Because I want to plant peonies when we’re settled, so that in a year or two or three, I can shake the ants off an armload of their blooms and bring them inside for the dining room table. Or so that Elle can pile her small arms high with them and make little arrangements to spread throughout the house, as I used to do with violets when I was her age. As we may both do, next year.

Because so much is contained within a blossom that hasn’t quite opened. (A whole world, it seems, in such a small thing.) All that hope, all that promise. Potential.

What could be. What will be.

What is already, even if we can’t see it, or know it, yet.

As you know, my sister has been with us this last week, and we’ve been doing some fun and interesting things. The best of them, in my opinion (and I don’t think I’m alone in this), was our trip out of town on Saturday to the Kitt Peak National Observatory southwest of Tucson. We went for the Nightly Observing Program, and it was spectacular, amazing, and every other superlative you can imagine. If you live in the area or visit, you should definitely add this to your list.

By the time we left, I think we had all reached a state of awe at least a few times.

But let’s backtrack…

A bit of advice. My sister handles many tasks very well. She’s organized and smart and thorough. But if you want to get where you’re going on time, don’t put her in charge of the directions.

We were on schedule. Checked into the hotel, then got back on the road to drive the 50 or so miles to the observatory which is sited on top of a mountain.

As the passenger and holder of the printed-out Yahoo directions, Ducky was responsible for helping me find the way. Oh, she did. She even helped us take a detour through the airport before we ever got out of Tucson (actually had us do a U-turn to go back to the road that would end up taking us through the airport).

Still, I had faith in her. We were looking for the turnoff to Kitt Peak, and it seemed like we should have turned already since Kitt Peak was behind us (we wondered if, perhaps, there was a way around the mountain or something). Then, she called out, “Look! KITT PEAK JCT, 10 miles!” Except she was looking behind us at a sign going the other direction.

When we got back to the turnoff, after breaking a few speed laws, we saw that we had somehow missed this bigass sign:

And we were on a deadline. The nice man on the phone had reminded me that we had to be there by 4:15. No pressure. Ten extra miles to cover (plus the 10 extra we’d just driven), and we still had the 12-mile drive up the mountain.

You know I love a good drive, and a winding mountain road can make my heart race faster than just about anything (in a good way). This road was incredible, the kind you might see in a car commercial. Winding and steep, with views that could steal your breath right out of your chest. I could go back just to drive that road again. Unfortunately, there was no time to stop to take any pictures, but if you go to flickr and search for “Kitt Peak road” or “Kitt Peak,” you can find great photos of the views. The observatory sits at a 7000 ft elevation, so you can imagine.

We made it exactly on time, and we weren’t even the last ones to arrive.

The evening was magic. After a meal, we watched the sunset.

Then we went back inside for about an hour for an introductory program, and learned a few tricks for locating constellations. With binoculars in hand, and two guides with us, we walked back outside.

A collective gasp rose up from the group.

Stars, so many stars. The sky was crowded with them.

Maybe we’re a bunch of cityfolk – I know most of the group were from inside the state (they asked for a show of hands) – because it was obvious that most of us hadn’t seen so many stars in a very long time, maybe never, for some.

The telescope time was the best part of the night, and the chance to look at the moon in detail was my favorite part. The four of us all took a second look – I don’t think Boy and Girl could believe their eyes.

Believe me, I could understand.

What they don’t announce on their website or tell you on the phone is that when you leave the observatory to go back down the mountain, you have to drive the first few miles with no headlights. Any light can interrupt the work of the researchers, so all the visitors follow a lead car, and parking lights provide the only light. (I did mention how winding and steep the road was, right?)

I could go on about the night, and I can’t promise I won’t revisit it later if I can find the right words. It’s possible that they will escape me. As I said before, if you ever get a chance to visit this observatory, you absolutely should.

And if winding mountain roads make you nervous, just give me a call.

I’ll drive.

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]]> http://thursdaydrive.com/2008/11/17/goodnight-moon-goodnight-stars/feed/ 26 http://thursdaydrive.com/2008/05/21/339/ http://thursdaydrive.com/2008/05/21/339/#comments Thu, 22 May 2008 06:21:21 +0000 Jennifer http://thursdaydrive.com/?p=339

This may be my favorite passage, from anyone, about writing. I read it for the first time almost 10 years ago, and somehow have forgotten about it for long stretches at a time. I really should frame it and hang it above my desk. The passage is from Rilke’s only novel, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, and is often referred to as “Blood-Remembering.”

Ah! but verses amount to so little when one writes them young. One ought to wait and gather sense and sweetness a whole life long, and a long life if possible, and then, quite at the end, one might perhaps be able to write ten lines that were good. For verses are not, as people imagine, simply feeling (those one has early enough), – they are experiences. For the sake of a single verse, one must see many cities, men and things, one must know the animals, one must feel how the birds fly and know the gesture with which the little flowers open in the morning. One must be able to think back to roads in unknown regions, to unexpected meetings and to partings one had long seen coming; to days of childhood that are still unexplained, to parents whom one had to hurt when they brought one some joy and one did not grasp it (it was a joy for someone else); to childhood illnesses that so strangely begin with such a number of profound and grave transformations, to days in rooms withdrawn and quiet and to mornings by the sea, to the sea itself, to seas, to nights of travel that rushed along on high and flew with all the stars – and it is not yet enough if one may think of all this. One must have memories of many nights of love, none of which was like the others, of the screams of women in labor, and of light, white, sleeping women in childbed, closing again. But one must also have been beside the dying, must have sat beside the dead in the room with the open window and the fitful noises. And still it is not yet enough to have memories. One must be able to forget them when they are many and one must have the great patience to wait until they come again. For it is not yet the memories themselves. Not till they have turned to blood within us, to glance and gesture, nameless and no longer to be distinguished from ourselves – not till then can it happen that in a most rare hour the first word of a verse arises in their midst and goes forth from them.

~from The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, by Rainer Maria Rilke

This song is beautiful, and the pairing of Bonnie Raitt and Jackson Browne is brilliant.