When I was a teenager, I received a celestial map of the northern hemisphere. These maps helped me learn the basic constellations (generally defined as "a group of stars that appears to form a pattern or picture"). Apparently, there are 88 constellations. I can recognize a mere five:
Orion: the guy with the belt and sword.
The Pleiades: seven "close" stars aka The Seven Sisters, a term adopted by the group of seven private Northeast colleges that started as women-only schools.
Cassiopeia: the zigzag of stars named for Andromeda's mother (not sure how the zigzag looks like her ...).
The Big Dipper: aka Ursa Major or The Great Bear, although apparently The Big Dipper is not technically a constellation. This grouping is typically the first astronomical thing we learn as children, eclipsed (see what I did there?) only by Earth's moon.
The Little Dipper: Follow the two end "dipper" stars in The Big Dipper to find the North Star -- Polaris -- which is the tip of the handle of The Little Dipper.
Those maps were about as far as I got with astronomy, although they fueled an interest slight enough that when I had to take a final science class to get my liberal arts/English/writing bachelor's degree, I chose astronomy. What a mistake. My failed first year of college where I floundered with several heavier science classes should have told me not to take astronomy.
Just a couple of weeks in, I recall thinking, "This is nothing about stars." While classmates created astronomical models and other complex ideas for our one semester project, I made up an astronomical crossword puzzle. I squeaked by with a passing grade and moved on.
Years later my husband, who loves to fuel anything I express interest in, bought me a telescope for my birthday. We set it up on the lawn in front of the barn where there is something close to unobstructed sky. But here's the thing: I am a simple person. If something requires hours of study for me just to understand how to use it in order to enjoy the thing it is to be used for, it is not for me. In fact, if I have to even read an instruction manual to use it, I am likely out.
I'm surprised I even use a Kindle and/or the Kindle app when the basic printed book, which requires no more than decent vision and good light, is still readily available. Years later the telescope vanished -- sold to someone with kids, I think.
The next thing even close to astronomical presence in my life -- besides the night sky itself, which I see often tending to the horses -- is when I gave my husband a gift of a poster that you can order by providing the coordinates to show the night sky on a specific date. I did one of the New Year's Eve that he proposed to me in our field. Another astronomical event over the years was watching a solar eclipse on one of the holidays. This provided one of my favorite pictures of my dad sitting in his favorite chair in the living room wearing special eclipse-viewing cardboard glasses that I had bought for everyone.
(Another favorite of him is with a wedge-shaped foam "cheese hat" we had purchased a supply of when we lived in Wisconsin -- we wore them while driving across Vermont, getting a little giddy toward the end of a long trip home for the holidays -- but that is a story for another time.) And another eclipse-viewing around eight years ago with colleagues in the parking lot at work.
Two years ago almost to the day, I did witness the start to finish of a remarkable sun pillar. Not technically astronomy, which is defined as "the science that deals with celestial objects" or things in the cosmos, a sun pillar is a phenomenon where light travels vertically and is caused by the reflection from ice crystals in nearby clouds. I saw this sun pillar while meeting some friends at a third-floor bar which I chose because I thought, given the time we decided to meet, we might see a beautiful sunset which seem to be especially orange in late October/early November. As we ordered our cocktails (note we had not yet begun to consume them), we in fact witnessed a gorgeous glowing sunset developing. Then it started funneling upward until a burning orange tube of sunset reached from the horizon to the heavens. It was spectacular.
It is always special to see something like this develop unexpectedly so yes, I was disappointed that I did not witness the aurora borealis earlier this month, which seemed to give a show in everyone's backyard but mine. I even went looking for it. Nothing. Then unbelievable pictures started showing up on Facebook of glorious northern lights all around -- even at my neighbors' houses!
My only consolation is that a friend also did not see that show despite looking several times. We are forming a two-person support group.