Camelopardalids

Well, I missed the 'never-before-seen' meteor shower known as the Camelopardalids on May 23/24 because I was working and the ambient light was too great to see anything of interest.

So, last night, a friend in Fergus invited me to her place to see if I could catch the 'tail end' of the shower. From the deck at her place, I saw one and it was getting late, so I left and drove home to Guelph. As I was locking my car to go into the house, I saw another one! It was not in the area where I'd been looking -- it was actually considerably west of that, so I may have missed some because of standing next to my friend's house -- which blocked out my view of where they actually could be seen.

I'd read that they would be visible between Ursa Major and Cassiopeia. Instead, it was just below, and a little west of Ursa Major. Could the meteor shower could move that much in 24 hours? Or had I been looking in the wrong place? 

Anyway, I booted it out to Jones Baseline and saw several more as I stood there, looking WNW (under the bowl of the Big Dipper / beneath the feet of Ursa Major), and feeling awed by the stars and the meteors.

Well, at least I got to see some of them. In fact, I would have been perfectly happy with just one.

Uncle Bill

I last saw Uncle Bill about a year and a half ago. I had driven down for the funeral of another uncle, and took the time to look in on Uncle Bill at the seniors’ residence where he lived. As we talked, he referred to himself as the last of the Mohicans, because his brother’s death meant that he had no siblings left.

William Graham was born in the 1920s in Ontario. He was the third of what would become six children – one girl, followed by five boys – and was the quietest of the group. Even as a child, I was aware of how lively some of my relatives could be. Uncle Bill was, to me, an oasis of calm and I loved him for it.

Bill Graham was not a morning person. Actually, that’s putting it rather mildly. My father told me that, when their parents would call the kids down for breakfast, Bill would call back “I’m up”, but he was still in bed. Finally, my grandmother had had enough. One morning when Uncle Bill was giving his standard response, Grandma Graham dumped cold water on him – yes, in bed. Amounts vary from a glassful to a bucketful, depending on who was telling the story.

When my parents were dating, my father invited my mother to dinner with his family. As is usual in these situations, he gave her a rundown of what to expect. According to my mother, Dad said “Don’t expect more than two comments from Bill, and those will be ‘hello’ and ‘good bye’.” At the table, my grandmother seated my mother between herself and Bill – who surprised everyone by chatting, quite happily, with my mother through the whole meal.

I’ve been told that, when my parents were attending a cousin’s graduation (and I was just a toddler), they left me with Uncle Bill for the afternoon. Apparently, small children are somewhat unpredictable when faced with people they may not know or remember, but we got on famously. This was the beginning of our close relationship.

When I got my ears pierced at 16, my parents drove me to Uncle Bill’s to buy my first earrings at his store in Pembroke. Choosing plain gold studs for day wear was easy but, for my second pair, I was torn between a pair of dangly earrings with red stones and a pair of semi-dangly ones with green stones. We were on our way back to Ottawa when I opened the bag to gaze on my treasures. Uncle Bill had put three pairs in the bag by mistake! I told my parents that we had to go back and return the third pair, and they laughed at my assumption. My mother told me she saw him put all three in the bag. When she went to speak, he had winked at her. I still treasure those earrings – all the more so, now that he’s gone.

He was known in the family as “the late Bill Graham”, because he never seemed to arrive anywhere on time. Somewhere along the way, I realised that it was intentional on his part. By the time he showed up, most of the other people had already left. We could sit and talk quietly and without interruptions – remember that oasis of calm I mentioned earlier?

A few years after this realisation, I stumbled across the Myers-Briggs personality test. As I learned more about the various attributes, I realised that Uncle Bill was an introvert – unlike the rest of his family who became very unhappy without other people around them. It must have been difficult to find time for himself when, all around him, his siblings would be exhorting him to go out, go to parties, etc.

Later, I discovered Dr. Elaine Aron’s book, The Highly Sensitive Person. According to her, the Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) simply has a sensitive nervous system. “It means you are aware of subtleties in your surroundings, a great advantage in many situations. It also means you are more easily overwhelmed when you have been out in a highly stimulating environment for too long, bombarded by sights and sounds until you are exhausted.”

Some people reading this might think that I shouldn’t be analysing family members. Perhaps they're right. However, having read the book, and remembering our conversations on a wide variety of topics over the years, I’ve come to the conclusion that, not only was Uncle Bill an introvert, he was probably an HSP, too. He was not enamoured of loud noises and bright lights – especially for extended periods of time – and avoided conflict whenever possible.

I could empathise. When faced with conflict, I tend to duck and run. It’s rare for me to stand up for myself, although not as rare as it once was. Maybe this was what drew us together – the introversion, sensitivity, and a similar sense of humour – kindred spirits.

Yes, Uncle Bill was my favourite uncle, in a group of excellent ones. I shall miss him.

What is a funeral for?

   This morning I learned that my favourite uncle had died … last August. I only found out because I called the seniors’ home where he lived, just to chat for a few minutes. Stunned by the news, I immediately called his son who told me that it had been his wishes to keep it small – into a box and gone, with no fuss or fanfare.

   While I can understand that his preferences are paramount, I believe that funerals were designed for the people who are left behind. It’s our chance to reflect, remember, and grieve with other people who also knew the deceased. We can hear stories and share our own. It’s also an opportunity to express our condolences to the immediate family.

   As an only child, I was deeply touched by the people who cared enough to attend the funerals of both my parents. They had taken time out of their busy day to dress up and express their support.

   There weren’t enough seats to accommodate everyone at my mother’s funeral service. In theatre terms, it was standing room only. She died a month before she was due to retire from teaching. Her favourite position had been teacher librarian. Over the years, I have met a number of people who were so influenced by her that they, too, went into library work. Just this week, I e-met (through a mutual friend on Facebook) another woman who had had my mother as a teacher. She has been telling me what she remembered about my mother. It makes me feel good that my mother left such a legacy, and it helps, even almost thirty years later.

   At the moment, I’m overwhelmed by memories of my favourite uncle and am composing a letter to send to my cousins. Because I don’t have the opportunity to talk to others about Uncle Bill in person, I will post it here.

   I suppose these reflections are purely self-indulgent, but what is a blog, if not self-indulgent?