CHASING THE MOON

My children share with me a fascination for nature, but when it comes to the moon in its many moods, we strive to pay attention. An unspoken agreement exists between my two oldest daughters and me: whoever first spots a moon worth viewing (or a rainbow) should send a text message to the others.
Tonight it was Stephanie's turn. She had just left work after a 13+ hour day in the Hilton Hotel kitchen and was off to purchase her first washer and dryer for her new home. I knew the actual full moon was slated to appear tomorrow, but I try to live one day at a time, and a Lunar Alert means "Drop what you are doing and go outside-NOW!".
The alarm was sounded throughout the house. I reluctantly pulled myself away from a collage on Andrew's binder for his homeschool portfolio; Lauren abandoned her Facebook social life with college friends she recently moved away from after graduation; Robert and John Paul logged off their laptops, relieved at the break from finishing portfolio work; Andrew put down his copy of Hound of the Far Side by Gary Larson (which, by no small coincidence, has a cartoon of a dog howling at the moon on its cover.) After a stress-filled day working at his maintenance job AND his portfolio writing samples, he finally re-discovered out-loud-laughter perusing the warped comics, and his glee allowed me to sigh deeply.
As we filed into the van, Lauren ran back into the house to summon Maria and Teresa from the basement where they were about ready to perform an impromptu---but well rehearsed---theatrical venture on the basement studio stage.
I can't help but muse at how sweet it feels to be able to load the van with 6 of my 8 kids with less than 5 minutes of warning time. Had I really survived two decades of getting them up and out into the 14 passenger red Ford Super Club Wagon van, wondering if I'd ever see this day when we'd set records for firefighter-like speed in doing so?
As yesterday marked the summer solstice, it didn't matter that 2/3 of them were barefoot for our excursion. Finding matching shoes and socks before any outing used to mean desperately pleading with Saint Anthony in Heaven for miracles to cover their little piggies so we wouldn't be late. Our Favorite Finder of Lost Things helped us locate the foot coverings, but promptness still eludes us. But here we were tonight, driving up the hill on our street in search of the perfect viewing spot.
My husband Fran had left to walk our Bassett Hound, Duke through the neighborhood, so the pair of them got to enjoy a twilight celestial sighting of their own.
Andrew was more thrilled at the fact that daylight was still in abundance at 9 p.m. He was fascinated when I told him that in Dublin four years ago, his dad and I were amazed that skies were still bright at ten p.m.
We quickly located the peach-colored target of our adventure in the southeastern skies about 20 degrees above the horizon. As I drove through the winding streets, we couldn't decide where we'd get the best view, so I, being the driver and tour director, overruled their suggestions and headed for the west shore of the Susquehanna River in Wormleysburg.
By chance, we sighted a newly-constructed public recreational spot just outside the gates of the remains of the Walnut Street Bridge. I forget what year it happened,(1992?) but since we moved here to South Central PA, the western span of the structure connecting City Island with Downtown Harrisburg on the East Shore and Wormleysburg on the West Shore, was obliterated by a cresting river loaded with chunks of melting ice and snow after an extreme winter. The local community has yet to obtain funding to restore the historical structure, so the mini-park acts as a pacifier until we can afford to bring the crossroads over the river back to life.
Tonight, the air was free of humidity and the temperature held on in the low 70's.
We somehow managed to escape the barrage of Mayflies and mosquitoes which nowadays remind me of Egyptian plagues before the original Passover of the Israelites. After I parked the van, the kids bolted from their seats to explore the new tourist attraction where they had an optimal view of the moon over the river at dusk. By the time we arrived, the moon had faded to a pale gold and shrunk in size as it climbed above the roofs of the pubs below us, where patrons enjoyed food, drink, and merriment on the patios of the local establishments.
The attention of my children quickly diverged from celestial highlights to exploration of new territory. Several layers of brick and concrete walkways and walls held treasures of young trees and flowers in bloom. My kids have never passed up an opportunity to test their balancing skills on narrow topped walls, and tonight their pent-up energy from an intensive week of ending another school year found release. They chased each other in patterns I could not follow. My attempts to capture the moment on the camera of my cell phone were hindered by the quickly fading source of light.
Two park benches faced each other, flanking the remains of the bridge, now separated from curious onlookers by an ornate wrought-iron fence. My children engaged each other in a game they called "categories," racing from bench to bench after verbal prompts from one or more of their siblings. In this moment, freed from cares of the family, house, work, school,chores, and neglected to-do lists, I felt a wave of gratitude sweep over me. The weight of caring for my 99 year old father-in-law melted like soft serve ice cream in July.
Fireworks exploded with colored lights as I backed the van out of the parking space above the boat docks. I focused on the inclined driveway in my read-view mirrors, trying to avoid backing into the Susquehanna as the children marveled at the reflections on the water's surface. I did not need to watch them any more than I needed to stare at the illuminated sphere ascending to its zenith.
As hard as I often try, I cannot create times like this, where my kids simply enjoy their youthful energy and the company of each other. I cannot help but attribute their close bonds to years of homeschooling. As I watched their glowing faces, oblivious to the problems facing this generation, I was swept away in the mystery that I had given birth to each of them. I quickly forgot the moments preceding the Lunar Alert text, where in self-pity I curled up on a love seat, worn out by the struggles of getting through another day, another year closer to my appointment as worm food. Tonight, we chased the nearly-full moon, illuminating our lives like fireflies as the warm days grow shorter beyond our notice.