My husband wanted my homemade cinnamon rolls for Father’s Day. I started them too late Saturday evening to make our rendezvous with the stars up in the mountains. We were planning to drive up to the observatory, a place we’d never been before, but the rolls took precedence. The dough needed time to rise, and by the time I got them rolled out and cut with a piece of thread into spirals like miniature Milky Ways, the sun had long set, and it was too late to start a trek into unknown territory along winding mountain roads.
There will be other times, I thought. The stars will be there for eons beyond my time. I am the one who won’t be here, and neither will my husband be here to enjoy my cinnamon rolls. He was delighted this morning, eating them hot out of the oven glazed with my rich vanilla cream cheese frosting.
Next time, I will make sure the real Milky Way takes precedence.
I looked longingly at the clear blue sky, thinking how lovely the stars must have been last night, happy for all the amateur astronomers who gazed at nebulas and planets. I would have liked to have seen them. My understanding is that even if you don’t have equipment, an astronomer happily gives you a look through their telescope, so long as you don’t fiddle with the dials.
Instead, we spent a pleasant evening at home watching His Dark Materials on HBO and The Crown on Netflix.
And in the morning, I rose early and sat on the patio reading the Sunday paper, looking up at the deep blue sky, thanking God for this wonderful life — thanking my lucky stars. Next time, I will make sure the real Milky Way takes precedence. I will view its trail before I die and become part of its dust, leaving my imprint in the darkness above, a mystery for all to see and wonder at.
"One can be a father and a virgin also...a person/soul to and within himself, as well as a father who leans out the window of soul and ministers to others in meaningful ways." from p. 319, Untie the Strong Woman by Clariss Pinkola Estés