So where was I...?Oh, yes: looking at stars from the sidewalk.

This is the belated continuation
of my post on public astronomy.

April 16th was National Astronomy Day, an event that's received more and more promotion during the last few years. It's usually scheduled for the Friday or Saturday closest to the first-quarter moon in late March or early- to mid-April. By that time, the weather has turned and people are out more often; the Sun shines warmly, and the Moon provides an easy, highly textured surface to observe. Astronomy Day, in some venues, is the culmination of a weeklong series of events meant to increase public interest in the worlds beyond this world.

I hadn't been out to do my "public outreach" for many months. The previous session was in October 2003, when I focused on the Sun near the University of Washington campus. I ambled through California, New Mexico and Ohio a couple of months later [and Qatar, after a few months more], and the telescope was stowed in Ohio from last May until this January.

Since January (and before last Saturday), I could count on three fingers (or less) the number of times I've taken the telescope into a public setting. I have taken it to one of the schools where I work, but that's different because children are more open to this experience.

I sat in front of this terminal on the afternoon of the 16th, intending to write about some of my earlier interactions and astronomical observations. I got lost in reminiscence about some of those observing activities, and then I realized how warm and sunny it was outside. My Lady Friend returned soon afterward, and we went out to the corner so that she could be in the Sun's light while I had people observe the star.

We had a person here and a person there take a look. One guy came by, on break from Pagliacci, and he mentioned how often he checked out the SOHO pix. I think it was about then that we heard some pomp and clatter from down the street [on Broadway between Republican and Harrison]. "It's a parade," my Lady Friend said. And indeed it was. It was the same group of a dozen or so people who'd held their own parade on Broadway the previous weekend. And they were coming our way.

A few of the revelers had filed by before one of the young women asked what we were looking at. When she stopped, several others did. The music stopped and then we had the whole corner occupied. I explained that there was one large sunspot to observe, and then I fiddled with the knobs in order to get the Sun back into view.

One of the young men asked if I had seen objects floating in coronal haze, or if I had ever listened to the music produced by the Sun's vibration. I wanted to talk about some of that some more {since I have heard the INSPIRE feed from Earth's atmosphere and I had an idea what he meant}, but then a very pleasant woman with her sleeping toddler came up and asked what we were seeing.

And then it was all about people management: The young guy began to talk to my Lady Friend about all of this esoterica; his companions searched for the rest of the parade-makers, who'd crossed to the other side of Broadway; a co-worker of the guy from Pagliacci came out, still in his apron, excited to check out the Sun on his own; the appreciate young mother wanted to know how often I came out to the corner; and there was that older gentleman who'd been thinking about getting his own telescope.

Afterward, as I prepared to go see Auntie M, my Lady Friend told me that just before the paraders arrived, she'd been thinking that a documentary could be made of me interacting with people on the sidewalk. And then, as if to point out what kind of antics could be captured, a small parade walks by... [Before we set out that afternoon, I'd told her about the experience of having a family of 10, some of my sister's neighbors, and some passers-by looking at the Christmas eclipse in 2000 in two or three inches of snow. This was close to that kind of spectacle.]

I went to do some web design work with M, and then returned to the corner of Republican and Broadway around 8 p.m. (an hour later than I'd told some people that afternoon). As I mentioned, Astronomy Day is scheduled near the first-quarter moon phase. It's a rich target, with deep craters, shelved ridges and mountain peaks, all in high relief because the Sun is at a 90-degrees angle.

It was awhile before anyone stopped to ask what I was looking at. One young woman expressed slight astonishment that "you could that" from the city. But she didn't want to take a look. Another young woman, on the way back from dinner with her parents or grandparents, was the first to take in a view of the Moon (while some guy commented "Come over to Vashon, you can see it better there." As if.).

Another 15 or 20 minutes passed, and I was just about to pack it in (because it was chilly) when a couple stopped and asked what I could see. I'd just viewed Saturn and told them about it while I tried to get a bead on the planet again. I managed to do that after some work (they were patient, fortunately) and they were each astounded, which is always nice to see. I gave them a view of the Moon soon afterward.

When the young woman mentioned its dimness, I looked up and noticed that the clear sky we'd had all day was being enveleped by a high, opaque cloud layer. Saturn was gone. And the Moon was about to be shrouded, also.

So that night's show was over. And although only a few "attended," it felt good to have shared the view from our Earthbound stage.