Starry, Starry Night...

I’m looking up at a clear star-filled sky. It’s an incredible sight without the usual addition of smog. It’s close to midnight and I will be sitting on this uncomfortable seat until dawn breaks. Why?

As far as I can remember from the article I read a few days ago, five planets - Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and a crescent moon will all be visible at the same time tonight! A true amateur astronomer’s feast! I’ve set up my telescope on its tripod after some struggling with the legs until I got them stable and balanced and I’m ready for the big show.

I nearly didn’t make it after a strange and unplanned trip took me away for a few days.

My wife and I had been looking forward to a long planned overseas trip this month. We were going to Tuscany in Italy where I planned to do a bit of painting and visiting galleries and museums in Florence and Sienna. We had already started packing and were itching to go. Our flight was scheduled for midnight on Wednesday for the two-week holiday and I had already ordered a cab to take us from home to the airport.

On Sunday evening I sat in front of my computer and finished an article I was writing, intending to leave a satisfied editor while I was away. At nine I went out for an hour’s walk to stretch my legs and aching back. When I returned, the computer was frozen and defied all attempts to restart it.

Virus, I diagnosed, as I grumpily shuffled off to bed. In the morning I called a technician who came, looked, prodded around in the belly of the machine with deft fingers, and said, “I have to take this to the lab. It looks pretty bad. I will fix it and have it ready for you on your return,” he promised.

He was as good as his word. Three hours after we arrived home he called and asked if he could come over. He arrived, followed by a young assistant who scurried in and out carrying boxes while the technician wired things up on my desk. “You had a major problem and we had to replace many of the original parts,” he announced as he hit the ‘On’ switch with a flourish and watched proudly as the screen came to life. “All the old unused parts are in these boxes,” he said, pointing to the pile on the floor.

“What’ll I do with them?” I asked in dismay. “I hate throwing away hardware.”

“Build a time machine for your grandchildren. That’ll keep you busy,” he chuckled as he headed for the door with my check in his hand.

“Time machine, harrumph!” I snorted as I sat down, flexing my fingers before touching the keyboard.

I e-mailed the children to say that we had arrived home and sat in front of the computer, jet-lagged, tired but pleased to be back in my book-lined den, back in my own environment and surrounded by my own ‘toys’. We had enjoyed our time in Italy, painting and visiting the galleries and looking at the works of the Old Masters. We had enjoyed the change of food and climate as well. But after two weeks I had hankered to be back to my regular lifestyle.

I thought a cup of coffee would help haul my blood corpuscles back onto their feet. Standing up to go to the kitchen I bumped into the little pile of boxes and computer parts still stacked on the floor. Curious, I began opening everything and putting the pieces of hardware on the desk. I could easily build a respectable looking time machine out of all this, I thought, remembering the spare keyboard in the cupboard and an old screen that gave a great deal of trouble a few years ago but which I was still reluctant to throw out. Now it took up space in a corner of the garage.

I began joining the little bits and pieces, here and there using a paper clip which I bent to fit and attaching short lengths of wire to small electronic parts. When everything was lined up, I lugged the old screen inside and positioned it behind the rows of parts. Finally, I propped the keyboard up in front of everything so it stood vertically, resembling the control panel of an imaginary spaceship. Back with a mug of strong coffee and feeling much brighter at my spurt of creativity, I let my mind wander free.

I plugged the screen connection into the power socket in the wall and to my surprise, it glowed an eerie green. On the keyboard, I typed the words: ‘What year would you like to visit?’ and added a box for an answer. Under that I typed: ‘Where would you like to be?’ To my amazement everything appeared as I had typed it.

I leaned back to sip the coffee, grinned at my little creation and wondered what else I should put on the screen.

The door opened and Danny, my tall, red-headed twenty-year-old grandson walked into the room. “Hi, Pop! I came over to see… "Gee, what’s that?” he asked, leaning forward to look at the screen.

“I built a time machine,” I explained proudly.

 “What does it do?”

“It lets you travel in time. You answer these two questions: What year would you like to visit and where would you like to go? You put the answers in these boxes here; hit Enter and the machine will do the rest.”

There was a long silence as he digested my explanation.

“Have you tried it yet?”

“No, I’m nervous,” I joked. “It looks so real.”

“It does look pretty real. Will it work?”

“Of course not! Men have been dreaming about building machines and traveling in time for hundreds of years. Most of them would just like to visit next week so they can look back at this week’s Lotto numbers.”

He giggled.

“Let’s try it, Pop! You go first.”

“Okay,” I laughed. “What year should I go to?”

“Two thousand years back.”

“Fine.” I typed ‘20’ in the year box.

“Where should I go?”

“Put Rome, Pop. We’re just playing!”

“Right again,” I said picking at the keys.

“Now what?” he asked.

“I want to take my telescope with me. I may want to look at ancient things in detail.”

“Good idea. Take it!”

“Okay. Now I just have to hit Enter and off I’ll go,’ I joked.

“So do it,” he said.

I have to say my time machine worked most efficiently. H. G. Wells would have been proud of me. There was no bang, no smoke, and no sensation. I simply found myself sitting in the same position as I had been in my swivel chair in front of the computer.

Only now it’s on an uncomfortable rock under a large olive tree on a slight rise where I can look down on the gently rolling landscape which I assume is somewhere on the outskirts of the small undeveloped city of Rome. A goat is standing in the shade of a tree and he looks as surprised as I am.  

There is, however, one problem. Someone, and it has to be my grandson Daniel, has to press the Enter button on my computer to get me back to the right time and the right place.

Daniel, where are you?

He got my mental message eventually. But it took a couple of days before it penetrated. He told me that he had been absolutely frantic after I had disappeared in the blink of an eye. And panicked when I didn’t come back that day. He wondered if he could do anything to help me and finally decided to press the Enter key and hope that would do the trick.

Tonight, I will fill a glass with single malt scotch and sit out on the porch and marvel at the stars whose ancestors I had viewed two nights ago.