Thursday at the beach

First, let's get this David stuff out of the way:

I keep wanting to ask him something along the lines of "am I  right in thinking that you've always felt this way? That even when I was thinking that things were great, you were thinking that we shouldn't be together? Maybe I'm just getting paranoid, but now that I think back I remember you making the odd comment to that effect..."

This occurs to me with some regularity, lately. But then, every time, I wonder (as though planning), "So in what situation exactly would I like this conversation to take place? On the phone? In person? Via text?" And of course, I don't want it to happen in any of those situations. That's aside, of course, from the fact that there's no way in hell I want to here his answer to that question. When I was thinking about it yesterday in the car on the way down to the beach, and thought of the implications of what seems like the probable answer (these being that there is little to no chance of there being any "me and David" ever again), I seriously considered vomiting out the window. I decided though that this would make Kelly uncomfortable.*

I was catching up on another blog tonight when I came across an entry about a tearful airport goodbye, which unsurprisingly took me back to the day I had to leave Turkey, and, secondarily, the day David left for Turkey. It took me what may have been several minutes to push through the tightness in my chest enough to remember a) that we aren't actually dating and therefore this maybe shouldn't affect me so strongly and b) that I left Turkey almost three years ago. Cool.



Less depressing/possibly more interesting topic: Terry Pratchett.

I love him. Perhaps I have mentioned this.

I finished reading "Making Money" tonight on the drive home (Kelly cannot stand to ride as a passenger for any length of time, whereas I don't particularly like to drive for any length of time), and it was brilliant. BRILLIANT. I wasn't too taken with a literally nauseating recurring and somewhat graphic reference to gangrene, but it all worked well in context. I just don't like having to control my stomach. But it was brilliant. I swear I had more to say about this five minutes ago...

Oh! Alright. I was going to discuss the humor of Terry Pratchett which is, as I am coming to realize, rather cerebral. I love this. I love that he loves words, and turns of phrase, and he makes them turn flips for him. I love the way he picks up on tiny details of human behavior and hangs entire plot lines on them. I love the way he will parody absolutely anything, including mythology, any brand of science he can get his hands on, and any element of culture he can spin into the tapestries of his fiction. I read one where he referenced the death of Napoleon on Elba, and there are others where he hit shopping malls, rock music, quantum physics, insurance.. (Incidentally, how does one end a list like this? There isn't really a good way. "Etc" is vague and obnoxious. "And the list goes on" seems almost asinine to me at the moment. I'm floundering here.) The one I just finished made economics funny. Also, here is one clue (probably not sufficiently convoluted, but one can hope) that I will leave with you as you (hopefully) read "Making Money": Rain Man.



Lastly, while I was swimming I was, obviously, thinking about the ocean. It occurred to me that if you think about the physics of waves, what's really going on is that when the ocean tries to climb the beach, it trips over its own feet**.  So then I started thinking about common metaphors for the ocean and adding my own. Ocean as mother is pretty well broken-in, and ocean as man (Old Man in/of the Sea; Poseidon/Triton), but what about the ocean as a child tripping over its own feet, or as a pack of little boys rushing at the shore? Then, of course, a storm at sea becomes a tantrum rather than wrath--that brings up its own set of problems. (Mainly in that a tantrum is petty, and a storm at sea is serious business.)
Lastly, the sea, or at least the shallows, almost as a jester, turning somersaults on the sand.































*Sometimes when I write things like that, I wonder whether they come off as an attempt at dark humor when they aren't. I like making people laugh, but usually when I do it is either subconscious or completely inadvertent.

**Think about it. When you trip it's because you were moving forward, and then something dramatically slowed your feet--slowed them so quickly that the rest of your body couldn't catch up in time, as it were--so you fell forward. When the ocean rushes into the land, the sand slows the bottom layer of the water fairly quickly, but the top layer keeps moving fast and falls over the slower moving water.

Thursday atthe beach. So to speak. I actually stayed in the house mostly.

Tonight I was straightening up downstairs and saw a flash outside, and realized that there was a storm out at sea. I ran upstairs to tell everyone what was going on (because lightning storms are exciting, ok??), and then, of course, picked up my camera and headed out to the beach. At first I tried taking pictures. I knew deep down that this was a huge waste of time, especially with a little and somewhat old Sony Cybershot pocket camera like mine, but I couldn't help trying. Eventually I started walking down the beach, and eventually I (mostly) gave up on the camera. I stopped 15 feet short of the pier and stood where the waves could wash up to just below my knees and studied the water and sky. I was trying to compose poems and paintings and drawings in my head. I was thinking of the "no man is an island" quote, and how it's all wrong--how we're all islands. How I'm standing here on the shore of mine, and by reading the wind and waves and sky I can tell there's a storm out there, but I can't really see it. I can't really experience it. It's like trying to read another person's mind. We can't really ever get in on what's going on--we can only read the weather and the waves and try to figure it out. I stood and watched the lightning, and the overlapping waves around my feet, and the foam, and the raw, powerful storm waves crashing against the pier for a long time. I turned to leave, and then turned back, realizing I'd never gone all the way to the pier. I went and stood next to a piling, and then saw a bolt sticking out about 2.5 or 3 feet from the ground. It was very tempting. I think I actually said aloud, "that is very tempting." And then I climbed up and sat on top of it, one of the shorter support pilings, barefoot and dirty with my skirt (ok, skort) pushed up to my hips and my legs and arms wrapped around the main pillar. (That was the only way. Those things aren't really big enough to make good seats, and they are severely lacking in comfortable foot rests.) Even just adding five or six feet to your vantage point can seem to change everything, can't it? I think I sat up there for at least 30 or 40 minutes, getting my clothes covered in mouldy, soggy old wood and watching the waves crash and run up the beach and splash under my feet. It was pretty awesome, not gonna lie.

Then on the way back I overshot the house by ten minutes, and then it started to rain. Luckily I realized that I'd overshot, and then didn't pass it a second time. That would've been pretty aggravating. But it was ok!


Earlier today, after I tried/pretended to nap for four hours or so, most of us went to paint pottery. Brian drew this super sweet cartoonish lumberjack and snowy tree and house on a mug, and outlined it all in black. I took a picture, but I took it on my camera and we all know how I feel about going to all that trouble of putting the memory card into the reader and then plugging it into the computer. Such a hassle. Maybe later.

I painted a tree and a waterfall and a Bible verse and some birds--so unlike me, I know. I guess none of you reading this (except possibly David) see much of the stuff I tend to paint, but trees and waterfalls are popular themes. Bible verses and birds are not unheard of. I was under pressure, okay? Anyway I took pictures of that on my phone, so here you go:

The other side has a waterfall on it. And another bird, that time flying. Also, obviously (?), this will look rather different after it's glazed. The tree branches will probably be showing through, for one, the blues will be far darker, and the bird might have faded into the tree. Whoops. I am crossing my fingers and hoping that "different" means "better." Anyway, the verse is "Beloved, let us love one another--for love is of God, and everyone that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God." I John, 4: 7-8. I think I'll be gifting this to the kitchen at Camp because evidently charging $16 for a mug plus $7/day for "studio time" doesn't leave enough profit margin for this pottery place to buy dishwasher- and microwave-safe glazes. Classy.















Before she went to bed, Sara's mom told me to go to bed soon, "because you want to be happy tomorrow." Today, as I believe I mentioned, I was very tired and sunburned and stayed inside. Am I not allowed to be a night person? Am I not allowed to be an introvert? Are those things not okay? She, bless her, is type A. I guess they are not ok.  Hopefully, despite having another late night, I can be 'happy' tomorrow. Aka get up and go to the beach, I suppose. And I think I'll need to be leaving tomorrow evening, which sort of stinks, but I'd really rather not be in traffic Saturday morning. Even if I hit traffic tomorrow night, I'd prefer that in hopes that my car will be less likely to overheat and pop yet another leak in the radiator hose. I guess we'll see, kiddos. I guess we'll see. Goodnight all.

Writing and writing and writing.

A product of too much time on my computer, I guess. How much time can I spend half-clothed in direct sunlight every day? How many other things can I do without spending money? Not that much and not that many. I'm not trying to complain. Just making excuses.


Anyway I realized I haven't been entirely honest about David, and maybe it doesn't matter or maybe I shouldn't; maybe it will make things worse, but I know, David, that you do check or have been checking up on this sometimes. And documentation helps me, later.

I must have written your name in the sand at least ten times at Moomaw while I was trying to lifeguard. Just writing with my fingers and then wiping it away. Once I wrote your family's names too. I couldn't focus. I switched out with Dale in part because I needed to think about anything else. I had been doing such a good job of keeping my mind closed, but thoughts of you crept back in and I ended up staring at you on the insides of my eyelids in my tent when I should have been sleeping.

I thought maybe it would stop, but it hasn't yet. It's been in and out, like the waves, but nearly always there to some extent lately. And ain't that always the way. Yesterday was pretty hard. I guess the beach is pretty hard because even though we never could make a beach trip together work, I always wanted to, so much. I have a three-year habit of thinking of you at the beach and wishing you were around. Plus there's a damn outdoor shower. Of course there is. I haven't used it.


I've been staying up late texting at nights, playing mentor to a kid from camp who is great and who needs it. I am so glad to do that, so glad to be able to help, so glad of reassuring human contact without the stress of actual face-to-face interaction, but I need to sleep. And I need to get human contact from people my age. I just  have a hard time, especially when I'm tired, with anything in groups--anything that isn't one-on-one. And as this is a group trip, and as the person here with whom I would like to spend one-on-one time is the host and also rather popular, there is precious little alone time to go around.
I know, or at least I get the feeling, that people in the house (particularly "adults"--parents) are annoyed with my near-constant computer usage. I'm sure I'd be annoyed too. I'd like to make some excuses here, where they aren't listening, where I won't seem quite so childish or ungrateful. And I am not ungrateful!
I am so tired. The sun wears me out. I love everyone in this house but all except one or two wear me out. I guess maybe I've been using this computer a little like a shield. I'm sorry.






And I would like to apologize for writing such depressing things. Judging by the above paragraphs I'd have to say I'm not feeling particularly well this morning and also I am exhausted, and I just want to go back to sleep, but I feel that I must go to the beach instead because to do otherwise would be wasteful and irresponsible and ungrateful. Such helpful emotions I've got running around in my head. Ugh. Maybe I'll have something more positive to say later. Love to anyone stopping in here. Notes would be appreciated--I'm lonely.

What the f.

Yesterday, wearing 30 spf sunscreen, I seemed to gain some skin pigmentation, but then by this morning it had completely faded.Today, in a wave of brilliance, I decided to sit out for a while sans sunscreen. Then, because my skin changed color not at all, I thought that perhaps I should further delay sunscreen application. It was somewhat overcast today, but the water has been beautiful--as clear as I've ever seen on the Outer Banks. We (me, Sara, Eva) read for a while, then swam for a while and saw some dolphins (!) hunting and playing beyond the breakers, maybe twenty or thirty feet from us at the closest point. Very exciting. There were several discussions about the desirability of swimming with, petting, or possibly riding wild dolphins, not to mention having one as a "special friend*." Also, we saw a pelican bus lead by a seagull. Magical. Eventually we left the water and I returned to my chair determinedly, sunning beneath a sunless sky.
Even after leaving the beach for the day, my skin was still as pasty pale as it had been before I drove down. Now? Oh, now my chest, stomach, and thighs are right about that shade of red that a person might turn after being smacked hard. All over. Sometimes I feel like my whole body is conspiring to play pranks on me.


But dolphins!















*A-la Flipper**

**Only not, because evidently Flipper was really annoying? I don't know. I've never seen it.

Dear internet,

Please work. Or maybe it's better that you not, as I am less distracted from the ocean when you are sleeping or on break. And how much time do I get to spend with the ocean? But still, I just want to sleep.


I have been writing a fair amount over the past couple of days but largely not posting said writings due to a fickle internet connection. This morning I have had the brilliant idea of connecting to a random linksys instead of worrying about our still-uncooperative protected network. I know, I'm a genius.

Things written recently, in reverse order--that is, most recent first (and as separate entries, because this one has footnotes):


I went walking on the beach again tonight (tonight being Tuesday night, but who knows when this will get posted with the way the internet has been acting this evening), out to the waves and then down to the left toward the pier to get my feet wet and let the waves splash up against the hem of my dress and lean against a piling and sing. I carried my water bottle, as usual, both as a source of water and as a blunt object should I be attacked by a madman on a deserted beach after midnight. I should've been a boy scout--always prepared for things that never happen.
I sang under the pier for a while and then headed home around 1 or 1:15 I guess, and halfway back I was suddenly hit with this wave (no pun intended) of fatigue, after which everything seemed so dreamlike--like I wasn't completely conscious, wasn't completely there. Along the way I met a man walking in the opposite direction, and I didn't see him until he was almost upon me--maybe six feet away. I had been singing, and had closed my eyes for a second, rubbing the sleep out of them, and then when I opened them there he was, coming out of the darkness. Sort of freaked me out (in addition to being a little embarassing), though he didn't even acknowledge my presence. He passed me again when I was standing at the waves in front of the house where we're staying, singing again. Rather loudly I think, though it's hard to judge volume with the crashing water. Yes. A little embarrassing.

But even still, night walks on the beach are lovely. I could probably count on my fingers every place I've been where I could see the Milky Way, and here I can see it clearly. Last night I must have seen at least six shooting stars, and I wasn't even looking for them*. The moon rose red and soft over the horizon directly in front of the house, and cooled as it ascended. I wish I wish I wish every time I'm out in the dark that there were some camera that could take pictures of the night the way the night really looks, with the subtle shines and glows and depths which evidently only biological, God-given eyes can see. I often feel at home and in the mountains that I could sit and listen to a stream play or a river run forever, all day and night. It seems sometimes like the sound of a stream, given time, could wash out the inside of my mind. I feel like I could listen to the ocean forever too, but it feels more like a mental caress or an embrace, something to soothe rather than something to refresh and cleanse. I guess refreshing and cleansing and soothing and caressing can interact and overlap, but then, maybe that makes sense. At the risk of getting sickeningly cliche with this, I mean, they're all water. And rivers all** meet the ocean.






































*When I am looking for them, of course, I never see any. I lie back in the grass and stare into outer space with grim determination, and then I rub my eyes or glance over at a tree and as if on cue the entire group suddenly gasps with shared delight and appreciation from which I am nearly always excluded. Usually such comments as "that was the [biggest/brightest/most amazing] one I've ever seen!" can be heard.

**Damn logical brain*** forces me to concede that all rivers do not, in fact, meet the ocean. Nature and metaphor are uneasy friends.

**This is why I cannot really enjoy Emerson's**** essays except in excerpted form. It's a crying shame.

****He likes(/liked) to fabricate scientific "facts" to fit his fancy.

Written before last night's beach walk:

I love the ocean waves and their ever-evolving constancy. spill, pour out, swell and recede, ebb and flow, forward and back. I love the way they recede from my consciousness and then suddenly swell back into my ears during quiet moments. I love their soft, soothing sounds.

And again, still, I can't write about water without thinking of its massive and terrifying destructive power, destructive potential. I feel that I must mention it, as though failing to do so would be dishonest or would show a dangerous lack of respect--would be asking for trouble. Maybe I'm afraid that if I let myself forget the danger I will fall prey to it again, or maybe I feel somehow that remembering might keep me safe.

Like a [twenty]four year old in need of a nap.

TMI and inappropriate content alert, because, you know, that never happens:

I am really sick and tired of not making out. I mean honestly. Help a sister out*.


Also, I am tired and all of my clothes are dirty and I am covered in salt and chlorine and dinner out is in 30 minutes.

And I want to spend this whole $15 itunes gift card on Glee songs. Yes, that is right. I am still ever so slightly obsessed.


























*Feel free to not take that seriously. Or I mean, whatever...

Post-first-session.

Megan and I drove home yesterday afternoon, and were the last two to leave (excepting David and Jarian, who weren't leaving). I don't know why this seems to happen so often. I don't do it on purpose. It just happens. Megan says that I must be a Shewmake. (I'm not, technically speaking, but we are related.) I didn't feel too bad about leaving so late though because I got a lot of letters written to kids that weren't in my cabin. There were so many this year I wanted to write, and even though I must have written at least fifteen kids, I don't think I got everyone on my haphazard mental list. I guess it's alright.


I had tentatively planned to drive down here to the beach yesterday if traffic was ok and if I had the energy, but though traffic was fine, I did not even remotely have the energy. I had to give myself at least three pep talks and down my emergency Rockstar (Juiced, mango--which is by far the best flavor and which can be practically impossible to find sometimes) just to be able to leave the house and drive across town to hang out with some friends from Mary Wash who were having an "America's Goddamn Birthday*" party.

[At this point I stopped writing and went and hung out on the beach for a ridiculously long time and then went to sleep and picked back up again at 11:35 am. Because, you know, everyone cares.]

America's Goddamn Birthday was really nice. I loved seeing all the guys at the house, and more people from college that I hadn't seen since graduation. I thought I was going to miss the fireworks after I took so long to convince myself to leave the house, but I ended up walking down to Maymont from Stone's house and seeing them from the parking lot. It was really nice. And then I came home at 2 am and my dad was still up, so I sat down and he talked to me for an hour or so about our ancestry, including that we are first cousins to Robert E Lee, six or seven times removed. Evidently  Robert's father moved to Halifax in search of new horizons and founded "a new dynasty," from which were descended my father's father and uncle. So that was cool, and it was nice to talk as we hadn't seen each other in almost two weeks.

I woke up late and got ready to go, spent some time with mom and dad, finally went out to leave, and discovered that I had lost my paycheck. Awesome. I'm guessing I left it at Camp, but not having it is really unhelpful. I for once have enough cash money for gas, so I gave up and headed South. Most of the drive went smoothly, but I hit traffic and made a wrong turn when I was nearly at the house, then found the correct street and passed the house three or four times and was a little pissed when I finally walked into the house. Hugs and hellos from Ami and Sara and Susannah and Brian and Eva and Mike cheered me up though. Also: six crabs and three bottles of Mike's (1 lemonade, 2 limeade). So tasty.

Not many vacations are ever as wonderful has this has largely been thus far.




























*Verbatim description from the facebook invite:
"If it seems like celebrating AMERICA'S GODDAMN BIRTHDAY in the city that tried to ruin it is counterproductive, try thinking of it this way: shut up.

anyway, it's happening. we're gonna light some fires and shoot some water guns and chop some watermelons with machetes and spit whiskey into fire and playfully smear pie on each other's faces until somebody takes it too far, then spend the night trying to stop drunk people from crying because life after college isn't what they thought it would be.

If you call yourself a son or daughter of liberty, you best PUMP YO DANG SELF UP."

Which is why I <3 Kyle Schuster. (If you are like me and must Google a name, please note that the first result is not the correct Kyle Schuster. The second (a myspace profile) is. Is that over the line? Am I too creepy?)

Well,

I suppose trying to be fully present here at Camp ends up meaning that I'm largely absent from the cyberspace world. I guess that's okay, but I'm sorry if anyone finds it frustrating.

What did I last say? Something about the library? Whatever. The older boys' session is usually my favorite, and though I can't really call it "favorite" before working any other sessions this year, it's been pretty good. We have a lot of guys up for CiT (counselor-in-training, special leadership-type program), which is great. I might have to see if I can be one of the cit counselors next year. I am too tired right now to worry about capitalization.

The 'High Adventure' camping/tubing trip had a lot of good points, but will hopefully be improved with better planning for next time. And as I said, it was exhausting. I am exhausted. Also, I jumped awake at 3:45 this morning and thought we were still on the river, all spread out and trying to sleep. I was getting so angry about it, too--"this is why we have to find campsites in advance! This is why we need to keep the kids together!" Stress dreams. Fantastic.  Eventually, thankfully, I realized that I was awake and in my bed in the staff shack. That doesn't always happen, so I'm glad it did. I had crazy dreams all night though.

Yesterday pretty much sucked. But then, parts of yesterday were really nice, so it's difficult to generalize much. Getting everyone and everything together, two groups sharing one campsite and not enough vehicles, was pretty hectic and confusing and stressful. Then when we got back, everyone scattered, and I was (or felt that I was) blamed. And I was livid. I mean livid. I stomped around. I threw my water bottle in front of a camper. I yelled at people. Eventually I had to hide in the craft shack and sort beads, in hopes that this would help me calm down, and I ended up sobbing hysterically. I think perhaps this had been building up for a while. And it wasn't just that I felt like I was unjustly blamed for everyone's kids running everywhere. (By the way, I was put in charge of this trip, and I have never been in charge of a camping trip with kids before.) It was also that, for some reason, the past two days have been increasingly bad in terms of missing David. And then Victoria, trying to help me feel better, told me that he missed me too, and that's about when I started crying hysterically. Good. Good. Good times. Thanks.

But since I couldn't bring myself to go to dinner, Charity had me drafted to help her drive back out to Lake Moomaw to pick up the canoe trailer, as it is missing a hitch pin and she wanted help in case it came unhitched. Again. (She substituted an open padlock, which held pretty well.) Also we both were at the ends of our respective ropes and needed to get the hell out of camp. It was really nice. As it turned out, pretty much all the canoe tie-downs needed to be retied, so it was good that both of us were there. That lake is so beautiful, and so is the drive. It was a really nice little break.

Tomorrow, obviously, is the fourth. I'm supposed to go down to the beach to meet Sara & co, but I may have to postpone it a day to sleep and wait out traffic. The question is, what do I do for the fourth if I'm not driving six hours to Nags Head? There's always the option of staying here and watching the fireworks in Millboro, or I could drive home and attend the "America's Goddamn Birthday" party being thrown by some guys I knew in college. That would break up the drive, which would be nice, but I'd also probably be up late. Hm.

The beach with Kelly and Sara and Brian was nice. There were some fish sculptures and more fish in bas-relief along the boardwalk, all of which I liked and none of which I photographed. I burned a little, despite a shiny new bottle of spf 30 Hawaiian Tropic sunscreen. In retrospect, it probably would have helped if I hadn't gotten into the water 15 minutes after applying said sunscreen. It also would have helped if I had ever convinced myself to put more sunscreen on after swimming. Are there really people who do that? I guess there are probably lovey couples who use frequent sunscreen application as an excuse to keep their hands all over each other, but I mean other than them. Is there anyone who doesn't find sunscreen application such a massive pain in the butt? I am trying to recall an occasion upon which I put sunscreen on more than one time, but I'm drawing a blank. I guess that's bad.


Through the storm clouds rolling in tonight the moon looks like a black eye. Like somebody walked up and punched the night sky in the face--that or the night sky got dehydrated and sunburned at the beach* and then passed out in the bathroom, which is how I got my last black eye. That's not very glamorous though, and somewhat less badass, so maybe we should look for another explanation.



















*Not today. Several years ago.

So, I don't really keep up with the news well.

But rest in peace, Mary Travers and Patrick Swayze.

I liked Patrick Swayze, but I am even more upset about Mary Travers. It was one of my life dreams to see Peter, Paul, and Mary perform, but I guess that's not happening this side of the Styx. Since, as I mentioned, I don't really keep up with things well, I had no idea that her leukemia had relapsed. Her death is a great loss.

[insert transitional phrase]

Quotes from my sister:

"It was the epitomal part of your life. The pivotal turnage point!"
"I just am so problematic, in everything I do."

In response to my question, "can I save your quotes? and put them on the internet?":
"Yeah. I am a very quotable person."


Also, the extent to which I memorized the periodic table in high school chemistry, which I still remember:

h he li be b c n o f ne na mg al si p s cl ar k ca sc ti v cr

I am rather impressed with myself over this.


[insert transitional phrase]



For a number of reasons, I've decided not to go to the beach in South Carolina, after all. I plan on taking this as an opportunity to practice not regretting things.

in honor

I meant to post this actually on the twelfth, but I guess now is better than never.


September Twelfth, 2001

Two caught on film who hurtle
from the eighty-second floor,
choosing between a fireball
and to jump holding hands,

aren't us. I wake beside you,
stretch, scratch, taste the air,
the incredible joy of coffee
and the morning light.

Alive, we open eyelids
on our pitiful share of time,
we bubbles rising and bursting
in a boiling pot.

X. J. Kennedy



In other news, my mom's family has been doing an annual (ish) beach week for several years, and this is the first time I've been able to come to any part of it. My mom and I are only down here in Kitty Hawk for one night, but it's been awesome. We drove straight to my cousin Staples's place for a big crab picking party, then helped clean up and came over to the house where we're staying with three of my uncles (Bobby, John, and Bud,) and my aunt Mereme. Uncle Bobby almost immediately gave me a shot of vodka and then the three of them started educating me about music from their youth--mostly by Ry Cooder. I had never heard of him, but he's pretty fantastic. Uncle Bobby and my mom and I went for a walk on the beach after dark, and we found patches of phosphorescence all down the beach. Every time we kicked the sand in one of the patches it would light up green. I've only seen the sand do that once before, in high school, and I've been looking for it ever since. My uncle had never seen it at all. I hope there's someone that predicts its occurrence so I can plan a trip someday to coincide.