The Wake

It was almost like losing a family member. There he was, hanging around all those years like some old uncle, distant but familiar. He was one of us, we knew him by name, and at least, it was a name we could say without snorting, not like poor old Uncle Uranus. I miss Pluto already.

Earlier this month, the celestial body formerly known as Pluto was demoted from planet to “dwarf planet” and renamed No. 134340. Astronomers voted Pluto out of the planet pantheon because of its size, tilted orbit and the fact that it is stuck in something called the Kuniper Belt, as you know, hell during rush hour.

Astronomers have been debating Pluto for half a century, but the announcement came as a shock to the rest of us and not just because of its expected impact on the Styrofoam ball industry. Designers of model solar systems and dioramas, most of whom are around 11, will now have to decide whether to add extra Styrofoam hunks to represent everyone in Pluto’s new non-planet peer group or, more likely, to cut loose Pluto entirely, leaving an empty string where he once swung so happily at the edge of our imaginations.

The thing is, I feel like it’s my fault. I should have been watching more closely. Sure, Montana is Big Sky Country, but I grew up in Wyoming, which is Pretty Big Sky Country, and I have also spent several summers in the Black Hills (motto: “Great Faces, Great Places, Above Average Sky”). I have had more opportunity than most people to examine the universe. We have limited the use of electricity at the summer camp where I work, so campfires and stargazing are a typical part of the evening’s entertainment. But lately, I haven’t been paying much attention. I’ve just glanced at the big, showy stars, saying, “Oh, pretty,” and heading to the kitchen to look for a snack.

I used to look at the sky a lot, leaning my head against the glass of my bedroom window and tracking every moving light to determine whether it was an airplane, satellite or a UFO, which I was convinced would be looking for my house. Depending on which movie I had seen lately, I tried to prepare myself for an alien encounter: “We come in peace!” I would announce to no one in particular as planes from Denver appeared over the mountains. “Take my sister!” I added helpfully, pointing at the other bedroom window. “She’s not heavy!”

During the summer, I could lie on my back in the grass and identify half a dozen constellations, which I enjoyed doing because it was fun to say, “Hey, look, the Big Dipper!” and point at my sister in the darkness. I could also find the North Star, which would be helpful if I was ever lost at sea – like I knew how to work a sextant. Even then, I realized that the North Star was fairly large and that a person would have to make their sister paddle a long way before figuring out if they were actually heading north or not.

But somewhere through the years I got too busy to keep track of the sky. Honestly, the last time we had a comet, I didn’t even go out and look at it. Instead, I watched the Discovery Channel special and figured that since this comet wasn’t going to hit my house, I had seen enough. Meanwhile, meteor showers fall and northern lights flash all the time while I’m cleaning out desk drawers, and the last time I wished upon a star it was for something to the tune of getting a pop machine installed in my living room.

Now Pluto is gone. Well, not gone actually, but while I was eating leftover chocolate cake, Pluto was demoted, and now I can’t even remember what he looked like. The internet photos look more like sonograms (“There’s his head! No, wait … ”) than the usual glamour shots of planet pictures. No fancy hula-hoops or exciting craters — just darkness and ice.

No. 134340 seems to be taking it well, cheerfully orbiting with Doc, Dopey, Grumpy, Chagrined and the other dwarf planets, but I worry about how it will affect the business of astrology here on Earth. Will horoscope writers, who rely on star charts and planet line-ups, still be able to make stunningly useful predictions like “Capricorns should get a haircut this month?” Maybe we’ve had it wrong all along. Maybe that’s why the Age of Aquarius never worked out.

If Pluto is no longer a planet, what else isn’t true anymore? Is nine times nine still 81? Uncle Pluto was someone you could count on, and I miss him. What about the “my very excellent mother just served us nine pickles” mnemonic device that so many of us base our knowledge of the universe on? (Learning a mnemonic is easy; spelling “mnemonic” is “mnot”). “My very excellent mother just served us nine No. 134340s” is not catchy at all.