As calendar turns a page, we look for new omens

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Friday, January 1, 1999 3:00 AM CST

by Mary Beth Danielson for the Journal Times

Remember the UFO mania of the '60s? It seemed as if over night perfectly sane people were scanning the skies for intergalactic vessels decked out in Christmas tree lights.

My sister would stand at the long wall of windows in our living room and stare out over the fields and trees that rimmed our house.

``Whatcha doing, Karen?"

``Looking for UFOs. I think there's something odd over there, kind of by where that tree is that got hit by lightening last year."

I stared out the windows at nothing.

She explicated, ``See how it's kind of green and twinkly? That's more than just a star."

I was almost sure she was pulling my leg. However, since my sister was a master at the art of making younger siblings unsure of themselves, I kept gaping at the sky.

Another timeI was home from college for a weekend. A missionary was in town doing a guest speaking gig at our church. Someone learned his home was close to my college so since it would give me some extra time with my mom, we asked if he'd drive me back when he returned. He kindly agreed.

It was long after dark on a Sunday night and we were barreling down US 94 in southwestern Michigan. Suddenly the man blurted out, ``There! Over those trees! What is that hovering blue light?"

I never did see a blue light, hovering or otherwise, but he sure got my attention. This was a bonafide man of the cloth, surely he wasn't making up celestial blue light specials.

The craze faded. I resumed my normal world view that UFOs, if they exist at all, are too rare to affect everyday life. That alchemy is, in general, tricks guys learn from books. That omens are best when left to suspense writers.

I still operate under these assumptions. I do so dearly love the myth of a methodical, logical and non-hysterical world.

Looking for signs

The beginning of a new year is the kind of time when some of us tend to look around a little sharper. Do the coffee grounds in the bottom of the pot form the letter M? Does it mean we'll get married this year or does it mean we still don't know how to make a decent pot of brew?

While taking the dog out for her nightly walk we hear an owl hoot softly and then hear its wings whuff as it flaps past. Does it mean, as some Native American cultures hold, that someone close to us will die? Or does it just indicate a mouse's mortality is imminent?

Does a rainbow mean no more floods or catastrophes? Or does it mean we were lucky to have our eyes open right then?

Grabbing attention

I mentioned the topic of UFOs over the supper table. Immediately, my son and husband launched into a convoluted discussion about a Betty and Barney Hill.

I stared at both of them. How can I be so closely related to two males who know so much stuff that seems (to me) absolutely inconsequential?

``Who are the Hills?"

They chorused back at me, ``The Mother and Father of UFO abductions!"

``Huh?"

The Hills claimed they were kidnapped by space aliens in 1961. They both described the incident of sighting a pancake shaped space ship while driving in rural New Hampshire. They tried to drive away from it. Instead, they heard some beeps, their car started to vibrate, they felt drowsy. Two hours later they regained consciousness. Later, under hypnosis, the Hills told exactly the same story of being examined by polite and benevolent space aliens.

Mr. and Mrs. Hill were an interracially married couple at a time when most of America was incredibly intolerant about such alliances. I'm not going to wade into the waters of whether this event ``really" happened or not. We live in a big universe that has unfathomable mysteries in it. Not the least of which is human beings' need to feel accepted, cared about, and respected.

I think human beings' interest in the magical or paranormal is telling. We say a lot about who we are when we say what gets our attention.

The world can seem random. Sometimes it seems as there are only two choices. One is to get lost in destructive choices drink till we're plastered, eat till we're semi-comatose, quarrel with the people around us as if it's their fault that we feel so scared and alone.

The other choice is to acknowledge the lonesome times. And if, while we're looking into the face of that, a rare or beautiful bird flies overhead, or a flower we never planted blooms in the front yard, a bush bursts into flames we hang on to those signs.

Curious encounters can put a seal on the choices we've already made in our lives. I once had an apartment-mate who hated winters in the Midwest so much she made me laugh. Every time a heel broke off a boot or a muff fell off her earmuffs she'd grouse and mumble like the Swedish cook Muppet. ``This is a sign. It's the curse of the Great Lakes. I gotta get out of here."

She's lived in California for the last couple of decades.

Who knows what 1999 will bring?

Earlier this week I was out walking. Out of nowhere a lone, coyote-looking dog appeared behind me. I turned around, its startling amber eyes met mine. It sniffed my mitten and then loped on.

Signs wake us up. They remind us there is hope and mystery in our world.

Mary Beth Danielson of Racine is a freelance columnist

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