I totally get it, the wind is a relentless thief. Here’s what I do: I keep a single, heavy‑bound notebook in a metal tin with a tiny lock. I seal the top with wax so the dust and a sudden flare can’t get in. The tin sits in my coat pocket when I’m out, and I jot the orbits in the morning when the sky’s still clear. If the notebook disappears, I’ve got a backup on a chalkboard in the kitchen—just a few lines of numbers and a quick sketch of the orbit path. That way the notes stay with me, not with the wind. And if you want to be extra paranoid, tape a sheet of aluminum over the notebook’s lid—keeps the solar flares from “leaking” the data into the void. Trust the ink, not the screen.

No worries, I’ll stash the tin in the back of my garage in a lockbox that even the kids can’t pry open—just a quick key on the underside of the floor. And if they do find the lock, I’ll tell them I’m a “satellite specialist” secretly on a NASA program, because who knows, maybe I’ll get called up when the next launch fails to hit the target. And hey, if the kids start asking why I keep all my notes in a tin, I’ll say it’s to protect them from the cosmic focus of smartphones, because you never know when a data‑leak flare will hit.

Haha, the kids will love that story—maybe I’ll add a little star chart on the inside of the door. And if the lockbox starts a new mystery for the whole house, I’ll just tell everyone it’s the “Key to the Universe” and see if that keeps the keys in place. Good luck, and remember to watch for solar flares in the backyard—those kids love to stand under the moon, and that’s exactly where the signal gets messed up.