“Nobody likes my joke,” complained my father. We were watching the total eclipse on the TV as it passed by some place in Texas. People in a field were staring up at the sky in eclipse goggles, at least fifty percent of which were probably actually safe. The animals at a nearby zoo, where more viewers had gathered, either headed back to their dens for an early bedtime, or stood chewing and staring at the attraction of all these weird humans being even weirder than usual.
“Which joke is that?” I asked.
“The one about how this is all happening because there are no more virgins or volcanos.”
“Don’t be silly, dad. There are still volcanos.”
Still, point taken. This is a big event, especially because it’s crossing the path of so many big cities, at a time when we have the internet and 24/7 coverage to tell everyone it’s coming.
Eclipses aren’t rare, though total eclipses are. This was the second one this century, the fifth in my lifetime. Partial eclipses occur at least a couple of times a year.
But even knowing why and when they’re going to happen, we get very caught up in the moment. For all our cell phones and AI and twenty-first century blasé about everything, there we are, stopping traffic, looking upward, marveling that it got darker for a minute. We can’t seem to lose our primitive awe.
“We finally get a sunny day,” I said to my father, “and the moon decides to fuck it up.”
It’s because of the moon I was there with him today. Five years ago I chaperoned dad to the 50th anniversary of Apollo, a big bash with giant displays of him and all his fellow madmen and women who’d made the project a success. Draper Labs had created the Hack the Moon website, which included a page on the old man’s grammar contribution along with his colleagues’ other impressive contributions.
To that event I’d worn a pair of mother of pearl earrings and a ring that have moon-like swirls, and to celebrate another lunar event with my father I decided to wear them again today.
“The skies are supposed to darken around 3:15 to 3:30. I’ll be there a little before 3:00, we can watch some earlier stuff on the TV and then we’ll go outside together, OK, dad?”
“OK!” he’d said.
I arrived a little before 3:00 pm.
“Here,” dad said, handing me a pair of eclipse glasses, “they only have a few and we’re supposed to share them, but I brought a pair up for us to use.”
We turned on the TV and watched Texans as they watched the sun. After making sure dad wanted to use the wheelchair, his helper dug it out of the overstuffed closet and set it up. My friend had come along for the show, and she, dad’s helper and I all got ready to go outside.
“Ready, dad?”
“Nahhh. I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap instead.”
“But.. eclipse… wheelchair… plans…”
“Eh. It’s better on the TV anyway.”
I looked at him.
“OK. But I’m taking the glasses.”
“You’ll be stealing from old people.”
“It’s better than killing them.”
“This is true.”
And like the animals at the zoo, he headed off to an early bedtime.
Morning Teaistisms
This evening I went to a reading by author Susan Ito at a nearby library with my friend Roberta. Roberta is an extremely talented writer with tons of material who keeps up with publications and events (which is how I knew about this reading), and knows lots of people, and is nice. But I like her in spite of all that.
While there I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen since grade school, but who is another nice, extremely talented writer. Heather Corbally Bryant and I hadn’t seen each other in something like fifty years, but we recognized each other and I, at least, felt immediately comfortable near her, even after all that time. It was lovely.
But someone had not written her Substack and had to bolt out of there when it was over. The one promise I made to myself in this new life was to write this thing weekly barring flood, fire or physical impossibility.
I did not vow to proofread, however, so this week, dear reader, may be a rough one for you. My apologies.
My god libraries are dry places. I got back a little after nine and dug out some Perfect Peach herbal tea, which claims to be “just like a freshly baked peach pie but in a tea cup.”
It is not.
But it’s good enough. A little cloying, as peach things can be, but you don’t want to slap it.
A great read, Marjie!! Damn, I love your Dad! Glad you poached the glasses rather than the alternative :)
Well done! I love the picture of your dad.