Eclipsed

Certain events in life bring people together, don't they? Some are celebratory. Others are tragic. Way too many are catastrophic. Happily, some are lunar.

The lunar variety certainly got folks talking this week. The event must have a scientific name, but to quote some presidential candidates, I am not a scientist. So, we called it by its media pop name: the Super Blood Moon eclipse. This phenomenon, featuring a larger than normal full moon and the earth's shadow passing in front of it, turning it a dusty red color, entered the popular conversation this week with, "Did you see the eclipse?"  

And so many did. It has been a topic on Facebook all week, complete with amateur and professional photos. Casual discussions have turned to where we were when it happened, how we watched it, how well our pictures turned out, and "You know, the next one won't be until 2033!" 

Although, early in the day here in Dayton it was looking like it might be too cloudy, we were lucky enough to have clear skies by sunset. Add in a warm summery evening with a light breeze and we had the perfectly pleasant setting for being outdoors watching the moon. Neighbors came out of their houses. Someone set up a telescope across the street from us. Others parked folding chairs along the street. We set up chairs on our own lawn where we got a good view of the moon over the garage. It was fully dark here by the time the eclipse began and we could hear folks chime out, "It's started!" Kids got to stay up past their bedtimes. The whole show had a party atmosphere.

Forgive me for invoking the Way Back Machine once again, but Sunday night's moon event reminded me of the last time we experienced this much enthusiasm about an eclipse. It was February 26, 1979. That year, the mid section of North America was under the wide arc of a total solar eclipse. But Winnipeg was the largest urban center located under its absolute epicenter. Needless to say, the city was abuzz with excitement. Newspapers, television and radio carried stories for weeks about what we'd see and when, all about the science, and how we should avoid burning our eyeballs by not actually looking directly at it. Everyone purchased the proper viewing spectacles making the entire city's population look like an enormous audience at a 3-D movie. Someone issued official badges with appropriate eclipse-watching graphics designed especially for the event. Some school officials planned on suspending classes so their students could watch; others thought it would be too dangerous, fearing that kids might look at the sun at the wrong moment. Businesses proclaimed a mini holiday.

At the time I worked in a three story, flat-roofed building downtown.There were no tall buildings immediately around us to impede our view of the sun. I'm not sure that management sanctioned our office group's plan to gather on the roof, but we did anyway. We must have been nuts! The temperature that day was in the minus 20s. There we were, convened on that barren rooftop, in the dim, frozen February sunlight, bundled up in winter coats, mitts, toques and boots, wearing our goggles. We might as well have been on the moon. 

I don't remember how long we stayed out there in the biting Manitoba wind, but I do remember being very cold. And I wish I could say that I remember the moment that the sun was erased by the moon's shadow. At the precise moment, I had let my attention stray toward two other phenomena that we had been told would occur: the flock of birds that swooped and danced through the scene, and the long, rippled shadow that waved like the tail of a ghost across the roof's surface behind us. It sent chills up my spine - or maybe it was just the cold that made me shiver. Regardless, I turned away from the sun at the exact moment of totality to observe this phantom shadow.

For weeks, everyone around town shared their eclipse stories. "Where were you during Totality?" they'd ask. It was the opening salvo of or everyone's conversations. And I had to admit that I missed it.

As for Ken, during that time in February he was the Company Manager on a performance tour, going around northern Manitoba, shepherding a group of mimes who did not speak to each other -- neither on stage or off (no kidding - you can't make this stuff up - they hated each other so much they refused to talk to each other.) He felt rather lonely that whole trip, but there was one moment when they all loaded off the tour bus and stood together as one, in silence, except for their teeth chattering in the cold, solar goggles perched on their noses — for the total eclipse of the sun. It was a moment in time enough to even bring even mute mimes together.