Standing in the shadow

 

Photo by Canadian photographer Andrew Yee in Toronto

I told the Resident Fan Boy I'd scout ahead for a view of the partial lunar eclipse, seeing as we'd gone up prematurely the night before. 

Out on the roof before 9 pm, unmistakeable, the shadowy red/black orb with a gleaming white-gold top.

I texted: "YES!", seconds before our hall neighbour suddenly appeared in the bright rectangle of the doorway.

"Can you see the eclipse?" she inquired.

I gestured excitedly to the south-east, just beyond her viewpoint.  "Are you kidding? Just come and see!"

(To be fair, it seems most people aren't sure about their compass directions.)

As she texted and phoned her parents, the Resident Fan Boy and younger daughter arrived, and I guided them a little further along the fenced walkway, where there was a gap between two trees.  Younger daughter gasped.

About half a dozen people turned up, with their phones alight, alas, but they soon turned them off.

As the western horizon darkened, the stars pierced the indigo sky overhead. Younger daughter murmured, "I'm looking for Orion."

"Oh, that's a winter constellation; you don't see him in the summer."  I pointed to the north-east.  "See that 'W'?  That's Cassiopeia."  I turned to the high west.  "And that's the Big Dipper.  Can you see the handle?"

We waited for the peak of the eclipse, the stars multiplying and burning brighter. Then the RFB and younger daughter, shivering a bit in their summer tops, withdrew. 

Wrapped in my fleece jacket, I leaned on the narrow walkway's rather rickety railing, gazing eastward at the shadow of our planet across the moon, and listening idly to the small mob of relatively youthful friends mis-identifying the constellations.

Moon moments

With our lives and living quarters on the brink of change, I find myself thinking of what I'll remember and miss about the apartment that has been our home for nearly two years.

Chief will be the view from windows and balcony, where we have a front row seat to the schoolyard, far more entertaining and less intimidating than we'd feared, and sightings of many of the celestial events on offer.

Six months ago, I had a cold and clear encounter with the eclipse of this year's Wolf Moon. First, the bottom was nibbled away and the orb seem to slowly vanish into its own cloud, leaving a pewter marble, with a hint of an orange glow,  hanging above the schoolyard.

As the earth's shadow finally engulfed it, the stars became clearer. There were two bright stars above it seeming to point to this globe that I could almost pluck out of the sky, and after a few minutes, I noticed the constellation of Orion twinkling to the right through the bare branches of the tree next door. Below, a group of men chatted as they passed around a telescope, and a woman strode down the sidewalk, not looking up at all.

I ventured out every twenty minutes or so, watching the dark disc rise higher and higher, and remembering another blood moon, maybe about ten years ago in Hades, when the dark red moon glowed between our house and our neighbours', and people trudged by. I wanted to shout at them: "Did you see it? Can you see it?" The Resident Fan Boy remembered another one in Victoria, when he couldn't convince four-year-old elder daughter to come see it. I was able to persuade younger daughter to come out on the balcony to see this one.

Six months later, a recent treat has been the Strawberry Moon, rising at the same time as an unusually close Jupiter, who glittered through the thick summer leaves, if you knew where to look.  Across the street, a rather grungy fellow had enthroned himself on someone's discarded armchair - it's also the season for our neighbours getting rid of unwanted furniture.  Not particularly wanted either, he grumbled to himself under the moon, and ignored the huge planet over his shoulder in the southeast.

Moon chaser

I walked fifteen kilometres today. One of the Resident Fan Boy's cousins is in town, and since the RFB is at work, I was escorting her.

For that, and a number of reasons I don't wish to discuss, I was making my way home through the dark streets. As I reached the corner of Cook and Fort, I looked east and nearly keeled over.

An enormous peach-coloured moon was rising over the hill. Of course, all I had was my phone, but I snapped and snapped anyway, chasing it up the street. This is the best I could do, shading the glare of the street lamps with the telephone poles. The orb is still blurred, and not nearly as clear and certainly not as peachy as it was.

I'm exhausted. G'night.

Tossed upon cloudy seas

On the night of the Thunder Moon, I went to water the outdoor plants of this summer's house-sit, and saw this.

My Nikon is back in Ottawa, so I made do with my phone and got something vaguely Van Gogh.

However, as a friend has pointed out:  "The best camera is the one you actually have on hand."

The envious moon

Photography is not allowed at most theatre venues - with good reason - so I have no shots of this year's Greater Victoria Shakespeare Festival's production of Romeo and Juliet.  However, my friend pointed east to the almost-full moon briefly caught in the ancient Garry Oak, and since it was the intermission, I took the shot.

A Pinch of Salt

The Resident Fan Boy ordered a cappuccino for brunch at a fairly fancy restaurant which has recently opened down the block from us. I was having a very tart mango smoothie and he suggested that I also add a little sugar to it. So I did, a very little because the spoon that came with the bowl was so very tiny and the sugar was in minuscule crystallized blocks. The Resident Fan Boy took one sip and grimaced.
"It's salt," he announced. I pointed out the server to him.
"Where?"
"There," I said with just an edge of impatience. "He's just leaned down behind the counter."
Younger daughter, who is remarkably sensitive for someone on the spectrum, picked up my tone and protested.
"PLEASE don't be mad, Mom!"
"It's okay," I reassured her. "You don't have to shout."
"I'm not shouting!"
"Well, your voice is a little loud."
"I'M NOT SHOUTING, MOM!"
I watched an older group dressed in expensively casual clothes turn their heads. One woman got up slightly and leaned to get a good look at younger daughter.
The Resident Fan Boy returned from his conference with the server, and found me sitting in embarrassed silence and younger daughter looking somewhere between defiant and depressed.
"What's wrong?"
"It's fine."
"What happened?"
"Please. Just drop it."
Our server showed up minutes later with fresh drinks.
"You'd be surprised how often this happens." No, we wouldn't, I thought, as I surveyed the bowl of sugar which looked more like salt than the bowl of salt had.
That evening, younger daughter pulled on her boots as we prepared to go out to see the Boston Ballet at the National Arts Centre.
"Whew!" she said. "I'm glad I'm not angry anymore!"
Then she looked out the window.
"O-o-o-h! The moon is so beautiful!"
A full moon in Leo. That must be it.

Dave Comedy Therapy

So it's March 9th and after a weekend of sunny relatively warm temperatures, it began to snow again this morning. A light covering of pellets over the stretches of black ice. And there's me heading up to younger daughter's school in boots instead of YakTrax. I didn't do the sideways split this time, but clearly, I have been warned. Elder daughter has crawled home from school, sick. The resource teacher has gently let me know that she needs to know to which school we'll be sending younger daughter next year.

I've decided to blame everything on tomorrow's full moon. I figure the moon can take it. In the meantime, I'm meditating on Daves. The Daves I wish I knew...Oh dear... The full moon seems to have got to him as well... Maybe some other time.

And the Daves I know. I know a lot of Daves. Some of them are Davids, but most of them are Daves. They all have have their own hands, but they come from different mums. If you're Canadian, you can see where this is heading. Here is "Daves", as sung by my fellow Taurean Bruce McCulloch in the old The Kids in the Hall show on CBC:Alas, I cannot find a decent video of "Dave's Holiday" by Patti Larkin. Because that would be perfect.

The valley of the shadow (messin' with Sagittarians)

It's been that kind of week. Ottawa's transit workers are on strike, smack in the middle of Christmas shopping, university finals, and a heavy snowstorm. Those not hung up in traffic have been struggling everywhere on foot on unploughed sidewalks. Everywhere looks like narrow mountain trails worn by many weary boots. My normally cheery on-line horoscope has been rather gloom-and-doom regarding the end of this week. Seems there's this Gemini full moon in direct opposition to the sun sign of Sagittarius and we all need to tread carefully, particularly Sagittarians. In addition, this full moon is unusually close to earth. I saw it last night, glowing through the cloud cover like a spectral snowball. I've decided to stay close to home today and be extra cheerful.

Too bad I didn't follow this advice a couple of evenings ago. The Resident Fan Boy has a Sagittarius cousin who has retired to Utah after a career with the US Embassy (in various countries). She's like most Sagittarians I've had the pleasure to meet: lively, conversational, fond of travel, rather tactless, and ironically enough, easily hurt. She's one of those email correspondents who doesn't send messages all that much but enjoys forwarding jokes. This is usually harmless enough, although I've seen most of the stuff before. Lately she's been forwarding virus warnings. You know the ones: THIS HAS TURNED UP ON SNOPES! Send this to everyone on your email list! The Resident Fan Boy dutifully looked up the key words of the warning on Break the Chain and sent her a polite email telling her that the hoax had been drifting around on the internet since 2001, at least. I don't think she replied.

A day later, I was at the computer when she sent another one. Once again, I sent her the link at Break the Chain, showing the hoax email almost word for word. She did write back to me, saying that her cousin's husband was very computer literate, and so she had reason to believe this was genuine. I thought anyone sending email hoaxes, especially when it's so easy to check their veracity, could hardly be called computer literate. And here's where I goofed. I said so. To a Sagittarian. Oh dear. Well, I got two emails back, and I've deleted them. I guess we're out of her will...