How delightful, this shared passion for a galactic alignment
during a time when my country rates an “F” in shared alignments. Tomorrow’s
rare solar eclipse, with totality over a large swathe of America, will give our
torn country a brief respite from manifesting our uniquely rich tapestry of
dysfunction, aesthetic deficit, limited vocabulary, and preponderance of bad
food. While I love the kumbaya togetherness this event inspires, I can’t help
but notice the more ridiculous aspects of the obsession people have developed
for this upcoming two minutes of daytime complete disappearance of the sun, which,
I might point out, people could also accomplish by hiding under the covers.
However, I will (of course) participate in appreciating the eclipse, by
standing in my own front yard and watching the light change.
Yesterday, friends driving deep into the wilds of northern
Oregon to find their happy spot in the Band of Totality posted a photo on
Facebook of the bumper-to-bumper traffic surrounding them on Highway 95 with
the caption, “Why are we doing this, again?” Exactly. I’m glad I decided to
stay at home, where we will experience an 80% eclipse. At my age, 80% works
well. I’m skeptical about 100% of anything these days, since moderation seems fundamental
to longevity. Except when it comes to dark chocolate, which one can never get
enough of. (Did I just end that sentence in a preposition? I might have a mild
case of pre-eclipsia.)
Apparently people living in the Band of Totality have
publicized rental space in their homes, yards, and fields for eclipse-followers
to use when they travel to the 100% region. For $1000, an eclipse-follower can
obtain a place to pitch a tent in a field in the Band of Totality in Nebraska.
Access to a restroom costs $2000. Prices are higher in the Band of Totality in South
Carolina, where enterprising people know more about how to make a buck. Every
outhouse in the Band of Totality in Kentucky (the outhouse capital of the
country) has been rented. I predict that the next up-and-coming musical group
of the year will call themselves The Band of Totality. They will wear eclipse
glasses to perform, and their first album will have a completely black cover
(kind of like the Beatles’ White Album only in reverse).
I worry about dogs. I hope that people with dogs know how to
prevent their dogs from looking straight-on at the sun. Dogs in the wild
probably know how to act in an eclipse, but perhaps not domesticated dogs. I
especially worry about people protecting service dogs, since it would be a
catastrophe if service dogs lost their eyesight. Then we would have the blind
leading the blind, which seems particularly dangerous in the kitchen. The best plan
is probably to lock all dogs in the laundry room. I hope people with dogs think
of that and have a laundry room. I have cats, and a cat could beat a dog at
chess on any given day, so I figure that with their super-intelligence, cats will
know not to look directly at the sun. But what if the eclipse creates an animal-impact
force-field that causes cats to forget themselves and act like dogs? It would distress
me if my cats suffered negative effects from the eclipse and began to drop sticks
at my feet for me to throw for them to fetch, roll in every mound of stinky goo
they can find, meow loudly at the UPS driver, and ask for a Frisbee for
Christmas.
I wouldn’t complain if wild turkeys and opossums looked at
the eclipsed sun and lost their eyesight. I retract that wish. It’s cruel for
me to wish blindness on innocent wild creatures. Maybe the eclipse could cause
them to develop a selective form of impairment that causes them to lack the
ability to see or recognize grapes. Then they would stop eating mine on the
vine even before they ripen. (Dream on, right?) I wonder if the flowers will
close up as if at night. Will hummingbirds fly backwards? Will my dishwasher
spontaneously turn itself on? Just in case, I’ll fill it with dirty dishes and
soap beforehand. I hope everything metal in my house doesn’t get sucked to the
refrigerator door.
Barring any bizarre unexpected occurrences, we have thought
things through and are well-prepared. My husband even obtained a pair of eclipse
glasses so that we can watch the event without burning our eyes. I hope he got
3D eclipse glasses. Wait, real life is always 3D, isn’t it? I saw a sign on the
door at the public library stating that they have no more eclipse glasses. I
didn’t realize that there had been a run on eclipse glasses at the library. Fortunately
I missed that. I don’t know how my husband would have explained it to my
children if I had died in an eclipse-glasses stampede at the library.
If you failed to obtain eclipse glasses (what were you
waiting for? next time think ahead), you can make a device that will allow you
(and your dog) to watch the eclipse safely. I have seen many schematics and
architectural drawings of eclipse-viewing devices online. Just google the name “Rube
Goldberg.” You can make a simple eclipse-viewing device using a paperclip, cardboard
box, four safety pins, tennis racket, silly putty, two coconuts, baseball cap, standard
box of Legos, floor fan, and three feathers from the Indonesian yellow
short-beaked Doody-bird. A picture of a viewing contraption that you can put
together handily in your basement appears below. If you correctly assemble this
device, you should seriously consider applying for a job at NASA.
Well, bring it on. Our love and awe, as humans, for this wondrous
planet, lifts my spirit and fills me with gratitude for the beauty and
magnificence of the natural world. The excitement about the total solar eclipse
allows us to collectively transcend our differences and ongoing strife in this
country for just a moment as we step back, take a breath, and join in our
shared appreciation of this amazing galaxy that surrounds us, with forces
beyond our comprehension. I have not lost sight of that. Pass the eclipse
glasses.
Here is a picture of a device you can make at home to view the solar eclipse safely.