Total Eclipse of My Heart
or,
Here Comes the Moon
(Sorry, Beatles!)
Our Erie-Area Eclipse “Review”
It was simply magical, wasn’t it?
Erie weather did its best to hold out and provide us with a decent day to see the most recent solar eclipse since 2017.
(But that one didn’t occur near Erie, so to me, it doesn’t count.)
It was nice to be a part of something (even though I viewed it alone), that everyone was so happy to experience. Could there be any detractors? Any “anti-eclipsers” out there? Such a wondrous natural phenomenon, I seriously doubt it.
This was my first solar eclipse, which at age 60, seems like I must’ve missed some solar events along the way. Yet I cannot recall any of the hoopla like we’ve experienced in Erie and Crawford counties that have accompanied this solar eclipse for the past several months. The TV news segments, the newspaper articles, the free giveaway glasses, solar eclipse wine tastings, et
cetera.
People were excited and I wanted to be too, but the pessimist in me and the iffy, off-and-on (mostly off) weather within our tri-state area, left me wary about getting thrilled about the event.
I definitely wanted to see it, but I believed in my heart of hearts that Mother Nature was going to disappoint me—and many, many others.
Nonetheless, when I was driving past the Crawford County Tourism Bureau in Meadville a few weeks ago, I stopped in and got a free pair of solar eclipse eyeglasses anyway. Just in case.
Early Monday, as we all know, the weather didn’t look like it would cooperate. Then, late morning-early afternoon, the clouds parted. Now, I told myself, if the weather can just stay that way…
I learned from some Erie news source that around 2:45 p.m. was the time to start watching, so I grabbed my solar eclipse glasses and headed outside—and in doing so, saw something almost unique as an eclipse.
My neighbors! A husband and wife who live catty corner across from me and are as reclusive as Howard Hughes or Bigfoot, were outside in lawn chairs!
A felt a little put out, being scooped on the event by people who so rarely ever leave their house. (What could they be doing ALL day inside their home, I wonder. But then again, I try not to give them much thought.)
Feeling their eyes upon me, I grabbed a wicker rocking chair and matching table and went behind my garage to take in the sight.
And waited. And waited. Until 3:16. For totality time.
I’d brought a magazine outside with me, anticipating the wait time, but then felt guilty about looking at it, when an event like this is so rare. So with glasses on, I watched as the clouds occasionally danced in front of the sun. Yet with the glasses, I was surprised by how much I could see more of the sun , even with the cloud cover.
To try and understand this I did something quite stupid: I looked at the sun (for just a second, though!)—which everyone from meteorologists to the fool on the street tells you not to do.
Then 3:16 p.m. struck on my phone. And though I was occupied watching the complete solar eclipse, I had this nagging feeling that I should be doing something to commemorate it.
I snapped a picture of the eclipse (see above; yes that’s the total eclipse), but somehow I felt like I should be celebrating. But doing what, alone in my backyard?
After totality, I peeked around the corner and saw my neighbors and their chairs gone, but I knew I had to wait until 4:30 p.m., when, according to NASA, the eclipse was completely over.
Okay, call me sentimental. Call me a goofball. But just as the moon was no longer blocking the sun, I said “goodbye” to the eclipse and the pas de deux sun-moon dance that I witnessed. (I even say goodbye to the apartments I’m leaving as I’m shutting the door for the final time, so, yeah, I’m weird.) But I had to say something about the event, to the event.
Okay, three questions.
First, during the solar eclipse, did anyone see those two red lights at the bottom of the sun? What were they?
Secondly, after watching TV coverage from around the nation about the event, people there were in total darkness, but—and maybe I’m crazy—I wasn’t. Around the horizon of my home, it was lit, albeit very dim, but why did the TV coverage show complete darkness? Am I losing my ability to recall—even such a once-in-a-lifetime event? It really bothers me.
Thirdly, two hours after the eclipse, when the weather was finally beautiful, I went to take a walk. Idiot that I am, I looked toward the sun again (albeit quickly!), in an attempt to locate the moon. But it was nowhere in the sky!
Huh? Where did it go? It should be somewhere in the sky, right, but I couldn’t locate it.
Strange, huh?
I hope you enjoyed the solar eclipse as I did. According to Google, the next one in the lower 48, will be in August 2044, over 20 years from now.
Yikes! If I make it that long, I’d be 80. But count your April 8th blessing: The last total eclipse for Pennsylvania was 1806.
So, put your solar eclipse eyeglasses in your scrapbook so someday you can tell your children or grandchildren about the event we all witnessed. And you have a souvenir to prove it.
Good news, though, if you’re a night person: the next LUNAR eclipse for our area is scheduled for September 17-18, 2024.
And, no, you won’t need special glasses to view it!
***G.Greenleaf-Knepp
End
