I was thisclose to publishing a
personal essay on the recent US solar eclipse … as far as an intro and an
ending, to wit:
When my wife, M, looked up from the chart in a newspaper showing a
dark band across the length of the country, I knew.
We would be making tracks to the place that promised
one of the longest periods of darkness in the middle of an American summer day.
That would be 2 minutes and 39 seconds of pitch black in Columbia, Missouri.
“Our anniversary is Sunday,” I reminded her. We’d
have to leave for the heartland on our 28th anniversary of marriage.
“That’s perfect then, isn’t it? ’Cause you know what
the writer Annie Dillard says?"
“No, what?”
“That comparing a partial eclipse to a total eclipse
is akin to kissing a man versus marrying him.”
Every boomer knows the line by heart, the phrase
from that famous song by Carly Simon:
“Then
you flew your Lear jet up to Nova Scotia/to see the total eclipse of the sun.”
“So,” I said to M, “you did think that song was
about you?”
+ + +
Imagine the scene across the country, millions upon
millions standing shoulder to shoulder, staring skyward.
Which brings to mind what our rabbi told us on our
wedding day twenty-eight years ago.
He quoted Antoine de Saint Exupery that “Life has
taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking
outward together in the same direction.”
Next: Running for Your Life: Why I’m Not ‘Treading’ These
Days
