Weekly Roundup 13: Eclipsed

 

In 2017, which seems like half a lifetime ago considering everything that has happened since, I made the trek north to Wyoming in order to be in the path of totality for the Great American Eclipse. From a hilltop in a historic mining village called Sunrise, we had clear skies and a perfect view of the solar show overhead. (The traffic after was apocalyptic, however, as the sleepy two lane roads were in no way suited for hundreds of thousands of visitors, but that's another story.)

Nearly seven years later, we took a much longer road trip to Georgetown, Texas for the 2024 solar eclipse this past Monday, April 8. We chose Texas for its high probability of sunny skies and booked our vacation rental a year in advance. We had our eclipse glasses and eclipse binoculars. We were ready.

A week beforehand, the weather was not looking good. Cloud cover predicted at 80%, a chance of rain, and the possibility of "damaging" hail. Still feeling hopeful, we packed up the car and made the two day drive south. Because what else can you do but hope for the best?

On eclipse day, we made a slight adjustment in plans based on the cloud forecast. As we drove to our destination, I couldn't help but think about how the eclipse itself was a sure thing. Thanks to the knowledge of our solar system gleaned over centuries, this cosmic event could be predicted down to the second with one hundred percent certainty. There was no guessing about where and when it would happen. And yet we humans down below were dealing with much uncertainty.

I'm happy to say that the cloud cover, which had been playing peek-a-boo with the sun all morning, broke just in time to allow us a view of the sun completely eclipsed by the moon. During the four minutes of totality, we saw the skies darken and felt the air cool. We heard roosters crowing from a distance. We were able to observe the eclipse phenomena of Baily's Beads and the Diamond Ring.

In other words, we were very lucky.

And the overwhelming traffic that was expected didn't materialize, perhaps because the weather forecast kept some people away. 

I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have been able to observe this awesome event twice in the last ten years, especially because I've been able to share the experience of true wonderment with very special people. 

Be well, friends! Oh, and in the spirit of eclipse week, here's a picture of my space-themed tiny garden:

A to Z Joy: Yellowstone National Park

Established in 1872 by President Ulysses S. Grant, Yellowstone National Park is one of my favorite roadtrip stops in recent memory. We spent only a day there, and I'd love to go back and spend much longer. It is a large National Park, with tons to see and do. Because it's basically located in a volcanic crater, geothermal features abound: bubbling mud pots and geysers and mineral-rich water in otherwordly colors. Everywhere I turned, I saw something that amazed me. And because we visited in October, we missed the hordes of summer tourists.

Thanks to my husband for the pictures!

Tomorrow is the last day of the A to Z Challenge! We're almost there!

A to Z Joy: Roadtrips

My husband and I have been taking road trips together since we were newly married and too broke to afford airplane tickets. He loves to drive, and I love to ride and look out the window, so we're a perfect match. After our two sons came along, we continued road tripping, at first with giant stacks of library picture books and later with Harry Potter audio books.

We have driven through amazing parts of this country: the sparing beauty of the Southwest, the lush farmland of the Midwest, the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains, through Texas and Montana and so many wide open spaces. We've crossed the Mississippi River and the Continental Divide more times than I can count. We've also been in our fair share of traffic jams, detours, and construction delays. And occasionally we get lost.

I have no problem flying, and I do appreciate that it is a much quicker way to travel a great distance. All things considered, I think my favorite trip now is a combination: fly to a destination and then drive elsewhere. A couple of summers ago, we flew as a family to San Francisco and then drove north to see the coastal redwoods. When we left the city, it was foggy and about 55 degrees F. A couple of hours later, it was 103 degrees in the middle of wine country. It's hard to experience that in an airplane.


Bonus Rs:
If you're feeling the weight of the world these days, as I am, I hope you'll get a laugh out of Randy Rainbow's tribute to New York Governor Andrew Cuomo.

A to Z Joy: Niagara Falls

Some years ago, my sister, who lives in Seattle, received her Master's Degree from Buffalo State-SUNY in Buffalo, New York. My mother and I flew out to help commemorate the occasion. And although I was happy to be with my mother and sister, it was my first ever Mother's Day away from my sons. I felt weird about leaving them, but it was a wonderful weekend, in part because of a quick trip to the American side of Niagara Falls.

The state of Colorado, where I live, is landlocked, but we have lakes, rivers, and waterfalls. What we don't have is water the likes of which I saw at Niagara Falls.

Niagara Falls is a set of three waterfalls (Horseshoe Falls, American Falls, and Bridal Veil Falls) at the south end of the Niagara Gorge, which separates New York (U.S.) from Ontario (Can.). Horseshoe Falls is the most powerful waterfall in North America, with an average annual flow rate of 85,000 cubic feet per second.

I didn't spend any time below the falls, but I can tell you that the view from the top was absolutely mesmerizing.

A to Z Joy: Grand Canyon

The first time I saw the Grand Canyon, it was filled with a cloud. Literally. I couldn't see six feet down, let alone six thousand. Disappointed, my husband and I found a cheap motel room (there was such a thing in those days) and spent the evening playing cards and listening to the rain. We left the next morning, and, on a whim, decided to try another look. Lo and behold, the cloud was gone, and the view of the canyon was spectacular.

Carved by the Colorado River, the Grand Canyon is 277 miles long and 6,093 feet deep. In 1919, President Woodrow Wilson signed the law that established Grand Canyon National Park as the seventeenth national park in the country.

I've been back since the first visit, and of course the Grand Canyon was still spectacular. The only drawback is that I'm afraid of heights, and my palms sweat the whole time I'm anywhere near the edge. There's no chance of me falling in while trying to take a selfie!

A to Z Joy: Atlas

Welcome to the first day of the A to Z Challenge!

Though Atlas, the titan of Greek mythology, is a fascinating guy, my post today is about a different kind of atlas: a road atlas. It might seem like a silly thing to bring me joy, but even in this age of GPS navigation, I love having an atlas with me on a road trip. I don't use it to navigate that often; I really just like to see the entirety of the state I'm in--where I've been, where I'm going, and what might lie between.

The well-known atlas company Rand McNally dates back to the Chicago print shop William Rand opened in 1856. In 2018, the atlas celebrated 95 years of helping people get where they want to go. So this felt like an appropriate choice for the letter A, as we begin this month's journey together. And as an added bonus, an atlas is much easier to close than a road map!

Happy travels, all. Best of luck with A to Z!

(For more of the Rand McNally history, click here)

Stacking the Stones

I am certain that the first time I saw a cairn, I didn't think it was anything other than a balanced stack of rocks. Since then, I have seen them in deserts and in forests and on beaches and in gardens. I have seen them in heavily trafficked areas and in what felt like the middle of nowhere. At some point, I learned that cairns, or human-made stacks or piles of stones, began as simple structures used to mark notable spots--burials, sites of astronomical significance, caches, and trails used by game and/or humans. They can be as large as a dwelling, or less than a foot high.

Cairns, both traditional and modern, are found all over the world, often in locations that have too few, or possibly too many, landmarks. They serve as guides for a designated route, or warnings to watch out for hazards best avoided. Some cairns have religious or mythological significance. In ancient Greece, they were associated with Hermes, the god of overland travel. In Portugal, they are known as moledros, or enchanted soldiers. An ovoo is a Mongolian ceremonial cairn used in Buddhist ceremonies. In South Korea, adding another stone to an existing cairn is said to bring good luck, a tradition thought to stem from the worship of San-shin, the Mountain Spirit. In Germany, a cairn is anthropomorphized as steinmann, or stone man.

Okay, cairns are fascinating, and I could go on about their wider significance in the world. But to me, a cairn is a simple confirmation that I am on a path to somewhere. (And because I can get lost backing out of my driveway, I need all the help I can get.) If I am alone on that path, a cairn is a sign that someone has been there before me. And because I am the type of person who would never knock a cairn down, I assume that someone will come along after me and be similarly reassured. (I do know that, in recent years, overzealous cairn-builders have wreaked some havoc in natural areas, but that is perhaps a subject for another time.)

Earlier in the summer, as I embarked on my virtual road trip, I felt that I didn't have a great idea of where I should be going. Honestly, I still feel that way. But I've realized that feeling a little bit lost makes me look even harder for clues. And the harder I look, the more likely I am to see something useful. A couple of weeks ago, for example, a member of my critique group made a general suggestion that really resonated with me. So much so that upon reflection, I decided she had put a metaphorical cairn in my path, steering me in a direction I had not considered. Maybe this course adjustment will not lead where I hope it does, but it has at least given me a sense of purpose for the next leg of my trip.

Cairns appeal to me because I love stones, but your preferred road markers may be signposts or flashing neon arrows or compass roses or dancing frogs. (I really hope it's dancing frogs.) As you go about your business, keep an eye out. When you spot one, either real or metaphorical, consider whether it confirms your direction or suggests an alternate route. Both options can be valuable. Make a choice, give it a shot, and if you don't like where you're going, turn around. The way back will be marked, too.

I'm Not Lost...I Just Don't Know Where I'm Going

I know that last time, I wrote about staycations, so forgive me if this post feels contradictory and/or redundant. But summer is road trip season, which has me reflecting on how fun it is to pack up the car and go exploring, despite my horrible sense of direction. Even with GPS and all the phone navigation apps, I can and do get lost. I read a news story a few years ago about a group of tourists who drove into the ocean because their GPS told them to, and I could completely relate.

For me, there are two ways of feeling lost: not knowing where I am, and not knowing where I’m going. Sometimes they coincide, but not always. Last week, I realized that I’m aware of where I am and what’s keeping me busy, but I’m really not sure which direction I need to be heading. I’m feeling lost in a different sense. The “what am I doing with my life?” sense.

Partly this comes from being overcommitted. You know, when you’re busy with a hundred different things and feel like you’re not doing any of them justice? It’s very destabilizing and is starting to make me stressed-out and grouchy. So, I decided I should take myself on a metaphorical summer road trip and was amazed at how framing my problem in this way immediately made me feel more in control.

First, I need to map my route. I’ll spare you the boring details, but this basically entails breaking down my summer writing goals into a series of achievable steps. That’s not so hard, right? Add in a couple of side trips and stay flexible for detours, and barring any major breakdowns, I will be much farther along than if I stay put where I am, spinning my wheels.

Next, I should decide what to take. In addition to my own works-in-progress, I'll throw in a couple of novels I’ve been wanting to read, a memoir written by a friend, and a complete compilation of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Wine, sure. (Sangria, maybe, as it is 98°F at my house today.) Chocolate, of course. And, hopefully, equal parts creativity and problem-solving.

Now, what not to bring. That matters, too. Taking a parka to Las Vegas in July, for example, is wasted effort and space. So, I'm sorry, social media. You don’t make the cut. I’ll check in once in a while so you know I'm alive and well, but you aren’t going to ride shotgun with me, sidetracking my mental energy. Same for you, online news outlets. Mindless scrolling through articles that somehow change every day but don’t change at all is not the best use of my time right now. It will all be there when I get back.

The point of this “trip” is to get my writing squared away, so it doesn’t matter than I won’t get much farther than my driveway. As my new blogger friend Karen of Profound Journey put it, writing is more an inner journey than an outer one. (Honestly, go visit Karen's blog if you haven't already. She will inspire you for all kinds of journeys!) 

What would you pack for your metaphorical road trip? What would you leave behind?

Taking a Writer's Staycation

Travel is great for writers. The more you see and experience, the more it informs your writing. But successful travel, especially with a family, depends heavily on the convergence of many factors, including work schedules, finances, school programs and projects, dog kennels, cat sitters, and how long it has been since someone in the household last threw up. It’s a miracle anyone goes anywhere. Especially if an airport is involved. (Thanks, TSA.)

Well, you think, drumming your itchy writer fingers on the table, the alternative to traveling is staying home, and what’s fun and inspiring about that? My answer is: nothing. Please go directly to YouTube and spend the next 7 ½ hours watching instructional videos for making decorative door wreaths out of the junk in your recycle bin.

If you didn’t take the bait, congratulations! You are a true writer and/or your recycle bin is empty. So I will share a little secret: you can find plenty to write about without jetting off to Reykjavik. In fact, I once spent the better part of three years doing one new thing in my hometown every week. It was a great way to renew my enthusiasm for my community, and it gave me lots of material.

If you’re interested in mining your location for inspirational nuggets, I have a few tips:

Research. Go to your local tourism website and print out a list of the top ten activities. Now, wad that into a ball and throw it on the floor for your cat to play with. Instead, pick up a real newspaper and a couple of those ubiquitous free arts and culture publications. Make a list of possible activities that will challenge you to stretch your imagination and comfort zone. If you’re anxious about going solo, find a willing friend/spouse/child to accompany you.

Ditch your car. No, don’t actually drive into a ditch. (Writers…so literal.)  Leave it behind and walk, which helps exercise both your body and your amazing powers of observation. Bring a notepad and camera (my preference) or use a smart phone to document your adventures. Pictures and notes are indispensable memory joggers when you finally quit procrastinating (ok, maybe that’s just me) and sit down to write.

Follow your nose. Venture into establishments you’ve never visited, and talk to people you encounter as you go out and about. Different neighborhoods, whether ethnic or not, often have vastly different vibes, especially in urban settings. Take advantage of the variety available in your area. Feel free to eat, drink, and be merry, all in the name of investigation.

Always mind your surroundings. Ra’s al Ghul’s advice to Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins applies to all of us. Your safety is paramount, so don’t stray so far off the beaten path that you end up somewhere you shouldn’t be. If you really want to get nitty-gritty, schedule a ride-along with your local PD.

Now, get out there and find your inspiration! 

What tips would you add for infusing your writing with local flavor?