My kids and I are in Upstate NY. We went to a state park north of here, along with hundreds of other people. Kids played in the chilly lake. Two young women-- one holding an enormous cardboard sun decorated with streamers and one holding a black and white cardboard moon-- ran through the crowds, periodically stopping and offering an interpretive dance to Total Eclipse of the Heart to whoever would watch. Everyone cried out every time the clouds parted enough to see the moon slowly creeping across the sun towards totality. When we got to totality, though, no dice. The clouds were way too heavy. But it did get dark very fast, and then we could look East across the lake and see a line of dawn all along the horizon being pressed down on by the darkness, while to the northwest everything was black. And then it was over.
It wasn't what we were expecting, but our life together never has been for at least a dozen years since their dad and I split. We were together, though, laughing and exclaiming and cracking jokes. I don't much care about sharing holidays and all that sort of shit that comes with shared custody, but when big things-- like, once in a generation sorts of things-- happen I never want to experience them without my kids. And I didn't have to, so the lack of clear skies was only a minor disappointment. The center, which is us, holds.
“But as an adult, wants have to be articulated, held up to the light, examined, and analyzed against a backdrop of responsibilities and finances.”
And THIS is why I am literally bedazzling my car. Which happens to be a sprinter van. I’m a grown up and I can do what I want. CANNOT wait to pull up to the courthouse, sparkling like a mirror ball. This is what I was dreaming of when I got mad and went outside with a glue gun right before the eclipse started.
This was a joy to read. One of my favorite recent discoveries is that "Total Eclipse of the Heart" was originally from a would-be Broadway musical about vampires, which really makes the lyrics make a lot more sense.
We took a carload to Excelsior Springs, Missouri in 2017. We watched as the overcast parted and gave us a perfect view of the eclipse. 8 went on the trip, including my then 9 month old grandson. We began planning THIS trip when we got home from that trip. Air B&B in Carbondale, Illinois 6 peeps on the trip, including my now 7 yr old grandson. It was Perfect!!
In the Jewish tradition, there are blessings to recite over witnessing or experiencing many many many natural phenomena, but nothing for an eclipse. I wonder if, by that absence, the rabbis were trying to get at what you and your daughter were trying to get at in the end of this essay. It should have changed everything, but it didn't.
I wasn't able to travel for the eclipse this year but I took my mom, her best friend and my daughter to Baker City, OR in the path of totality for the 2017 Eclipse. The local high school students got permission to rent out their football field to campers and sold homemade eclipse t-shirts made with bleach on black cotton to pay for their Senior trip overseas the following year. We camped and wore our cool shirts the next day and experienced the awesomeness of totality. I'll never forget the look on my 11 year old daughter's face when it got cold and gray and dark and we could take off our glasses for a couple of minutes. It was truly a magic moment that I will never forget. I also got divorced that same year.
I do believe this eclipse will bring change for many things. We just won’t see it all at once. The changes will be incremental, but when we look at where we are a year from now, we’ll see the difference.
I have been desperate to cry since seeing the eclipse on Monday with my children - a daughter and son, too, aged (almost) 8 and 5.5. I haven't been able to. Until now.
I feel all the things here. The passage of time. Its recurrence. The shapes of this beautiful universe we're throwing ourselves into, over and over again, on and on forever.
You said so many of the exact things I've had in my brain.
Thank you, again. I needed to read exactly this, exactly now.
> We are at 100%. People in the park scream. Someone begins blasting Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” I laugh and hold my kids. I start singing along. We rip off our glasses. I cannot believe what I am seeing. A hole in the universe.
>
> I think of limitless things. Love. Sadness. I keep singing to Bonnie Tyler. I hug my kids. I wanted to toss everything into the universe, to have this moment mean everything, but it’s pointless. The universe doesn’t care and I shouldn’t either. There isn’t a right way or a wrong way. There are no signs. Only life. Only wonders. There are just the things we’ve chosen. And what I have chosen is this — these hands holding mine, this adventure of light and darkness.
>
> ...The world ended, but it didn’t. I wonder about all the small world-endings. All the apocalypses we see and walk by. How grief and miracles are the same. A brief rip into the light. We peer into it and then we are expected to return to the same. Together we’ve seen the light change. We’ve seen the sun disappear.
Damn! I tried half-heartedly to come up with metaphorical eclipse meanings and failed, but this is it! "the apocalypses we see and walk by; how grief and miracles are the same: a brief rip into the light. We peer into it and then we are expected to return the same." Amen!
Having failed to come up with something so compelling, my eclipse take was to stick my tongue out at the future and say "neener neener."
It was cloudy in the spot we traveled to, but the darkness itself was startling. Really wanna see the corona, though! We're already thinking we'll catch the 2026 eclipse in Spain.
I've experienced serious triggering events in the last few years that resulted in very bad outcomes, and I knew the 2024 eclipse had a huge potential to be one of those triggering events. (The 2017 eclipse was full of abuse and trauma.) So, I didn't make any special plans. I watched others online, and I've enjoyed reading about others' experiences. Except for my daughter, who went for an "eclipse picnic" with friends, none of the kids even mentioned it.
I’m within a year of your age, and have kids near the same ages (9, 5, 1) and have really struggled wrapping my brain around how time has gotten me where it has. How when I see adults I knew as a kid now, they were obviously not as old as they seemed when I was a kid. They were probably my age now or younger, yet I remember them seeming older. And now I’m there, where they were, and I don’t know how it happened. I’m not old enough to be as old as they were, yet somehow here I am.
"I tell a woman I just met, who drives me to the airport on one of my trips, that I feel like time feels like something solid and is passing through my hands and I want to hold it and cradle it and tell it to stay. But I know that letting time pass is precious, too."
Oh did I need to read this. Between turning 40 on Friday, having a son start high school, and a daughter start middle school next year, time feels like it's falling away. You so beautifully captured what I'm feeling right now. I want time to be solid. I want to be me as I am. I want my kids to be them as they are. But I can't fight time. I can't hold it. And it's so hard to accept.
My kids and I are in Upstate NY. We went to a state park north of here, along with hundreds of other people. Kids played in the chilly lake. Two young women-- one holding an enormous cardboard sun decorated with streamers and one holding a black and white cardboard moon-- ran through the crowds, periodically stopping and offering an interpretive dance to Total Eclipse of the Heart to whoever would watch. Everyone cried out every time the clouds parted enough to see the moon slowly creeping across the sun towards totality. When we got to totality, though, no dice. The clouds were way too heavy. But it did get dark very fast, and then we could look East across the lake and see a line of dawn all along the horizon being pressed down on by the darkness, while to the northwest everything was black. And then it was over.
It wasn't what we were expecting, but our life together never has been for at least a dozen years since their dad and I split. We were together, though, laughing and exclaiming and cracking jokes. I don't much care about sharing holidays and all that sort of shit that comes with shared custody, but when big things-- like, once in a generation sorts of things-- happen I never want to experience them without my kids. And I didn't have to, so the lack of clear skies was only a minor disappointment. The center, which is us, holds.
“But as an adult, wants have to be articulated, held up to the light, examined, and analyzed against a backdrop of responsibilities and finances.”
And THIS is why I am literally bedazzling my car. Which happens to be a sprinter van. I’m a grown up and I can do what I want. CANNOT wait to pull up to the courthouse, sparkling like a mirror ball. This is what I was dreaming of when I got mad and went outside with a glue gun right before the eclipse started.
This was a joy to read. One of my favorite recent discoveries is that "Total Eclipse of the Heart" was originally from a would-be Broadway musical about vampires, which really makes the lyrics make a lot more sense.
We took a carload to Excelsior Springs, Missouri in 2017. We watched as the overcast parted and gave us a perfect view of the eclipse. 8 went on the trip, including my then 9 month old grandson. We began planning THIS trip when we got home from that trip. Air B&B in Carbondale, Illinois 6 peeps on the trip, including my now 7 yr old grandson. It was Perfect!!
In the Jewish tradition, there are blessings to recite over witnessing or experiencing many many many natural phenomena, but nothing for an eclipse. I wonder if, by that absence, the rabbis were trying to get at what you and your daughter were trying to get at in the end of this essay. It should have changed everything, but it didn't.
I wasn't able to travel for the eclipse this year but I took my mom, her best friend and my daughter to Baker City, OR in the path of totality for the 2017 Eclipse. The local high school students got permission to rent out their football field to campers and sold homemade eclipse t-shirts made with bleach on black cotton to pay for their Senior trip overseas the following year. We camped and wore our cool shirts the next day and experienced the awesomeness of totality. I'll never forget the look on my 11 year old daughter's face when it got cold and gray and dark and we could take off our glasses for a couple of minutes. It was truly a magic moment that I will never forget. I also got divorced that same year.
What a beautiful essay.
It got to about 88% here in central Maryland.
I do believe this eclipse will bring change for many things. We just won’t see it all at once. The changes will be incremental, but when we look at where we are a year from now, we’ll see the difference.
This is beautiful. I think it's one of your best pieces (and they're all good), beautifully written. Thank you
I'm crying now. Thank you.
I have been desperate to cry since seeing the eclipse on Monday with my children - a daughter and son, too, aged (almost) 8 and 5.5. I haven't been able to. Until now.
I feel all the things here. The passage of time. Its recurrence. The shapes of this beautiful universe we're throwing ourselves into, over and over again, on and on forever.
You said so many of the exact things I've had in my brain.
Thank you, again. I needed to read exactly this, exactly now.
> We are at 100%. People in the park scream. Someone begins blasting Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” I laugh and hold my kids. I start singing along. We rip off our glasses. I cannot believe what I am seeing. A hole in the universe.
>
> I think of limitless things. Love. Sadness. I keep singing to Bonnie Tyler. I hug my kids. I wanted to toss everything into the universe, to have this moment mean everything, but it’s pointless. The universe doesn’t care and I shouldn’t either. There isn’t a right way or a wrong way. There are no signs. Only life. Only wonders. There are just the things we’ve chosen. And what I have chosen is this — these hands holding mine, this adventure of light and darkness.
>
> ...The world ended, but it didn’t. I wonder about all the small world-endings. All the apocalypses we see and walk by. How grief and miracles are the same. A brief rip into the light. We peer into it and then we are expected to return to the same. Together we’ve seen the light change. We’ve seen the sun disappear.
Damn! I tried half-heartedly to come up with metaphorical eclipse meanings and failed, but this is it! "the apocalypses we see and walk by; how grief and miracles are the same: a brief rip into the light. We peer into it and then we are expected to return the same." Amen!
Having failed to come up with something so compelling, my eclipse take was to stick my tongue out at the future and say "neener neener."
It was cloudy in the spot we traveled to, but the darkness itself was startling. Really wanna see the corona, though! We're already thinking we'll catch the 2026 eclipse in Spain.
I've experienced serious triggering events in the last few years that resulted in very bad outcomes, and I knew the 2024 eclipse had a huge potential to be one of those triggering events. (The 2017 eclipse was full of abuse and trauma.) So, I didn't make any special plans. I watched others online, and I've enjoyed reading about others' experiences. Except for my daughter, who went for an "eclipse picnic" with friends, none of the kids even mentioned it.
Beautiful!!!
This was just so beautifully written.
I’m within a year of your age, and have kids near the same ages (9, 5, 1) and have really struggled wrapping my brain around how time has gotten me where it has. How when I see adults I knew as a kid now, they were obviously not as old as they seemed when I was a kid. They were probably my age now or younger, yet I remember them seeming older. And now I’m there, where they were, and I don’t know how it happened. I’m not old enough to be as old as they were, yet somehow here I am.
One of your best, Lyz. One of your very very best!!
Thank you for the warmth in my heart and the smile on my face right now.
"I tell a woman I just met, who drives me to the airport on one of my trips, that I feel like time feels like something solid and is passing through my hands and I want to hold it and cradle it and tell it to stay. But I know that letting time pass is precious, too."
Oh did I need to read this. Between turning 40 on Friday, having a son start high school, and a daughter start middle school next year, time feels like it's falling away. You so beautifully captured what I'm feeling right now. I want time to be solid. I want to be me as I am. I want my kids to be them as they are. But I can't fight time. I can't hold it. And it's so hard to accept.