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An Eclipse Without The Rapture Redux

I did NOT go up in the Rapture, even though I waited around for some time. However it was a darkling event, and well- worth my effort. Not total, so things did not disappear, nor did birds and other animals go off the deep end. The crows, upon occasion, cawed bloody murder. But they often do that anyway.

However, the Eclipse was nifty. One couple gave me a pair of “Resting Eyewear AAS Approved” from Moonviewers .com to wear. And another chap gave me a printed photo of the Eclipse.

So, a good time was had by all. Except – you know – I did not ascend into Heaven.

DE BA  UEL

An Eclipse Without The Rapture

My father saw a total eclipse. He only describes his age as a child, so I make the guess it was in the 19teens. His one comment about the effects of the darkness was that the cows started mooing, and began heading back to the barn.


My last total eclipse was in 1972. How time and the sun flys. And the moon.

I was at an archaeological dig at Bartibog Bridge, about fifteen kilometers north of Miramichi in New Brunswick. The archeologist in charge of the dig obviously knew of the eclipse (I know I didn’t) and had brought a professional, tripod telescope with him. He had attached a screen over the lens, and everyone was given a chance to take a look. My memories about the whole event are almost as succinct as my father – and at least he talked about the actual event itself. My biggest memory of that day is that I found a bone that might have been human. But – yes – it did indeed get dark, and it could have been three in the morning. I did not find it spooky or otherworldly. 


But I did find out something kinda spooky this morning. The local radio show had an interview with someone who was at the centre of the eclipse in 1972. It was at Arisaig, Nova Scotia, and it was such a favoured location that scientists came from across North America to see it. The fellow who was interviewed, remembered cars and trucks filling the parking lot and the fields around the harbour. Some of the scientists had large pieces of equipment and even larger telescopes (and cameras) on tripods. Hundreds of private cars were parked along the roads. The harbour and the pastures surrounding it offered unrestricted views.  


Also, during the Eclipse story, mention was made of the Carly Simon song  You’re So Vain, with the famous refrain: 

Well I hear you went up to Saratoga 

And your horse naturally won
Then you flew your Lear jet up to Nova Scotia

To see the total eclipse of the sun

Carly Simon was actually interviewed about this, and revealed she used those verses because she wanted a rhyme with the word “Saratoga” and the word “won”. Which, as a writer, pleased me to no end.


The oddity (to me) is that Arisaig is (at least as the sun shines) just up the coast, on The Northumberland Strait, from Bartibog Bridge. And, decades later, Arisaig Harbour became one of the most enjoyable places I would ever visit. And have done so often.


And – of course – I wondered at the time if I might get famous enough for Carly Simon to sing about me.

And now, just after I post this, I am going to walk up a hill with barely a tree on it, and await this eclipse. And see what happens. I should reveal that I have been awaiting the rapture for years.
DE  BA  UEL

Shirley Eikhard Kept Far From the Madding Crowd – And Rightfully So

Years ago – perhaps a couple of decades – I asked Shirley Eikhard if she would consider being a collaborator with me, on setting some of my short stories to music and song.
I was that vague, both because I had no detailed plan, and because of the venue where I met her. We were on stage in a theatre, and I was a member of one of her song-writing workshops.
I knew how elusive Ms. Eikhard was (and remained), because I could find no way to contact her except through professional entities, wish is almost the kiss-of-death from the start. So, I took advantage of an opportunity offered.
I had my published book of short stories, “The Elephant Talks To God”, plus an additional series of short stories, formed around theme and not plot. They are stories of ‘evocation’, and I felt Shirley Eikhard would be the perfect person to give them a look. I was then, and am now, in thrall and admiration of what she was able to do with words and music.
She was startled though, I think, not suspicious of my request. I had honed my proposal (not exactly a ‘pitch’) to about 90 seconds. I assumed not many would have approached with such a proposal (though I might be totally wrong). She did say something along the lines that she did not really do such things. I did apologize for approaching her in such a manner, and thanked her for her time. I also gave her a copy of the Elephant stories. She smiled and we shook hands.
Nothing further ever came of this, but I hope I wrote an evocative book inscription.

This is one of my favourite Shirley Eikhard songs:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T9VtXeRcLlw

Ghosts At Sea Make Sailors Sing A Song

sea-shanty

And the wind is whistling past the  graveyard and past the land and past the sea and past the ships upon the sea and past the sailors upon the decks and in the companionways, tethered by their ropes and harnesses and heaving their axes and mauls against the shattering ice coating their still upright ships and even here even in this peculiar time the sailors revert to their age-old method of coping with their labours at sea and the perils of the sea and they break out into thunderous shanties – yes, even thunderous enough to best and beat the thunderous wind and crashing waves – that tell of wind and waves and women and graveyards and ghosts and the whistling that is supposed to keep the ghosts at bay, and, keep the bodies beneath the ground.

“Heave ‘er to, boys/

“Heave ‘er to and smash her down/

“Get the rhythm, boys/

“Get the rhythm so we won’t drown//

“It’s girls or ghosts, boys//

“Girls or ghosts that we next meet/

“Smash that ice boys/

“If you want our meeting sweet.”

“They’re singing about you,” says Alison Alexandra.

“And you, too,” says R/Jane-the-Ghost. “And I don’t mind if you’re the one to win.”

“It’s the wind, boys/

“Screaming like Banshees from Hell//

“Give ‘er Hell, boys/

“Or that’s where we will dwell.”

(Image) https://www.stives-cornwall.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/Sea-shanty.jpg

Friday 13th And Sundry Places On The Cusp

 

number13

“I wish to state before this assembled multitude;

“Before this packed house;

“Before this captive audience;

“That I have every right

“(as much as each of you)

“To be here and represent

“My interests,

“My justifications

“My associations,

“Because I am a member

“In every day,

“And, perhaps

“Even as the nights

“Which are too cold

“And then the elevators,

“As they so often do

“Stop.

“You look askance.

“Indeed, you look at me

“In that manner

“That indicates

“The corners of your eyes

“are full of mistakes.

“Which proves to me

“Beyond and above

“- to heaven even,

“To the very Golden Gates

“Where the various saints

“Hang to the golden bars

“And swing to and fro

“In the Celestial breezes

“That cause clouds to scud

“Across the sky,

“And there is barely time to think

“Of a reply.”

[IMAGE]  https://cdn.onebauer.media/one/media/5df1/1f33/df31/06f8/8b52/e71f/number13.jpg?quality=80&width=900&ratio=1-1&resizeStyle=aspectfit&format=jpg

Be Of Christmas Travel Cheer

vwinspiredchristmastreebus

As it is always double the chore to travel on holidays, I departed on my Christmas retreat earlier than usual. Before the dozens turned into hundreds.

It was clear weather (easier to choose when one can take the time), and I was waiting for the bus a good hour before departure. I wait outside so I can walk around. There are always a few others who do this, and one fellow approached to ask if I would watch his luggage for a few minutes. I agreed, and said perhaps he could do the same for me. “Sure,” he said. “We gotta look out for each other.” I took that as some Seasonal good will.

While I pondered in the sunshine (the last sunshine, it turns out, that I was to see for four days), I heard a sound that I interpreted as either a roaring bus engine or a plane flying overhead. When neither was revealed, I went looking. On the far side of the bus station is the large parking lot of a large grocery store. In one corner of the parking lot was a forest of cut and bundled Christmas trees. One of the tree vendors was removing the bindings of the trees. He then placed the cut base of the tree on a circular metal platform. He turned on an engine (the sound I had heard), held the tree, and the metal base shook violently. It shook so much that it shook all the loose needles off the tree. The fellow then removed the shaken tree, stood it aside, and did another one. Tools for everything.

As I was watching this performance, an elderly gentleman approached me. Perhaps because I was immersed in a woodland of felled trees, his clothing reminded me of someone from the back woods. His work boots were unlaced, his heavy coat was well worn, and his face was both creased and had the stubble of three days growth. He had a guitar of similar vintage slung over his back.

“Nice day,” said he.

I agreed.

“I’m a Busker,” said he. “I’ll give you a Christmas carol for two bucks. I don’t have enough for smokes.”

“That’s OK,” said I. “I’ll gladly give you two dollars.”

“No – I’m going to sing for it.”

“OK.”

I could not judge if his voice was more rough than the guitar. The guitar was out of tune. Some strings were loose. ‘Hollow’ and ‘twang’ come to mind. I got a hoarse rendition of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. He included three verses.

Then he took my two dollars and wended his way to the large grocery store.

“Let nothing you dismay.”

DE
(image) https://secure.img1-ag.wfcdn.com/im/29181556/resize-h800^compr-r85/4366/43669485/VW+Inspired+Christmas+Tree+Bus.jpg

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