Eclipse, Rapture, and Intermittent Vegetarianism

The early morning sky and the weather report promised a cloudy day, and that's what we got. John and I sat out on the porch during totality and noted the drop in temperature, but the light hardly changed, it was so cloudy already. The dogs didn't seem to notice anything unusual.

Another disappointment was that apparently, Marjorie Taylor Greene and the cohort of Magahats weren't raptured away.  Just imagine how, with that gang gone, Congress could get to work and actually do something useful rather than parroting Russian propaganda.

Oh, well. 

                                                                               

In a whiplash-inducing change of subject, here's what we had for dinner. We try to eat vegetarian every other night. Health, economy, environment all come into it.

 Tonight, it was crowder peas on basmati rice with a bit of thyme and lemon juice, topped with a veggie mélange--yellow squash, onion, red pepper, and green beans (using up veg before going to the store.) 

But the best part of the meal was the broccoli slaw with a ripe, sweet mango cut up in it. An amazing pairing.

(My dressing for slaw is something like this--half a teaspoon sugar, one teaspoon salt (I use Jane's Crazy Salt,) a teaspoon of Dijon mustard, a teaspoon cider vinegar, and enough mayonnaise to moisten the slaw. These amounts are only approximate; you can adjust them to suit your own palate.)

All the Light We Cannot See

The perfect book to finish up just as the giant star goat takes a big bite out of the sun . . .

This important and highly acclaimed book has been on my To-Be-Read list more or less since it came out. So when I found a copy (left by Nancy, my co-grandmother) sitting in front of me down at Justin and Claui's, I picked it up and started in while Josie napped.

I was hooked right away by the  gorgeous prose and by the engaging characters-- Marie-Laure, the blind French girl, and Werner, the German orphan -- both infinitely resourceful and both caught up in the maelstrom of World War II. 

As their paths move toward convergence during the siege of St. Malo, every word, every action, seems to glow with preternatural clarity.

I found myself trying to slow down and appreciate but still reading and reading to find out what happened. And when I reached the last page, having satisfied my curiosity, I ordered the book on Audible so that I will be able to savor every scene and pay closer attention to the glorious writing.

And now I'll go looking for another of Doerr's books -- any suggestions?

We viewed the eclipse from the end of our porch. (Josie slept through it.) It wasn't total -- 90 something percent -- and I was surprised at how light it still was when only a slender crescent of the sun remained uncovered.

It was a somewhat eerie light -- not like dusk -- and the temperature dropped appreciably. Ominous.

No birds sang but crickets chirred and both dogs spoke, saying in unison Trump must go!

(Some of the above is Fake News.)

We had glasses, of course, but we had fun trying to see the progress without looking up. A steamer insert yielded some crescents.

But my favorites were the 'wild' captures, on the stepping stones under the Kousa dogwood.

A Giant Star Goat Will Swallow the Sun!

Or maybe it's something else.

At least one pastor (Mark Blitz) says that eclipses are warnings from God, depending on where they're seen.

So what if it's a predictable event based on scientific calculations and understood as such for many centuries -- an eclipse is still a fine way to frighten the uneducated or willfully ignorant.

Personally, I'm going with the meme that was all over the internet last week asking God to  blot out the sun today as a signal to the Trumpster that it's time to resign. 

We have our viewing glasses and are ready to view from the comfort of our porch. It won't be a total eclipse, but very, very close. 

I'll take that as a sign.