With all the hubbub about the upcoming eclipse and me being so close to the path of totality, you’d think I might get into my truck on Monday and invade some small Maine town with a cup of coffee in hand to catch the moon and sun in their public display of affection.
It’s not happening.
I’ve decided to stay home and research Ellie’s response to the astrological event. The dog and I can do that right from the back deck, which makes me happy. I’ll watch her for telltale signs she’s been impacted.
I’ve shoveled the pesky, well-stained behemoth of a veranda clear of snow in excess of twenty times in the last three weeks. It’s time we use it for something other than debilitating my back and becoming a figment of physical fitness.
I have reconnoitered my global position on an actual paper map of the happenings— I’m just one length of a black dog hair east of the Path of Totality. It simply means I’ll be able to see without the use of a flashlight.
I am centered on the “Path of Least Resistance.” That’s what I’m calling it.
It’s precisely in the epicenter of where I am accustomed to dwelling on the regular.
To be upfront with all of you, I am considering driving to one of the Interstate 95 overpasses near my home on Monday. I will watch the traffic flood north toward Aroostook County. I did it when the Phish Phans migrated to Maine for “The Great Went” concert, which was far more interesting than destroying my retinas. I did note that a lot of those fans had bloodshot eyes, but it wasn’t from an eclipse, I can assure you.
Seventy thousand (plus) Phish aficionados streamed right through my little town in 1997; not one of them was mad. I don’t know if that’s the case with Eclipse Chasers.
Even when faced with getting a summons from me for traveling well more than one hundred miles an hour in a sixty-five mile per hour zone, one particular vanload of patchouli-wearing fans still wanted to have a photo with the cop who stopped them on the way to the ‘Went.’ That was nice. It was long before selfies were a thing.
I’d like to add that I wrote that speeding ticket for only nineteen were over the speed limit so they wouldn’t have to return to Maine for a criminal court date. College was starting soon, and I was all about helping them finish their education unencumbered by a pesky courtdate in the State of Maine.
I seized ten cases of beer from that van because they were underage—still, they were cordial— and sober— until they got to the next convenience store.
While we have been inundated with a steady diet of televised warnings about averting our eyes from the celestial event, Ellie and I change the channel every time we see something regarding the eclipse. We are a bit sick of it. Plus, Dick Van Dyke is always playing on Tubi, and we both loved Mary Tyler Moore before she told Mainers that lobsters audibly screamed when they were thrown in a pot of boiling water. We’ve never heard it, but we listen to a lot of power ballads around here.
I certainly am not buying a six-pack of Eclipse glasses at Walgreens—they are all out, a kind lady taking inventory told me straight to my face. She apologized— because Maine.
As soon as the ads for eclipse eyeglasses started to appear on social media feeds, they were fact checked almost instantaneously by hundreds of responses from non-professional eyecare trolls demanding to see that these paper and plastic eye protectors stamped and ISO 12312-2 certified. Seriously?
Heck, I can’t tell the difference between a genuine Coach bag and a knock-off; how the heck can I trust the safety of my eyes to just any Amazon seller—even if they have six thousand positive reviews? I left a question: “Have these been used on a total eclipse and proven safe?” I’ve still not received a straight answer.
My grandfather stood me in front of a cardboard box with a mirror affixed to the interior back in ’70, but it was only a partial event. We stared through a pinhole. I was uninspired.
I’ll admit here that I turned around and looked directly at it at least once when Grandpa went around the corner to check on my grandmother— I’ve always been a rebel.
I do have some eye floaters the doctor told me not to worry about, and I attribute this disorder to that very event. The doctor says no. But what does he know? He’s never mentioned ISO12312-2 to me, not even once. I had to learn of this on Facebook. Can he even doctor without checking Facebook? I believe it to be impossible.
The lady at Walgreens told me that the volunteer fire department in her husband’s town came to his schoolyard when he was a kid. The hose jockeys flooded the ground with water from a pump truck. Then, the kids were told to stare into the puddle. That’s Maine for you, and we already have the potholes built; just add water.
For a while, I wanted to profit from the event. I considered printing up some mugs with my Facebook handle and screen-printing a tiny eclipse on the bottom, but then I realized I’d have to stand in a crowd of gawkers and try to collect cash. I’d rather stay home and watch the traffic stream north. I was positive that many of the mugs would have been broken on the ride up north. The roads actually suck, but like a rainbow, the treasure is at the end. You’ll love the County. And the people are really, really nice.
For my friends in Houlton, Maine, “Godspeed.” It seems like a good idea to invite people to your town right up until they arrive.
It’s like inviting a large group of people over for supper. Everything is great until you pull the macaroni and cheese out of the oven— there’s gonna be someone in the crowd who will mention that they are gluten free. I’m not ready for that kind of negativity.
In all seriousness, Ellie and I hope you have fun.
From the Jagged Edge of America, remarkably close to the Path of Totality, we are following the Path of Least Resistance.
TC & Ellie