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Visitation -- the Eclipse
Nov. 14th, 2003 12:16 amEric came here for a short visit last weekend. When we planned the trip, our primary concern was that he get to see Theatre in the Round's production of Tom Stoppard's "Arcadia." The last performance was November 9th. We chose that one because it would give Eric the maximum opportunity of getting settled in California first, and we made the trip a short one because it seemed likely he'd be in the early stages of a job and unable to take a lot of time off. The ticket was non-refundable and unchangeable without additional fees, so we left things that way even when his circumstances turned out otherwise.
He sent me pleased email a day or so before he left, to say that there would be a total lunar eclipse in progress while we were travelling to the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport by our individual methods. We both found it amusing that for the last lunar eclipse he had been trying very hard to finish up his work in the computer lab at the U of M in order to meet me at his place in time; and now he'd be flying halfway across the country at an equivalent last moment.
David had gaming the afternoon of November 8th, so I took the bus to the airport. This was a really delicious experience. I took the Number 23 east to Minnehaha, craning my neck to try to discover the moon through the windshield of the bus. I used to take the 23 a great deal when we lived on Minnehaha. It went past Bloomington, where I would alight to go visit Elise; it went past Will and Emma's old house; it went past the first house David and I looked at before we ended up searching for what became Blaisdell Polytechnic instead of just a different house for the two of us. In a glorious clear twilight edged with orange all about, I got off the bus at Minnehaha and saw the moon. Already it was smudged on its lefthand edge with a ghostly shadow.
The Number 7 came along in a very timely fashion. When we lived on Minnehaha the 23 and 7 schedules were haplessly out of alignment; no matter what you did, you ended up standing around at 38th Street, tapping your foot. The bus went past the hardware store I used to frequent, past the bus stop where I used to catch the 7, past the apartment building Raphael lived in just after moving to Minneapolis. I had thoughtfully sat on the eastern side of the bus, and had a perfect view of the slowly rising, very slowly smudged over moon.
I got to the airport about half an hour early, which had been my plan all along. I had not met anybody there since well before September 11 of 2001, and the last two times I flew into Minneapolis, I came in on a nice dinky airline that had been banished to the Humphrey terminal. I was not prepared for the huge changes made to the main terminal. When last I took a bus to the airport, you had to walk from the bus stop to the terminal building. Now there was a transit center, a small two-car tram with automated voice, like the one in the San Francisco airport; a much improved batch of signage.
There was also, less happily, absolutely no way to tell where people who did not need to go to baggage claim might be let out of the vast maw of security check-points that now bar the way to everything that is interesting about the airport. The monitors still tell you what gate a flight is arriving at, but this was completely useless information, since the security checkpoint nearest that concourse was not letting people out. I wandered up and down. Eric and I had agreed that I'd meet him where people were let out into the unsecured area, and that he would call my cellphone if he couldn't find me. Eventually he did call it, and we found one another. All passengers so unconventional as to eschew baggage claim had been routed out Security Checkpoint 3, whereas I in a kind of helpless superstition had been hovering around 5, that being closer to the concourse the plane was coming to. He looked unnervingly familiar and yet not. We kissed one another, readily but awkwardly. "Well," said Eric, taking my hand, "let's go outside and see about this eclipse."
Matters had progressed a fair amount since I got off the bus and went underground to the main terminal. There was a charcoal gray shadow across almost half the moon. We regarded it for a while and then went and found a taxi. We talked a little about plans for Sunday, and craned our necks to see the moon out the taxi window. Once out of the taxi in my front yard, we saw that totality was still a little way off. We went through the house, dropping off Eric's bag, and out the back door. There was quite a comfortable view from the back yard. The moon looked ruddier now than it had at the airport. We watched the shadow creep and creep. But at some point we realized that we were not in a public place, and not in a taxi, and could do as we wished, so we went inside to greet one another properly.
Pamela
He sent me pleased email a day or so before he left, to say that there would be a total lunar eclipse in progress while we were travelling to the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport by our individual methods. We both found it amusing that for the last lunar eclipse he had been trying very hard to finish up his work in the computer lab at the U of M in order to meet me at his place in time; and now he'd be flying halfway across the country at an equivalent last moment.
David had gaming the afternoon of November 8th, so I took the bus to the airport. This was a really delicious experience. I took the Number 23 east to Minnehaha, craning my neck to try to discover the moon through the windshield of the bus. I used to take the 23 a great deal when we lived on Minnehaha. It went past Bloomington, where I would alight to go visit Elise; it went past Will and Emma's old house; it went past the first house David and I looked at before we ended up searching for what became Blaisdell Polytechnic instead of just a different house for the two of us. In a glorious clear twilight edged with orange all about, I got off the bus at Minnehaha and saw the moon. Already it was smudged on its lefthand edge with a ghostly shadow.
The Number 7 came along in a very timely fashion. When we lived on Minnehaha the 23 and 7 schedules were haplessly out of alignment; no matter what you did, you ended up standing around at 38th Street, tapping your foot. The bus went past the hardware store I used to frequent, past the bus stop where I used to catch the 7, past the apartment building Raphael lived in just after moving to Minneapolis. I had thoughtfully sat on the eastern side of the bus, and had a perfect view of the slowly rising, very slowly smudged over moon.
I got to the airport about half an hour early, which had been my plan all along. I had not met anybody there since well before September 11 of 2001, and the last two times I flew into Minneapolis, I came in on a nice dinky airline that had been banished to the Humphrey terminal. I was not prepared for the huge changes made to the main terminal. When last I took a bus to the airport, you had to walk from the bus stop to the terminal building. Now there was a transit center, a small two-car tram with automated voice, like the one in the San Francisco airport; a much improved batch of signage.
There was also, less happily, absolutely no way to tell where people who did not need to go to baggage claim might be let out of the vast maw of security check-points that now bar the way to everything that is interesting about the airport. The monitors still tell you what gate a flight is arriving at, but this was completely useless information, since the security checkpoint nearest that concourse was not letting people out. I wandered up and down. Eric and I had agreed that I'd meet him where people were let out into the unsecured area, and that he would call my cellphone if he couldn't find me. Eventually he did call it, and we found one another. All passengers so unconventional as to eschew baggage claim had been routed out Security Checkpoint 3, whereas I in a kind of helpless superstition had been hovering around 5, that being closer to the concourse the plane was coming to. He looked unnervingly familiar and yet not. We kissed one another, readily but awkwardly. "Well," said Eric, taking my hand, "let's go outside and see about this eclipse."
Matters had progressed a fair amount since I got off the bus and went underground to the main terminal. There was a charcoal gray shadow across almost half the moon. We regarded it for a while and then went and found a taxi. We talked a little about plans for Sunday, and craned our necks to see the moon out the taxi window. Once out of the taxi in my front yard, we saw that totality was still a little way off. We went through the house, dropping off Eric's bag, and out the back door. There was quite a comfortable view from the back yard. The moon looked ruddier now than it had at the airport. We watched the shadow creep and creep. But at some point we realized that we were not in a public place, and not in a taxi, and could do as we wished, so we went inside to greet one another properly.
Pamela
