|the eclipse is a lonely child
||[Oct. 28th, 2004|12:35 am]
it was pretty, but too chilly outside to linger for more than a half hour. But I saw the moon get all red, which is weird, because I didn't think the moon had any electoral votes worth mentioning, and I'd heard it was leaning Badarnik anyway.|
I was born on the day of a total solar eclipse. These happen infrequently (8-10 occurred per 50 year period in the 20th century in North America) and are supposed to be somewhat impressive. Now, according to this map, my birthday eclipse didn't cut a path directly over my birthplace, but it came close. Obviously, my mom and dad were rather busy at the time and are not reliable eyewitnesses as to whether you could see the eclipse darken the sky over the hospital where I was born, or if the eclipse happened several hours before/after they C-sectioned mom to pull my 9 pound, feet-first self out of her uterus, but I like to think that if there is anything at all to astrology (which I doubt, but I guess it's fun to think about), I have some sort of mystical cachet from being born on total solar eclipse day.
Unless astrology is unlike hand grenades and horeshoes, and "close" (with time or geography) gets you squat, I would love to know what being an eclipse baby is supposed to mean. For babies being born today, this eclipse probably means a lot less astrologically than most celestial events, and their births will be forever informed by this "Red Sox win the Series" thing rather than mere astronomical line-ups.