Rather, I only imagined that party, but really didn't have a half-bad real time under this once-in-a-while total lunar eclipse, as viewed from my Chicago deck. Every fifteen minutes my husband and son took turns with me to spy through mini-binoculars we usually reserve for musical performances and plays needed for our nosebleed gallery seat vantage points. I made a salad and looked at the moon. I typed my husband's portfolio materials and smiled at the moon. We phoned friends from around the country and down the street to partake of the moon.
My Chicano husband warned me that, according to tradition, the rabbit in the moon (not everyone thinks it's the man in the moon!) was being eaten during a lunar eclipse and you need to wear a hat when you stand outside so spirits don't land on your head. It was a little difficult to juggle the straw hat on my head, take off my glasses and readjust binoculars to match my myopia. But I'm sure I did it a lot more deftly than if I'd had eight glasses of wine on that New York balcony.
But I did attend two parties at once. The real one and the imagined one. [lunar eclipse][rabbit in the moon] ◦
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