My Knight and I made an impromptu decision to head over to the beach to see the Blood Moon rise, and thanks to our smartphones, we were able to Google the predicted times for the moon’s rise, the beginning of the eclipse, the moment the eclipse would be at its fullest, and when it would be over.
We also used our smartphones to stay in communication with friends who were meeting us there, to find them once we were all at the beach, and to check out the menu and operating hours of a nearby pizza place.
While we sat talking on the beach and watching the clouds for any glimpse of a spectacular lunar event, we all used our smartphones to read up on the trending topic of the world’s imminent demise and to post pictures on Facebook of our lackluster view.
We shot the breeze, enjoyed the breeze, played in the waves and tossed a frisbee until it got too dark to see.
Eventually, we all gave up on the moon and gave in to the clouds. My Knight and I were cruising back home, sunroof open and music blaring when his phone lit up in the console between us. We both glanced at the screen to see “Look at the moon.”
Assuming it was our friends from the beach, we immediately began searching the skies. We couldn’t see any peek of the moon, though. We looked out every window, and I even raised up out of the sunroof to get a 360 degree view. No moon.
Our excitement and frustration grew. We couldn’t imagine how they would be seeing the moon when we were heading the same direction as them along the same timeline, and yet we couldn’t see it.
So I picked up his phone to text and ask their exact location.
Which is when I discovered it wasn’t from our friends after all. It wasn’t even a text.
It was a reminder My Knight had set on the phone a couple of days before so he wouldn’t forget to look at the lunar eclipse.
Pretty smart, huh?