It was mid-afternoon on an otherwise ordinary Monday for us “work-from-homers.”
But for my son, who was lounging around the house in his PJs, it was an imaginary snow day, which in the first quarter of the 21st century, is just a way for schools to make a springtime withdrawal of banked time that, historically, had been allotted to winter folly when blizzards turned carting kids around into an unduly hazardous pursuit.
It seemed kismet that on this day, celestial bodies had literally aligned to provide a special show all the same.
My husband had set up chairs in the backyard and texted his son no fewer than 68 times since accidentally awakening the kid, drill-sergeant style, to get ready for his non-existent school day.
“T minus 12 minutes until the start of the eclipse,” he heralded, on the never-ending loop of texts he sent to our........