I was driving too slow, as far as my husband was concerned, for the people behind me. What he didn’t get was the fact that his height and my lack of it makes a huge difference in a pilots – I mean drivers – confidence in navigating around hairpin turns with steep drop offs on narrow logging roads with deep ruts.
Oh, and did I mention my very real lack of depth perception? It takes a while for my eyes to adjust to any movement, seconds really, but there is a delay between my brain and my eyeballs. My eyes see something and, when it moves, or I do, they have to refocus.
There was a time in my life when I thoroughly enjoyed driving along Hood Canal down or up Highway 101. I learned to drive on logging roads with hairpin turns. I loved all the curves and the many varied scenes.
These days, if someone drives the speed limit, I freak out. My eyes and brain cannot process the changes quick enough to react. People who have no sight deficiency cannot understand but any of you with imperfect eyesight, especially lousy depth perception do understand. It’s just past twilight and there’s only enough room for one car on this road and I’m under pressure to drive faster. So I pull off at the next available turnout on my left side, the side hugging the mountain. Of course I’m driving slow enough that I didn’t have to put on my brakes or anything.
“What are you doing?”
“Letting that car go ahead. In fact, I’m letting you drive the rest of the way.”
“What? You don’t have to do that. Just drive. It’s no big deal.”
“No.” I say it matter of fact-like.
“Oh fine. Geez. It’s only a few yards ahead, around the next corner, but alright.”
I get out of the car. Man is it cold up here. Windy too. I wait for the car to pass us and walk to the passenger door. Our dog yips, alerted by my departure. She doesn’t want to get left behind. While I’m outside I give the sky a quick searcheroo for the moon. I don’t see it anywhere and it seems to me that I should be able to from here by now. I can see Seattle a way across Puget Sound, and Mount Rainier in the distance beyond the now sparkling sapphire colored “Emerald City.”
My husband asks, “Do either of you see the moon yet?”
We jinx each other with our quiet “No.”
Our neighbor, I’m going to just go ahead and call her Sue from here on out, even though that’s not her real name, but it’ll do, said, “It looks real hazy though. Maybe the haze is blocking out the moon.”
As I slide into the passenger seat my husband was nice enough to warm up I peek into the back seat. Sue pets our dog (Ziggy Zorro) and smiles at me as I climb in. She totally gets where I’m coming from. She raises her eyebrows up and d own to let me know, and grins a little wider. She wears glasses too.
My husband was right. The road ended right around the next coroner. I’m glad he’s the one parking the car because I count six or seven vehicles up here on this little outcrop where the clear-cut extends downward and the road ends in a little circle. We’re parked so close to the front and right side of the cliff I’d have been mighty hesitant to have parked us here.
“One, two, three cameras on tripods,” I say.
“Wow, there’s a lot of people here,” says Sue as we all, including Ziggy, pile out of the Impala. “It’s so cold up here. I’m glad I dressed warm.”
“Yeah,” I reply as the chill wind, wind, not breeze, blows through my sweatshirt and jacket, bites my ears and slaps my hair across my glasses. “That campfire’s looking real good. I hope they’re not stingy with it. Oh look, there’s our neighbors!”
Sure enough, about four other neighbors were up here, including the mother and son who’d parked in our driveway. I tallied the folks up here tonight as we walked up to join the small crowd. Two men in camouflage, orange vests and war paint leaned against a pickup truck minding the bonfire and a pot of water sizzling over a Coleman stove they were sheltering from the wind. One young mother with a babe in her arms, her husband, another two other gals, four other neighbors, and a couple more people.
There were (I think) five little boys playing cowboys and Indians or something of that sort, running around until they spotted Ziggy Zorro, then they skipped over to ask if she’d bite them or let them pet her. She loves little kids, big kids. It worked out well until she gave one little boy a lick across his face when he happened to have his mouth open. After that, the boys ran off to play closer to the fire.
Must be between fifteen and twenty of us knuckleheads up here.
I noticed the cameras all pointing east, searched the sky thataway, thought maybe I was seeing the moon, but it could be a post-twilight mirage, and walked over to say my hellos to those I recognized.
“Can you see it yet?” I asked C.G., our neighbor from down the road.
“Yeah! Come look at it through the camera. You can see it better.”
She and I have talked about this Blood Moon event over the past year, since the other Blood moon set happened last year. She’s A Christian midwife headed for Israel soon who’s read up a lot of information about this event, the tetrads. All of them happening on Jewish high holy days. Harbringers. She was supposed to be in Israel right now for this but some births here haven’t happened yet and so she’s in the hurry up and wait midwife mode.
She’s asked for prayers for her on her trip there and given me maps of Israel. I posted one up in my home office to think of her there when she goes, as a reminder to pray for her and Israel. Will you too?
It wouldn’t surprise me if all of us on this little rock outcrop braving the constant, ice-chilled 15 to 25-mile-per-hour “breeze” were Christians. Learning about the tetrads is something. I do believe this event is one we should take note of. Having two sets of blood moons on Jewish high holy days is an uncommon event, prophetic, some say. The next won’t happen until 2032-33. That seems like a long ways away but back on 9/11, so did today.
I take a few pictures with our little camera and think about how God repeats things and this rush of déjà vu pours over me. Déjà vu doesn’t always mean you’ve been somewhere before. Sometimes it means that when you are there again, you’ll remember having been there before. Sometimes it means someone in your ancestry has been there before. Maybe, if not myself, one of my children or grandchildren will stand here someday and get a déjà vu and it will be because I was here right now.
Whatever the case, this is a marked scientific, prophetic, event, one I am participating in right now and recording.
My fingers, icy and numb, offer to exchange the little camera with my husband for Ziggy’s leash. The wind whips the fire’s flames one way then another as we, three generations, gather round the warmth and watch the eclipse, the total lunar eclipse, the last of the blood moons of this tetrad, the event that could very well be heralding the beginning of the end — happen — and I wonder who among us will witness the next blood moon tetrad taking place during the Passover and the feast of tabernacles (or booths) and what will become of my déjà vu . . . of us all?