I heard “Once in a blue moon” many times in my childhood. My family used the phrase to describe something that rarely happened, especially when trying to prompt someone to a specific action the second time. My child’s mind imagined an Indigo—or at least a turquoise—moon. The adults laughed at my expectations. Even though my father lived by the Farmer’s Almanac and knew every phase of the moon, he didn’t tell me that a Blue Moon was the second full moon in one month.
My superstitious mother kept me from staring at a Blood Moon in the mid-1940s. “It’s a curse,” she had said. “Something terrible’s gonna happen. Wait and see.” She never wavered from her belief to acknowledge the color was caused during a total lunar eclipse when Earth moved between the sun and the moon and created a reddish glow.
Tuesday evening, January 30, 2018, I stopped editing a manuscript to go outside and stare at the moon to witness something I’d never seen. The bright light rose high in the sky looking much like any other full moon—not a deep cobalt or even a light sapphire. I went back inside, checked my printout of the promised total eclipse of the triple-decker treat of a Super Blue Blood Moon, and set my alarm for 3:45 a.m. Pacific Standard Time determined to witness the beginning of the umbral eclipse.
The alarm triggered the urgency to rise while it was dark. I staggered out of bed, slipped on shoes and pulled a long black coat over my pajamas. I hurried outside away from the lights of my apartment community and gazed upward. The excitement of the impending triple-header warmed me from the cold for a while. For the next three hours, I alternated staring at the marvel in the sky and returning inside for breaks, warmed by hot tea. The Super Blue Blood Moon was more spectacular than promised. When the eclipse ended and the Super Moon slid lower and lower until I could see only the top of the bright orb, I returned to my warm bed.
A second alarm reminded me that I had work to do on a manuscript edit. I clicked my way through and basic sentence structure and spell check. After a late breakfast, I traipsed through ninety screen prompts in a grammar program. If it disagreed with Chicago Manual of Style—the manuscript editor’s go-to book—I clicked ignore.
My next step, an editing program that claims to be “smart” enough to reveal misused words, punctuation inconsistency, and multiple other variances. Three popped up in the em dash category. My edited punctuation was correct according to Chicago Manual of Style. That’s when I looked up, waiting for the program to enlighten me like the Super Moon had earlier. I saw this instruction on my computer screen above the questionable areas.
Maybe this only happens once in a blue moon, but if this paid program isn’t smart enough to catch its own mistakes, how can it find mine?
In a spare moment between writing and editing today, I took a look at Super Blue Blood Moon Video, NASA TV. Now that’s something I can trust.