10:07 pm - Dishes are done, except for the electric wok, which has developed a nasty patina of okra slime. I leave it in the sink to soak and head for the computer.
11:10 pm - Hot shower, following which I put on my Icebreaker long johns and camisole and two layers of sweaters.
12:03 am - We head for the pub. A friendly beagle out for a late walk nips playfully at our heels.
12:05 am - Our entrance doubles the number of paying customers at the pub. I get a hearty handshake and a Young's Double Chocolate Stout from Ben, the bartender.
12:30 am - The other two customers clear out and the remaining staff joins us at the bar. We engage with Nick, one of the cooks and a senior at Temple, on vegetarianism and public health.
12:45 am - Sean, off-duty bartender, wanders over to lament the recent loss of his 70s porn-star mustache due to a morning of overzealous trimming.
12:52 am - Ben talks me into an additional half-pint of the Young's.
1:37 am - We pay the tab and head for home, leaving the staff to lock up. Hugs all around.
1:41 am - Someone thought it would be a good idea to eat the rest of our half-full bag of Trader Joe's White Cheddar Corn Puffs. I'm not saying it was me, but I'm not saying it wasn't, either.
1:46 am - Wearing coats and bedroom slippers, we stretch out on the roof deck. The moon is at its brightest and fullest, now starting to fade a bit on the left side. The air is crisp and bitterly cold, and the occasional breeze makes us shiver.
1:52 am - Michael complains of cold toes. I pop inside to grab some spare blankets from the guest room and spread them out for us on the deck. The shadow has spread across a quarter of the moon.
2:03 am - We take a quick respite indoors while we wait for totality. I flop onto the bed, still in my coat, to read a few more pages of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
2:15 am - Back outside on the deck, we are joined by our next-door neighbors standing on their roof and craning their necks at the sky. Michael and I each take a blanket and bundle up. I find a relatively sheltered spot on the stairs and rest my head on the railing.
2:39 am - The moon has turned an ominous shade of rust-red, except for a bright white sliver on its right edge. We watch as this, too, is overcome by the shadow.
2:46 am - I am in some danger of losing feeling in my fingertips. The neighbors pack it in to catch a few winks before the peak, at 3:17 am.
2:50 am - Michael and I follow suit, giving one last glance at the now blood-red moon, hanging just above the constellation Orion, like a poorly-struck coin or a wound in the sky.
2:55 am - Bed.
5:20 am - I wake up without expecting to, and use the opportunity to dash outside and check on the state of things. Dawn is already brushing the eastern sky, and the moon has returned to full. It is the shortest day of the year. From now on, the light will only continue to grow.
NASA information
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