Holy Bones, Limbo, and Jesus in My Cheetos book is coming!

I'm thrilled that my book is very close to publishing! I just received my cover, designed by the talented Carrie Kabak, and it is gorgeous! See for yourself.

Total Eclipse: Sun Gazing or Toe Gazing?

Today, when millions of people strap on cardboard space goggles or manipulate home-made contraptions to capture a view of the eclipse, I will gaze at my toes. It's a tradition. Sort of. I experienced my first eclipse when I was six years old and took to heart admonitions to not look directly at the sun. "You'll go blind,"  Sister Maria Goretti warned. Yikes, that ranks right up there with "You'll shoot your eye out."

Blindness would be no life for me. I looked horrible in sunglasses, was too clumsy to handle a cane, and I couldn't learn Braille because I bit my fingernails. Dogs of all kinds terrified me, especially German Shepherds. That "Do Not Pet/Seeing Eye-Dog" cape didn't calm my fears. Underneath was no mild-mannered mutt but a Rin Tin Tin ready to rip off my hand.

No way was I going to look at the sun. To avoid even an accidental viewing, I kept my head down and stared at my feet. All I saw were my toes and the ground beneath them.

For the entire eclipse. And the rest of the day. And night. And the next day and night. For three full days, I saw nothing but my feet, blades of grass, pebbles, lime-green shag carpeting, and scratched linoleum. Somewhere in Sister's anti-blindness crusade, I missed the part about the eclipse lasting only a few minutes.

Maybe I should join the masses and view this almost-once-in-a-lifetime spectacle. I could grab a pair of specially made sunglasses from the guy selling them on the street corner.

Or maybe I could swing by Spec's Liquor and pick up a Crown Royal box. A pinhole here and there, and voila, I've got my own viewer.

On second thought, maybe I'll just look at the ground. Traditions are hard to break.