Sheila's LiveJournal

When I bought my condo in Long Beach almost a decade ago, I knew it was on the fourth floor and had a balcony with an unobstructed view of distant mountains, both features that pleased me. I moved in just before Thanksgiving, and was busy emptying and stashing boxes, and then – exhausted and frazzled (I won't describe how I almost killed my dog on our first trip in the elevator) – I set out to drive almost a hundred miles to spend Thanksgiving in Riverside County farm country with the family.

LosCon followed in Los Angeles on the heels of the family feast, and by the time I got back to the new condo I was really not into astronomical discoveries. Plus, the weather was cloudy for several days. And I was going to bed early and sleeping late, trying to make up for a serious sleep deficit.

Then one evening as Christmas approached, I went out onto the balcony for some reason and couldn't help but see the huge full moon rising in the east – directly in front of me. I was enchanted. If my balcony faced due east (as it did) could I also see the rising sun? Luckily for me, the sun rises late in December. I first saw the sunrise on the solstice, December 21st, and happened to notice which dark silhouette of buildings it seemed to rise over.

Okay, you're ahead of me. For the following year, I noted where the sun appeared to be rising in its journey as it moved (apparently) further and further north in the sky, then back again. And for the following years it has given me a certain shiver of connection with ancient ancestors to know I too can make marks to show the passing of time as reflected in the sun's passage, even though my marks are on a wooden balcony rail in a Southern California city and not in the arrangement of stones at Stonehenge.