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Thursday, October 9, 2014

Blood Moon- End of Times?

Scotto ran back and forth trying to get a National Geographic quality snap of the Blood Moon and cook his own dinner at the same time last night. I’ve given up cooking dinner you see; except for spaghetti bol on Sunday night when the hobgoblins come over (and birthdays when a roast with the works is invariably requested by the birthday brat).

I feel, after twenty odd years of cooking for seven people every damn night, it’s about time I weaned them off expecting it. These days the kids are never home anyway. Can you imagine how tedious it’s been over the last two decades? I blame the monotonous, laborious ritual for my excessive drinking. It’s so much less painful to cut up potatoes with a glass of Chardonnay in your hand.

So anyway, Scotto cooked his own dinner whilst Pinky rested on her laurels; feet up on the coffee table watching the telly and leisurely throwing balls for the Fox Terrier.

Scotto kept rushing back in to check on his corn/chips/quiche in the oven. I felt not a shred of guilt.

 'I wonder if he’ll let me use one of his excellent photos on my blog or will he make me use the rubbish photos I take on my inferior Samsung phone?' I mused, sipping leisurely on my white wine.

Good eh? Pulitzer Prize for Photography?

Every now and then I’d hop out to the front lawn dodging bindi eyes to peer at the moon.

“It’s overcast on the Gold Coast so good luck to them!” he gloated in what I thought was a bit of a spiteful, photographically competitive manner.

“I’ve never heard of a blood moon until a few years ago. Is it a new thing?” I asked a non-responsive Scotto. “Surely not. The moon’s been around for at least a hundred years so why am I just now hearing about it?” 

Solar eclipses were the only thing I ever heard about when I was a kid and all I was told was DON’T LOOK AT THE SUN! YOU”LL GO BLIIIIIND! That advice came from my mother when I was eight years of age and it frightened me to death. I was too scared to go outdoors in case I accidentally glanced at the sun.
Scotto continued to ignore me and grumbled under his breath while fiddling with his lens.

“It’s not red, it’s hardly even pink!” I said, squinting at the orb in disappointment and smelling Scotto’s chips burning in the kitchen.

“I think it’s a rip off Scotto! I want my money back!”

I huffed back to my laptop and looked it up just to prove myself right. The term Blood Moon has only been around since last year and even though the moon doesn’t really turn as red as blood the media like to make everything dramatic (who knew?).

Before that it was called a Lunar Tetrad which is much less exotic.

There’s a Christian prophesy (Joel 2:31) which declares a Blood Moon to be the harbinger heralding the end of days but since the year dot there have been sixty-two lunar tetrads and we’re all still here. Someone wrote an entire book about this particular 2013-2014 lunar tetrad arguing it's a sign the world is about to change because the dates coincide with the Jewish Passover in April and the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles in October.

But clearly the world didn’t end last night so I wonder what the ‘change’ might be. Perhaps the Blood Moon signified another more specific revolutionary transformation; possibly the ending of an era. 

Maybe the Blood Moon is a sign from the heavens symbolising the fact Pinky has retired from her cooking duties? 

Thanks to Scotto's Photography

If you would like to see some more of Scotto's photographs of the Blood Moon go to this link!

Should I feel guilty for making Scotto cook his own dinner?

Do you think Pinky may have delusions of grandeur?