Tag Archives: 2024

The Strenuous Life

The Wednesday Blog – Wednesday Blog by Seán Thomas Kane

This week, to conclude what I’ve been saying.—Click here to support the Wednesday Blog: https://www.patreon.com/sthosdkane—Sources:%5B1%5D “Signs,” Wednesday Blog 1.10.[2] “On Servant Leadership,” Wednesday Blog 6.15.[3] Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Ozymandias,” Poetry Foundation.
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This week, to start November, a realization I had recently about how to overcome less severe colds.

2024 has been a tough year for me, that is a definite fact. Among all the rough seas of this year have been a series of nearly monthly colds that knocked me down at times when I otherwise would have lived to my fullest potential. I started to see a pattern at the end of July when I developed a cold after spending too much time under an overworked ceiling fan in our living room watching the Summer Olympics on television. A month before, on the morning I was due to drive my parents to the Kansas City International Airport for their summer Mediterranean trip, I woke up to find my voice gone, and after the return drive from the airport I was sapped of any and all energy.

That illness was one of the worst I’ve experienced since the pandemic. I ended up taking a week to do nothing and merely rest and return to my teenage summer hobby of watching television and reading all day. It was perhaps my first weeklong break from working since 2020, if even before. In the following week, even though I was still unwell I wrote two significant papers I needed to complete, and began writing papers for the three conferences I attended at the end of October and on the week of this blog post’s release. I thought I’d learned my lesson, I had a similar summer cold in 2021 after over-exposing myself to the ceiling fan in my bedroom which led to me to being sick throughout my western road trip in Colorado and Utah that year. 

And yet, at the end of July of this year I found myself getting sick again in the exact same manner. I figured it was a minor thing, and I adopted the tack I’d first tried out in 2020 at the start of the pandemic of doubling or tripling the amount of water I drank to flush whatever it was out of my system. In both instances, in late June and late July, I stayed home as much as possible, close to the kitchen where I could get more water, and close to my supply of tissue boxes. I’d figure each illness would last for maybe a week, though often they’d end up lasting for 10-14 days. I ended up traveling to Orlando while I was still recovering at the end of July for the National Convention of the Ancient Order of Hibernians (AOH) to lobby as a member of the Kansas delegation and spent that week in Florida with a bad cough. When I finally returned home to Kansas City at the end of that trip I slept for a full day, and eventually felt fully recovered the following morning.

I felt lucky to break the cycle at the end of August and not get sick over Labor Day weekend, one of my usual weekends when I’m unwell thanks to my seasonal allergies. I was very careful to avoid overexposing myself to the ceiling fans at home, which are essential to keeping the rooms in our century-old house cool in the increasingly muggy Kansas City summers, and I made sure to pay close attention to my allergies if they would announce themselves while I spent Labor Day weekend outdoors volunteering with the Fr. Donnelly AOH at the Kansas City Irish Fest’s Pershing Gate at the southeast corner of Pershing Rd. and Grand Blvd. The same luck held out at the end of September and beginning of October when I spent a long day outdoors at Wyandotte County Park in my role as Chairman of the Fr. Donnelly AOH’s Irish Road Bowling Tournament. I think I helped myself there by staying in the A-frame shelter that is our tournament’s headquarters for most of the day and avoiding going out onto the park’s lawns.

And yet, the end of October saw this cycle of monthly ailments returning. This time though it wasn’t due to an overactive ceiling fan drying my throat and making it easier for me to get sick. Instead, with the cooling weather and our ongoing drought I waited too long to buy a new humidifier for my bedroom. By the time I bought one, my throat had been sore from dryness for a full 4 days. I woke up on Day 5 to find the dry throat was gone but the congestion and sneezing familiar from late June and late July had arrived. This was a serious worry, as I would be spending the following three weeks traveling to three separate academic conferences in three separate cities in three separate countries here in North America. I figured I could make the first two work, those were in San Antonio and Toronto, but the third in Mérida, Mexico was more worrisome because I knew I would need to use only bottled water there, and so would need to be careful with my weakened immune system traveling to Mexico for the first time.

I will actually be arriving in Mérida on the day this blog post is published, so it remains to be seen how this leg of my “2024 North American Tour” goes.

Despite these worrying signs, I found a glimmer of hope to latch onto on Days 5, 6, and 7 of this late October sickness that helped me realize how I can end this particular cold sooner. Those three days, as well as Day 4 when I bought my new humidifier, I was hard at work at my current employer, the Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts, as a team captain leading teams of ushers during performances. On Day 5 I was less active for most of the performance, staying to my assigned floor and managing affairs there, yet on Days 6 and 7 I signed up to work in a role that took me all throughout the public-facing side of the building. I easily walked a good 15,000 steps during my shifts those two days and was struck by the fact that I was less congested during those shifts than I expected. On Day 7, walking up the grand staircase for the umpteenth time that afternoon it occurred to me that this could prove the merit of President Theodore Roosevelt’s idea of the strenuous life.

As a boy and young man, Roosevelt was beset by a variety of ailments that left him homebound and unable to experience the vigorous life that he dreamed of. So, entering adulthood as a student at Harvard, he began to live out that strenuous life that he’d dreamed of, and slowly but surely worked hard to strengthen his body and rise out of the afflictions that confined his childhood. I’d wondered for a while now how this could have worked, today we often identify people by the ailments they suffer, even identifying ourselves in this manner. It’s good to acknowledge ourselves, yet I wonder if it also keeps our eyes as a species and especially here in the United States focused on what holds us back rather than what will allow us to rise up? During this weekend hard at work though, running up and down stairs and working directly with thousands of my fellow Kansas Citians and visitors to our fountain city, I found that even though I could feel the congestion that beset me, it didn’t control what I was doing. The more I kept moving, the more I kept observing the people around me, and the more I helped those people to have the best experience they could attending the performances on in the building, the better I felt. By the end of my shift on Day 7, while I certainly was congested, my primary physical sensation was exhaustion, which was fitting. Perhaps then this conference tour would be good for my health and would make it easier for me to fully recover. Granted, the congestion I began feeling at the end of October was far less severe than the two colds I caught in June and July of this year. I was reminded over the weekend that if I were sicker, like I was at the end of June, it would be a far different story. Still, perhaps this is a lesson in how to keep the onset of these colds at bay: to keep moving, to keep working, all while drinking double or triple the usual amount of water. Maybe then I too can come close to saying I’m as fit as a bull moose.

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Eclipse simulation using Stellarium

The Eclipse

The Eclipse – Wednesday Blog by Seán Thomas Kane

This Monday, North America experienced its second total solar eclipse in the last decade. — Click here to support the Wednesday Blog: https://www.patreon.com/sthosdkane
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This Monday, North America experienced its second total solar eclipse in the last decade.

I remember being over-the-moon excited when we began preparing for the Total Solar Eclipse in August 2017. Several weekends before the eclipse, my parents and I drove north from Kansas City into the path of totality to scout out possible places where we might travel on Eclipse Day to see the phenomenon for ourselves. Eclipse Day 2017 also happened to be my first day as a history graduate student at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. That morning a sudden summer thunderstorm rolled through Kansas City and as the day continued the clouds persisted in our skies. When the moment of totality arrived around 12:55 pm on 21 August, we watched it through darkened clouds and heard the birds and insects around us revert to their nocturnal states and songs.

I was excited to have experienced a total solar eclipse yet disappointed that I wasn’t able to see it. So, when the prospect of traveling for this week’s total solar eclipse appeared, I seriously considered going afield to Texas to observe it. That trip didn’t end up working out because of a series of scheduling conflicts, and so instead seeing that the cloud forecast across North America called for most places along the path of totality to be obscured, I decided to stay here in Kansas City and observe our partial solar eclipse. At its greatest extent, the April 2024 solar eclipse reached about 90.5% totality. I was able to see that extent, yet the feel of it was quite different than 100% totality from seven years ago. We were watching Everyday Astronaut and the Planetary Society’s live broadcast from the Society’s Eclipse-o-rama event in Fredericksburg, Texas while observing the eclipse here at home, and what they experienced was far more dramatic than what we observed. I do regret not travelling for this eclipse, yet at the same time in the circumstances as they fell, I’m glad I chose to stay home all the same.

This concept of an eclipse is one that speaks to me both astronomically, as a big space nerd, historically, and linguistically. Eclipses are phenomena that have made their mark on the psyche of more than just us humans, note how the birds began singing their twilight songs when the Moon passed in front of the Sun. I have never put much theological potency into eclipses because we have been able to predict their occurrences with increasing accuracy for generations now. Religion, in many ways, relies on our perceptions of things. Some see in an eclipse a threat to divine order in the Cosmos. This view reminds me of Mozart’s final opera, near to my favorite of his works, Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute) in which the Queen of the Night is defeated by Sarastro, the high priest of the Temple of the Sun. Sarastro proclaims victory for the good and right, singing: 

Die Strahlen der Sonne

Vertreiben die Nacht.

Zernichtet der Heuchler

Erschlichende Macht.

The rays of the sun

Drive away the night.

Destroyed  is the hypocrites’  

Surreptitious power.

(Source: Aria-Database.com, trans. Lea Frey)

Sarastro’s triumphant finale in Die Zauberflöte sung by Josef Greindl with the RIAS Symphonie-Orchester Berlin.

The divine hand is better seen in the wisdom of devising a manner to mathematically ascertain the revolutions of these celestial orbs, to borrow the title of Copernicus’s magnum opus, De revolutionibus orbium coelestium. In our ability to ascertain our surroundings, and to make sense of nature we see a loving design.

Still, knowledge of the movements of the Sun, planets, moons, and stars across our night skies have had their impact in our history. During his fourth voyage, on 1 March 1504, after 9 months stranded in Jamaica, Christopher Columbus (1451–1506) used his knowledge of eclipses from an almanac he brought with him written by the Castilian Jewish astronomer Abraham Zacuto (1452 – c. 1515) to inspire the Taíno caique of that part of Jamaica to give Columbus’s men food and provisions. Columbus wrote in his journals that he pointed at the Moon and told the Taíno that “God caused that appearance, to signify his anger against them for not bringing the food” to Columbus and his men.[1] Several years ago then, when discussing this story with a friend and fellow Renaissance historian, I decided to use the Stellarium astronomy program to simulate this lunar eclipse as Columbus and those with him in Jamaica saw it. Our ability to track the movements of these celestial orbs is good enough that our computers can show exactly what was visible in the night sky (baring any atmospheric data) at any moment in the past or future.

My simulation of the March 1504 Lunar Eclipse as seen from St. Ann’s Bay, Jamaica using Stellarium.

This ability to calculate the dates and locations of eclipses came in handy when researchers look at mentions of eclipses in ancient literature to seek to date the events of the stories. Plutarch and Heraclitus both argued that the Odyssey contains “a poetic description of a total solar eclipse,” which astronomers Carl Schoch and P.V. Neugebauer proposed matched an eclipse which occurred over the Ionian Sea on 16 April 1178 BCE, though a more recent article in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences by Constantino Baikouzis and Marcelo O. Magnasco offer doubts concerning this proposition owing to the difficulty of finding exact matches in spite of centuries of the Odyssey‘s transmission through the oral tradition before it was written.[2] Still, that eclipses are so readily discernible and measurable with our mathematics speaks to the potential that they could be used to date moments long remembered only in heroic literature like Odysseus’s return to Ithaca in Book 20 of the Odyssey (20.356-57). In this effort, where others divine gods, we make tools out of the Sun and Moon to better understand ourselves.

The way we describe an eclipse speaks to our culture’s relationship with the phenomenon. Our Modern English word derives from the same word in Old French, which developed from the Latin eclīpsis, which in turn was borrowed from the Ancient Greek ἔκλειψις (ékleipsis), which comes from the verb ἐκλείπω (ekleípō)meaning to abandon, go out, or vanish.” Eclipse eclipsed the Old English word āsprungennes, which derives from the past participle of the verb āspringan, meaning “to spring up, to spread out, to run out, to cease or fail.” As an adjective, āsprungen meant that something was defunct or deficient, so perhaps this sense of an eclipse meant that it seemed for a moment as though the Sun had run out of energy and ceased to burn? Again, this speaks to the idea that nature had limits as humanity does, to an older understanding of nature from the perspective of a limited human lifespan. 

In Irish, there is the Hellenic word éiclips, yet there’s an older Gaelic word which means the same thing, urú. Now, usually students of the Irish language will learn of urú in the context of Irish grammar, an urú or eclipsis is one way that Irish handles both consonant clusters and situations when one word ends in a vowel and the following word begins with another vowel. So, in that sense the word gets eclipsed by this urú which preserves some of the integrity of the language. Yesterday’s eclipse then was less an urú focail (word eclipse) and more a urú gréine (solar eclipse). That both the Sun and the words we speak in Irish can be eclipsed makes this astronomical phenomenon all the more ordinary and measurable. 

We use this word eclipse beyond astronomy in many cases; it seems to me today that the old guard of the Republican Party has been eclipsed by an orange political pulsar whose violent rhetoric and chaotic behavior have eaten away at their party’s support in these last 8 years, not unlike a pulsar discovered by NASA’s Swift and Rossi X-Ray Timing Explorer satellites in 2007. An eclipse is something wonderous to behold yet ordinary in how readily we can predict when they will appear. They have given us a great deal of cultural qualifications that continue to influence how we see our world.

On Monday then, when the sky began to darken as the Moon passed in front of the Sun, I noticed that the color spectrum that I’ve always known began to change. Before my eyes the colors seemed to take on a sort of metallic glow, as if the light which illuminated them was shifting into a spectrum that seemed unnatural to the natural world I’ve known. The Sun is fundamental to how we understand the world around us. Its light is what illuminates our senses, and without it, or even with partial changes to its glow, we would find ourselves observing a very different world.

[1] Christopher Columbus, “The Fourth Voyage,” Select Letters of Christopher Columbus: With Other Original Documents Relating to the Four Voyages to the New World, trans. and ed. R. H. Major, (London: Haklyut Society, 1847), 226.

[2] Constanino Baikouzis and Marcelo O. Magnasco, “Is an eclipse described in the Odyssey?” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 105, no. 26 (2008): 8823–8828, nn. 1, 12–14.

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