Eclipse chasing is a serious endeavor. It almost always requires adventurous travel, patience and energy. Total solar eclipses are exceptional events and occur when the sun, moon and earth are in perfect alignment; with the moon obscuring the sun’s light as seen from the earth. They usually occur every 18 months or so and at most last up to 7 minutes, 40 seconds. The first time I chased one was with my 16 year old daughter in 2006 in Cappadocia, Turkey, not far from the first recorded total solar eclipse observed in Ugarit on May 3, 1375 BC.

We were in the company of experienced chasers from Mexico and had traveled over dusty, bumpy roads for several days to reach our designated spot along the “path of totality” — the path over the earth where the moon completely obscures the sun — a band approximately 150 miles wide. There we waited — with the other “umbraphiles” who had appeared from all corners of the earth — for our fleeting yet magical eclipse moment. This one would last 4 minutes, 31 seconds. Mistakenly, we thought we had more time to be cultural tourists, and so left our fellow chasers in the observation field and headed to the nearby town of Hacibektas, named after the philosopher and contemporary of the Sufi poet Rumi.

But once there, suddenly the experience was upon us. We were in it! We scrambled to find a place to “watch” as the sun vanished, the birds raced, the temperatures dropped, and an instantaneous darkness leaped upon us. As the street lights popped on we shivered and banded together for warmth. The local villagers appeared en masse to witness the phenomena, chattering among themselves in excitement. Afterward, when we were still giddy and ecstatic, a dear friend and veteran eclipse chaser extraordinaire, informed us we could not call ourselves “eclipse chasers” until we had a second total eclipse under our belts. Aha, we couldn’t wait!

Author and Daughter in Turkey, 2006

Once home in California, my daughter and I raved about our eclipse moment and we could tell that my husband and son felt that they had missed something. So two years later our family planned a summer vacation trip to China entirely around the August 1st, 2008 eclipse that would cross Siberia and Northern China. We joined forces with an Italian family of five and a Chinese family of four and after touring Shanghai we flew to Urumqi, the capital of the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region near the border of Kazakhstan.

We traveled by mini bus for 4 days across the Gobi Desert, following the ancient silk route, to our “spot” on the border of Mongolia. Along the way, we saw glorious landscapes, rode camels and then horses with Uyghur horsemen across magnificent sand dunes, saw yurt villages, and ate some of the most unusual and, yes, challenging food ever cooked. We eventually found our way to a tiny Uyghur encampment located in the middle of the “path of totality” where we waited for the eclipse. All along we noticed that we were one of the few family groups traveling this eclipse route. We were surrounded by an eclectic group of aficionados from around the world, but no families. Why was that? This seemed to me the ideal family vacation, in that we shared travel, excitement, cultural immersion and a spectacular natural occurrence.

While waiting, my daughter and I attempted to explain to our group what we knew of eclipses. They were to be patient, wear their glasses and anticipate the most awesome thing to ever happen to them. The eclipse came, and it was a totally different experience from our first encounter. I’ve learned that each eclipse is unique, which is why I think it is so difficult to explain to others what to expect. For me it offers an uncanny and profound perspective of our place in the vast universe. This was a much shorter eclipse, a mere 2 minutes 27 seconds, and perhaps it was location or the intensity of the eclipse, but we all felt that it was awe-inspiring. In the eerie glow of its departure our delighted 10 year old son and his Chinese pals exclaimed: “We want to see the next one, when is it?”

Eclipse chasers, Uyghur Autonomous Region, Northwestern China, 2008

The history of solar eclipses is fraught with question of who was the first to predict these spectacular astronomical events. The first prediction of an eclipse is generally ascribed to Thales of Milete, who according to the historian Heroditus, predicted an eclipse in 585 B.C.

Aristotle, Ptolemy, the great Indian mathematician Aryabhata, the Arabian astronomer Ibn Junis, the Chinese astrologer Li Shu writing as early as 2650 BC, and the Renaissance astronomer Peter Apian as well as the Mayans, made predictions and drew eclipse diagrams. However, the first accurate prediction was made of the 1715 eclipse by the renowned astronomer Edmond Halley. Not only were his eclipse maps incredibly accurate, they were the first to present the path of the eclipse looking down on the earth’s surface from above (a method still used by NASA). The NASA website now has a five millennium catalogue of solar eclipses.

The longest solar eclipse of the 21st-century occurred on July 22, 2009 — just a week ago — crossing from India to China before moving over southern Japan and then off into the Pacific Ocean. It was visible from some of the world’s most densely populated regions, and in some parts of Asia lasted as long as 6 minutes, 39 seconds. Millions watched in wonder as the sun was blocked by the moon and total darkness descended in the middle of the day.

Again, I managed to be there. Several months ago I had been invited to be part of an awards jury in Inner Mongolia for an architectural prize (100 Ordos). Accepting to participate, I asked if it was possible to coordinate my visit to Beijing with the total eclipse date of July 22 and they were most accommodating. This time I was there without my family, but with a group of Chinese architects and urban planners watching through the dense cloud cover from a boat floating on Tai Lake near Suzhou, 2 hours outside of Shanghai. The sun was only glimpsed occasionally amid heavy cloud cover and it began raining and thundering right as the eclipse began. It was distinctive and fabulous — the thrill for me not at all lessened by cloud cover and oblique viewing but rather heightened by the realization of another unique sighting.

Author and Chinese friend, Tai Lake, Suzhou, China, 2009

I wonder how many of the millions who experienced this full total solar eclipse last week will join the chase and like me become eclipse chasers. All I know is that there is room for all.

Throughout history superstition has seemed to haunt the moment when earth, moon and sun are perfectly aligned, and this was certainly the case in China this year where tsunamis, hurricanes and other disasters were predicted. Many people stayed inside fearing such exposure, yet by all accounts, this latest solar eclipse was one of the most viewed in the history of man. The July 22 eclipse will be the longest of its kind until 2132, with the longest prior to that having been July 11, 1991, which lasted 6 minutes, 53 seconds and was visible from Hawaii to South America. Any given spot on the Earth’s surface will host a total eclipse on average once every 375 years and your chances of just walking outside and seeing one are pretty slim! So chasing them down to be in the right place at the right time, is the only way to participate in this phenomena. Based on personal experience this alignment of the sun and moon are not to be missed.

The next total solar eclipse will be on July 11, 2010, but will occur almost entirely over the Pacific Ocean, where Easter Island — home of the famous Moai giant sculptures — will be one of the few places for viewing it from land. Now that I am an eclipse “junkie”, having graduated from eclipse chaser status, I think I will soon be investigating how I can manage to be in the “neighborhood” for that one too.

And in case I miss it, the next eclipses after that will be on November 13, 2012 over Australia and on November 3, 2013 over mid-Africa. Who knows, maybe I’ll see you there. Oh, and don’t forget the family!

Museums have long suffered from the perception that they are stodgy old institutions, out of touch with the rest of the world and at their core, elitist. It’s a reputation both deserved and undeserved. After all, most museums offer an abundance of programming for children and families and welcome people of all kinds. Why then, the lingering feeling that museums are closed off to all but the privileged? I’d wager to say that it’s largely related to the way museums talk to their public. With the best intentions, museums craft crisp, thoughtful communications that often alienate the very visitors they hope to garner. Imagine my pleasure then, to see my own local museum — LACMA — trying a different approach, and really succeeding.

In September, LACMA launched a blog, “Unframed”, its first significant entry into the new media field. If you haven’t seen it yet, maybe you’ve read about it. “Unframed” has been widely praised by influential arts bloggers and newshounds for its smart and illuminating content and I have to agree, the entries are great. They really take readers behind the scenes of the museum, demystifying it and humanizing it. My favorite entry was about the homespun element of a recent photography installation. I was surprised to learn how intimately involved the curator was in every element in the presentation of her show. I’d never read about an exhibition in these terms and it was wonderful! Just what this museum, what all museums, could use. A new way to talk about the art and the exhibitions that makes museums the deeply important institutions that we all agree they are.

“Unframed” beautifully set the stage for LACMA’s just-launched celebration of Urban Light, its 202-streetlamp-strong sculpture by LA artist Chris Burden on Wilshire Boulevard.

The museum has invited the public to contribute their own photos of the object to an online exhibition curated by the head of the photography department, Charlotte Cotton. And LACMA is delivering information about Urban Light, from interesting tidbits about the artists, to little-known details about the beloved lamps, in new ways. Urban Light has its own Facebook and MySpace pages and even a Twitter account devoted to it telling its story! Then there’s the soon-to-launch wiki page… it goes on and on.

Perhaps it’s not surprising that LACMA, of all museums, has come so far. Its director, Michael Govan has transformed the institution he once called a “sleeping giant.” The evolution started where it should, with the art. Govan famously ushered artist John Baldessari in to the museum to create the exhibition design for Magritte and Contemporary Art: The Treachery of Images. In the installation, Baldessari put cloud-printed carpet on the ground and wallpapered the ceiling with a freeway theme, literally turning the world upside down. It was a far cry from the white box approach of so many museums. Just this past summer, LACMA re-opened its Latin American galleries, which were reenvisioned by artist Jorge Pardo. Pardo created undulating casework for the ancient objects, painted the rooms in vibrant shades of red, orange, yellow, and green, and hung spectacular feathery lamps from the ceilings. It’s a sight to behold and something I’ve truly never seen anything like before.

It seems to me like a sign of Govan’s success that he can now turn an eye toward the way the museum talks about itself. I asked him about his latest success, a new communications style at LACMA. I was curious to learn what motivated him to try something so out of the ordinary for the museum. His answer was spot on, as always – he reminded me that nothing is out of the ordinary for LACMA anymore.

All photos © 2008 Museum Associates/LACMA

The men and women of the armed services earn our respect. They act on what we as a democracy decide. Most of us just see glimpses of their heroism in history books, movies or the daily news. If we are very lucky, we know someone who has served or who is serving in the military. Lucky, because these men and women sometimes reveal the personal nature of their commitment. What they tell us can be electrifying, shocking, sad, awe-inspiring, but it is always humbling. It makes our debt to them very real.

I am especially lucky because I grew-up with a man who is a veteran. My father-Harry William Deal-fought in World War II and then thankfully, came home to raise our family. As children we were always aware of his role in the War but it is only now, decades later, that I am fully able to appreciate his contribution.

My father had kept a detailed diary during World War II but on his very last night of duty it went missing, so I was amazed and excited when he sent me a rough draft of his memoirs, written by hand at age 82. As I read, I was astonished by the detail, the humor and the underlying morality; he went because that is what his country needed him to do. No more, no less.

I have spent the last 12 months working with my dad to get his story told and his memoir Venus Rising was published this month. It’s been a fascinating journey for me, taking the memories of my father and opening them up to the light of day. A friend, in response to this endeavor, wrote to me: “It’s not easy to edit a book, or do anything for one’s dad. Doing both at the same time is a real victory.” Victories come in many forms. This one has been about the amazing journey taken with my dad.

It was not an easy task for my dad to write this book long-hand at the kitchen table, apparently driving my mom crazy in the process. For me it meant working late at night, snatching moments from an already frantic schedule to edit the text. This was a comical intersect of generational habits as I struggled to decipher dad’s cryptic hand written and organize them on my computer. Although we had started the process with the idea of a limited print just for the family I was driven to make the book the best that it could be. In the end, the wry, understated Texan sense of humor that I grew up with and loved and my dad’s amazingly clear ear for direct narrative captured the feeling of being told a bedtime story. What emerged was a simple and what I believe to be, wonderful story by one of America’s remaining members of the “Greatest Generation.”

My father starts the memoir telling about his youth growing up in deep South Dallas and it includes priceless stories such as the dozens of ways my grandmother could prepare turnips when that was all they had to eat, and of being 10-years-old and without the10¢ entrance fee for the State Fair, where he was handcuffed to the perimeter fence by a Texas Ranger for trying to sneak in. He grew up jack-rabbit hunting with his friends and was a member of the local South Dallas Twilights “gang.” These were the rough-and-tumble days of Texas during the Great Depression when it was possible, no acceptable, to dip Jax beer from a bucket on the floorboard of a 1935 Chevy Rumble Seat Coupe and drink while driving across state.

Then came the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. The weight of that historic moment changed the lives of all Americans and my dad soon joined the U.S. Navy, though he had seen the ocean only once before his enlistment. At first he was assigned to the aircraft carrier Enterprise, but he requested a more dangerous assignment on an oil tanker for the simple reason that his boyhood friends were on board.

My Dad’s journey taken through the adventures and atrocities of war, culminate in an experience he had off the shores of Japan in 1945. This experience was for me the crux of our collaboration because it revealed a side of him that I had always felt but not quite understood; his positive life view. Dad saw something that night while on deck watch, call it a ghost, a spirit, or an apparition, that left him with a vivid impression of life in balance with death. He had felt the presence of a guardian angel throughout the War and here in the last weeks of his service came a powerful message which he believed came from those who had “passed” before to those, like himself, who had been spared.

Getting this story published has been a true labor of love and joy, and I’m so proud of my father and humbled by his simple grace. I will always treasure his story as a part of a shared family heritage and a commitment to the values that I hold dear as an American.

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Venus Rising is available at Amazon.com