In case you’ve been in a coma, you may not have heard that there is a total solar eclipse coming up in two weeks. This is when the moon moves in front of the sun, completely blotting it out and thrusting viewers into darkness.

Sadly, it won’t be visible here in La La Land, but we’re planning to go to Texas for a few days to see it. That’s pretty much the only thing that would get me to Texas these days, by the way, even though my parents met there and the result of that was me.

If you’re sitting there reading this and thinking to yourself, “Big deal. I’ve seen a partial solar eclipse,” all I can say to you is, “Yes, it is a big deal.” A partial eclipse is like making out in the back seat of your dad’s car. A total eclipse is your wedding night.

And that’s why we’re going to Texas along with much of the rest of the world’s population. I am dreading flying into the Austin airport with all the thundering hordes, but I’m way too lazy to actually drive to Texas.

The reason that everyone in the known galaxy is going to Texas is because there’s a wide swath of total eclipse running through the middle of the state and the entire area is known for sunny skies in April.

As you might imagine, traveling across the globe to see a solar eclipse isn’t much fun if it turns out to be cloudy that day.

But let me digress. In August 2017, my brother, cousins and I went and stood atop a ridge in Idaho to see the most recent total eclipse visible in the United States. I’d never seen an eclipse but my brother is something of an astronomy geek, so he insisted we should go.

I’d actually written a travel story about where you could go to see this event and, as a result, a rancher in Idaho wrote to me and said he was renting out spaces atop a bluff he owned. He invited me to come and enjoy his bluff for free.

I explained that I couldn’t ethically accept free stuff from him, but we might be interested in coming and paying like everyone else, since it was only a few hours’ drive from Salt Lake City, where I was meeting up with my brother to drive up there.

So, we went, and it was by far one of the most memorable experiences of my entire life. Well, OK, it wasn’t better than Curly Girl’s wedding, but it was unforgettable nonetheless. Made even better by our blufftop location, where we were able to see the eclipse shadow gradually approaching before being plunged into total, frigid darkness (so cold it required blankets), and then watching the shadow moving away.

Many other people were on the bluff with us, and the gasps and hollers during this process are seared into my brain. Our family resolved to reconvene at the next total eclipse in 2024.

Well, as some of you know, a petty aggravation known as Stage 4 cancer interrupted this plan some five years ago, leaving me feeling quite disconsolate about all the things I’d miss, including dancing someday at my daughter’s wedding, meeting my grandchildren and going to the 2024 solar eclipse.

But guess what? Cancer is tricky but I’m trickier and – at least for now – I’m still around. I did dance at my daughter’s wedding, meet my handsome and astonishingly intelligent baby grandson and, now, I’m going to the eclipse I never thought I’d see.

However, there was a complication. My brother and I are both stubborn as mules, and so we argued for years about where to experience this epic event.

The thing is that reservations had to be obtained one or more years in advance because – as I mentioned – people are descending from all over.

I love Mexico, so I advocated seeing the eclipse in Mazatlan, a Pacific beach resort where we could do our solar viewing on the beach, with margaritas in hand.

My brother, however, is generally afraid of traveling outside the U.S., especially to Mexico, so he flat-out refused to go, even after I’d made plans and found the perfect viewing spot. After arguing for a long while, I gave in and agreed to go to Texas instead. He’s not terrified of Texas, even though it has millions of gun owners who can openly carry their unlicensed, loaded handguns in public almost anywhere they want. (On the plus side, a pistol has to be in a holster. That’s comforting.)

My brother was determined that we absolutely must be in an area with the longest total darkness of the eclipse, so we’re heading to a hotel in a small town. There doesn’t seem to be much to do there and very few restaurants, making me wonder if we’re going to be bored while we starve to death. But I intend to stop at a grocery store on the way and stock up on snacks.

For those of you who’ve stayed with me, the eclipse is on Monday, April 8, visible in Texas starting at 1:30 p.m. their time. If you want to go now, but you haven’t made any plans, I wouldn’t unless you’ve scoped things out in detail. After the 2017 eclipse, my friend and I got stuck in a monster traffic jam trying to drive back to the Salt Lake City airport, missed our scheduled flight home and ended up stuck in a motel for two days trying to get another flight, binge-watching episodes of “90 Day Fiancé” to amuse ourselves.

This time, I think we have better plans. I’ll let you know how it goes. Are you planning to see the eclipse? Tell me more at [email protected]

Learn more here: nationaleclipse.com

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