More than a crossing term
Time for some disambiguation (one of my favourite words). This evening, I’m stuck on the term transit.
Ever and ages ago, after a fit of “need to know how that works” (one of my educational drivers), I signed up for a course of basic surveying at the university. An engineering elective; perfect for an Artsie. And I came to realize that my trignometry skills had atrophied since high school. That’s not important. I also learned to set up a transit. Think of it as an ungainly substitute for binoculars at the local beach. Still, the mystery was solved. If ever I have a chance to pick one up at the flea market, I shall.
When I arrived in the big city (Montreal), I became a regular user of rapid transit. Not always rapid, of course, but always filled with interesting people (my courses finished, late at night, when the fauna emerge). Again, if every I have a chance to purchase a subway (at the flea market or otherwise), I shall.
From time to time, I dabble in communication technology. What could be more fun than bouncing a weak signal up and back from a passing satellite, in transit. Yes, I can claim to have completed a contact with MIR, and I am rightly proud of the accomplishment. Pity the craft is gone from the firmament.
And this evening, I went outside with a lens and a cardboard box, and I attempted to observe Venus, in transit across the face of the Sun. As I explained to someone at work: “This evening, don’t look directly at the Sun. But, if you do, and you see a slowly moving black dot, it is as it should be.”
I haven’t seen the planet, yet, but there’s still a few minutes left before sundown. If I don’t manage, I believe it looks like this:
