Boot Prints

When I was a kid, I would lay back in the cool summer grass and look at the nighttime sky. I would see airplanes, satellites, and various other refinements make their way across the big black spotted dome above me. It's one of my fondest memories.

I grew up in the Shuttle Age of space flight, long after the pioneers & rogue volunteers had launched their way into history, strapped atop nothing more than a damn missile. Now that's not to take away from those who ferried their way into the great beyond aboard the Shuttles.

I do recall what happened to the Challenger. 6th grade. Mrs. Wade turned the TV off when the booster rockets ran away to find their own piece of blue.

I wept openly and without pride, doing so amongst my peers. As did my peers do so around me.

I did so once again when I staggered, bleary eyed one Saturday morning, into the living room to see the slowest shooting stars I'd ever seen at daybreak, quietly make their way across a Texas sky.

Still... my enamor and reserve were always kept solemn and stoic for the Apollo Boys.

I so wish I could have experienced those days. The days in which we, as a country, Did because we Could. Because we Wanted To. They were latter day Outlaws to the heavens.

The Mercury & Gemini Programs had come before, assuring the financiers that we wouldn't (probably) kill ourselves, and thus we banded the few together and pushed them into the sky. Those rockets should have had balls hanging off their asses.

Everyone has heard about Apollo 11 and Apollo 13, but I want to tell you about another Apollo.

Your Father's favorite of all.

Apollo 7.

They were the first triple threat that went up. Not long after the fire. 10 days in orbit, making sure the orbiter didn't have too many flaws, hoping to God the engineers had it all figured out.

Schirra, Eisele & Cunningham.

They were a pain in the ass to CAPCOM. They bitched about everything. In truth, that was their job. They were test driving a vehicle that couldn't be driven back to the shop if the A/C stopped working.

They railed on the food, the ride, and the fact that Schirra got a cold.

But... because of them... future Astronauts had helmet visors, better meals & the undivided attention of Houston.

Sadly, they were blackballed from future flights. I always found that shameful on the part of our Government. Well, one of many things.

Last July I got to see the Apollo 7 reentry module. I got to touch it's crippled & sculpted heat shield. I got to hold the heavy metal in my hand.

It was a good day.

It reminded me that where we think we can go is no where near where we might end up if we try to go Somewhere.

The Universe if FULL of Life. So are You.

Don't ever let anyone tell you the sky is the limit.

Not as long as there are boot prints on the Moon.

Plastic Spoons & Moons (Oh, and maybe a handful of BBs)

Don't take life too seriously.

I know it comes with all kinds of baggage. Beliefs, Assumptions, Expectations, Etc. But those things aren't birth rites. They aren't the building blocks of karma. They aren't anything you inherited. They're the by-products of humans being human and expecting you to be the same... on their terms, of course.

Well, between you and I... and don't ever tell your Mama I said this... "Fuck That".

The ugly truth is that most of the things you'll end up worrying about will work themselves out regardless of how much you toil over them. The things you lose sleep over will never lose sleep over you.

So do your Old Man a favor... when you find that this silly little carousel ride called life is a bit much to handle... Let It Go.

I mean, all you need is a Plastic Spoon, a Moon, and a handful of BBs.

That's the secret to Life.

Or it's close enough for a good shot.

Winter's Eve

The earth has tilted. It's colder now. Our little blue dot is leaning timidly away from the sun. We are in the deep breath of winter now, though it only began... today.

The passing week's snowfall is but a fading memory, its patchwork remnants blanket the nooks & bends that the day's sunlight could not find a way to breach. I've always found that after a day's fresh snowfall, when the ground is shivered & still, when the night wraps its scarf around my pale flesh, the world sounds a little more at peace. An unusual quiet washes over every little thing. Rogue leaves that had thus far refused to let go of their slumbered hosts don't seem to rattle when a breeze strays by. Small creatures of the wild burrow down into their place of rest and patiently await the coming of the dawn. Everything seems to find a reason to watch, to listen, daring not contribute even the slightest hint of life, as if only to be still... for a moment. It is a pleasant repose.

The moon is full tonight. It hangs plump & ponderous, ever keeping a watchful eye. As a Mother stealing one last glimpse at her resting brood. Daring not to wake the infants below, she lets linger upon our cheeks and foreheads her cherished adulation. She pours out onto our flesh her handfuls of silver.

It is in times such as these and moments such as this that you realize it is a good thing to be alive. Maybe the best of things.

Be still when the world around you rests. Be quiet when the moment has run out of words to say. Be as content as the moonlight that pools in your hands on a patient winter's eve.

There is wisdom to be found in such things.