never know where other literate, intelligent life forms might lurk.
The prospect of seven hours of travel time is daunting. I’ll stop at the Talkeetna and Healy refueling stations, and others, if they are within hailing distance. I’ll tune in, and get periodic space reports from the B.B.C. Intergalactic News Network. I will take frequent space walks. Will listen repeatedly to David Bowie’s “Major Tom to Ground Control.”
Yes, I’m going to do this. I want to check out the Ice Carvings on Planet Fairbanks. And I might transcend the boundaries of proposal writing time and space and meet with my acquisitions editor. That is if I make it out the door.
The truth be known, it is going to be difficult getting off the launch pad. It didn’t used to be. Used to be that I could leave anywhere at the drop of a hat. In fact, one person once jokingly remarked that I needed a tether. I now have a lot to tend to here. I know that Pete, who is home now, can take of what needs doing, and whatever comes up. And I’m only going to be gone for five days.
I’m actually like a person being drawn and quartered by their own beloved horses. (Imagine that!). My mother has always been a restless individual – she liked to go places. The only things that kept her from venturing far were a lack of money and two children. On the other hand, my father has always been a bit more sedentary, and more so in his later years. He’s the sort who if given a choice between going on an intra-planetary voyage and staying home and reading a stack of books, will opt for the latter.
Right now I’m feeling like I’d most like to stay at home, hang out, and read the ever growing stack of books that in time will block the doorways and the windows. If I was dead set again taking off, I could most likely feign indifference or illness. But there is also a part of me that inwardly must want to head off on an adventure, for I am now thinking ahead, about what lies ahead.
Next: 70. 3/11/14: Up, Up, and Away