Pic of the day: Apollo XVII; The last moon shot.
It is the quality and intensity of the dream only which raises men above the biological norm; and it is fidelity to the dream which differentiates the exceptional figure, the man of heroic stature, from the muddling, aimless mediocrities about him. What the dream is, matters not at all — it may be a dream of sainthood, kingship, love, art, asceticism or sensual pleasure — so long as it is fully expressed with all the resources of self.
I’ve not much to say today.
I have been watching the Roku box the last few days, netflix and a few other channels, watching a great many shows of the type I like, documentaries mostly. One about runners who ran across the Sahara. Had me wanting to go out and try it myself. Then I watched one about Buddha from PBS. Beautiful storytelling. Then I started watching a show, which was apparently on the Discovery channel which I’d never seen. When we left Earth: The Nasa Missions.
It got me to thinking about how grand indeed the exploits of the astronauts were, and are. Just the fact that we landed on the moon over 40 years ago is to me mesmerizing. I remember the final few missions, though just barely. Just the fact that we can fly to space and stay there for months on end is amazing, when put in the context that only one century ago powered flight was in it’s infancy.
I can just remember Alan Shepard playing golf on the moon, or improvising a golf shot with a dirt scoop, as I later learned. I think he brought a golf ball with him to do it. Not sure though. I remember being unhappy that the astronauts on Apollo XVII were going to be the last people on the moon. I wanted to go as well, and said so to anyone who would listen. You have big dreams when your five. I remember wanting to ride on the lunar rover. I remember loving tang, in part because it was what the astronauts drank. Every time the astronauts were on television, I was glued to it. As much as I was when I was watching the Bugs Bunny and Road Runner show (or was it Bugs and Daffy in 1972?) on Saturday mornings.
The adult I am is a product of the child that I was, and I am wistful about much of what has happened in spaceflight since. Space shuttle gone. No plans, no real plans for much of anything as far as space is concerned. Except for tourism, which is cute but does nothing to push forward the knowledge of the human race. It’s not about science and grand exploration anymore, or at least it doesn’t seem to be. Not in a day and age when budget comes before all else. Not in a day and age when science and education takes a back seat when it comes to dollars and cents, and sense for that matter.
We the people are a product of the times we live in, but also a product of the times we grew up in. The times in our childhood that fueled our dreams and made us what we are today, and what we can still be tomorrow. That we have allowed this to happen, allowed science in the public eye to disappear so is a travesty. A travesty that we are not allowing other generations to take part in such grand dreams like those we took part in when we were still in our formative years.
That’s it from here, America. G’night.