Renewed Tales

As a spelunker of all manner of folk tales, this intrigues me with its possibilities…

“Producers debuted the first photos of Stewart, as an armoured, sword-wielding Snow White, and Theron, as the Evil Queen, at the Comic-Con fan convention in San Diego, California.

Read more:”

Of course, if they make the huntsman into some sort of browbeaten fool, it will ruin everything. We shall see…

Glory Days

Trooper sits, jittery, as the final moments of his favorite show roll by. Football dreams floating on a Hail Mary pass…I cannot know what those memories hold for him, how many he surrendered when he signed a dotted line and stepped onto Fort Hood instead of collegiate turf.

I keep the headphones on, listening to things like this, distracted but watching…I keep a weather eye for those lines crossed, as it was in that moment of the movie when men slipped down a rope in Somalia, knowing…knowing…did he hear old radio chatter in his head, still? Or remember a day on the range with the brave man who leapt to a certain death?

You cannot remove the memories or make them less urgent. And one ought not, anyway. But they should be measured…relived in pieces and parts for an appetite that is sated quickly with that bitter fruit. I haven’t such terrors – or perhaps they were dulled, as so many of those years were, in diaphanous delirium. I feel quite impotent in the face of his mourning, years gone.

Years have passed so quickly that I can hardly remember most of those insults to the psyche. I have always been forgiving, too, understanding flawed souls intimately. I look back and see a great waste of time, decades spent on useless pursuits. But perhaps the path was intended to be barren, broken, and circular. It brought me here, now.

A witness. It was the one thing that stuck with me from the earliest days when I read Heinlein and his character of the “professional witness”. I have tried to avoid making assumptions and believing very little that I had not, myself, experienced. It makes for a more lonely journey. But sure-footed, now.

Glory days…they sustain us, torment us, give us pause and urge us forward.

Quitting Endeavors

As my wedding anniversary creeps close I am, annually, reminded of the secondary importance of the date. Perhaps subconsciously selected and only seemingly random, it was rather surprising when I was reminded of its stature in history.

I try to remember it all, those first grainy images as a 6 year old as we watched it on the television. Then there were later days in Florida when I built a cardboard mockup of a control panel to try and emulate those on Apollo 13 when I could manage any privacy. There was a kind of immediacy and magic involved – if I could manage to think it hard enough, they would come home.

As an adult I consoled myself with all the movies I could find. This series was a feast, though a melancholy one. I go here now and then to watch the footage and experience it all again, some of the shadowy frames bringing back hints of scents and sensations so long forgotten.

It was, no matter how ruined I was in my early adult years, the only dream I kept – not alive, per se. Merely…a touchstone. If not for all this, I would tell myself, I would be there. So much pain to dull and so little time, though. Years wasted rather than used to cram and try…no, too old, too late, and too damned stupid even then. All so that I could sit here, gently greying with silent tears slipping over a fate long ago decided.

Today, as in those last days of Apollo, no one cares who landed where, who risked what on giant engines of fire. They’ll perform a dangerous ballet of connections, visit a hulk that was never given its chance, and surrender all in a final return to a planet, a nation, that has stopped dreaming.

The craft, this last monolith, Atlantis, is already an antique. Contracted in 1979, if you can imagine, it first left earth in 1985. Someday not long from now it will be tethered at KSC and your kids can put their grubby hands on its fuselage – never knowing that it likely was the end of their chance to make that trip.

NASA has not been, in years, what it once was. Some examples of why your tax dollars have been wasted live here and here and here. Look at this chart to see how it all moved from pure science and exploration to…bureaucracy. No matter how much I wish it were otherwise, I know that the private exploration initiatives are now the only way to continue reaching out and away from this nursery of ours.

I cannot help but wonder what we might have done with the better budget – the percentage people thought it was using – rather than the pittance it received. Instead of an EPA slush fund (check out that STAG number and try to figure out how much special favor bullshit will go on with it) we could have a generous amount of serious work done on alternative engines.

It is all academic, though, Graduates aren’t even capable of proper grammar. They cannot be expected to understand the concept of extinction level events in history and that, this time, human beings will be the ones going bye-bye. Nice experiment, y’all – been swell…

No, they’re too busy with Twitter, murdering mothers, mad mullahs who “just want peace”, and the people who Think They Can Dance.

But there is a kind of resignation to it – that “I remember when” nostalgia to ease a person into their decline. Tales to be told to children, “It once was so…”. Young men once risked all. Some young men will once again do the same but maybe with feet on ground, hoping to just hold that piece of it against what comes on the horizon. No time, now, for those horizons to stretch to the stars.

No time for dreams.

Farewell, Abandon In Place, and rust in peace.

What I Wish I’d Said

It came to me at midnight, failing to find sleep though so very bone-weary tired…it was the anniversary of the death of my mother. All day long the malaise settled around me and I considered everything without ever running my mind over that speedbump of history.

If I’d had any sense, I’d have noted this.

On the Fourth, we celebrate open rebellion, high treason, and disobedience.

We celebrate men who killed their countrymen for their principles.

Men who risked being demonized and executed by their government, for their principles.

Don’t you ever, ever forget that.


It’s not about apple pie, baseball, fireworks, and the Declaration of Independence.

The Fourth is about men holding to their principles strongly enough to lead to killing, rebellion, and treason.

Such actions led them to freedom.

Expensive, horrible, priceless freedom.

Arctic Patriot

Yes, that is what I meant…do read the comments for further explication and why I do enjoy this guy…

Stand To

So many have written eloquent words about the day. I cannot bring myself to try harder…nothing left in me, no energy or will to color within the patriotic lines this day.

Trooper walks his post today, hydrating and opening the cooler to see what I’ve packed for him. My days start early, always, with dogs needing attention and Trooper needing breakfast and then, on most days, the preparation of the dinner meal at mid-morning for him to take along. Exhausting, all that labor to ensure he eats well on the job that does not allow any departure once there.

Exhausting, too, my own work…people with behaviors I do not approve of and yet must support. I have to remind myself of the comfort I enjoy because of that role. Hundreds of people would line up to have it. Hundreds…

Because the economy is set to teeter then totter and force us all to make decisions that we’ve never been forced to make. Our grandparents knew those awful options – and could make it work because they were up to the challenge. But what of our accounts, all electronic and so easily snatched to zero if it was declared necessary? Hence, my borrowing against it to fund our vehicle, our other imperative purchases…if it will be worthless, best I make use of it now. If I’d been thinking, I would have tacked on a bit more to just get away for a time.

All this…this dark view is tiresome, too. I try to remember the good things. But my patience is thin and I have little to offer to others…distant friends act like fools and it takes all I have to stay quiet in the face of it. I am weary of this mask of gentility. The cold heart of my youth struggles against my facade of respectability. When do I get to rant and yell? Where is my vacation you goddamned usurper?

Blame this unending heat and vanished rain. Blame the ironing stacked away. Blame the dogs, pressing for fun that doesn’t include going outside. Everything seems prickly and wrong no matter which way I try to turn it. No amount of spin can turn this ennui around. I am no good friend to man nor beast these days.

Time, I think, for sleep. Rest – and later to try again to stand against it all and smile. Smile as the wolf gnaws. Hold what you’ve got. Stand to.

Just…tomorrow, okay?