Old Weird Ward
Unless otherwise noted, that which is posted here is opinion, which is protected by the First Amendment to the US Constitution. If you don't like my opinions, go somewhere else. Nobody is forcing you to actually read this drivel.
The presumption exists that you can read at all.
That may be a large assumption.
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Tuesday, February 04, 2003
- - - - - Columbia Again - - - - -
In the wake of the events of 1 February, I find that I'm singularly non-motivated. I find it difficult to get myself in motion, to do those everyday things which I need to do. Walking the dog, cleaning the car, picking up after the 4-year-old, cooking a meal, brushing my teeth - it's an all too noticible chore.
Very unusual for me - I don't usually brood, I don't sit in the corner and suck my thumb. At least, not much. I have my moments, like anyone else, but hardly ever for more than an hour or so. I find that putting a smile on my face for strangers, and for my children is difficult.
I think my kids know that I'm a little distracted, but they don't really know why.
Disturbing, that the deaths of 7 strangers could affect me so. I seem to remember feeling the same non-personal grief at the time of Challenger, and even earlier, at Apollo I.
Today I post the full words of the poetry I quoted yesterday, written by Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr, an American serving with the Royal Canadian Air Force during World War II.
In August or September 1941, Pilot Officer Magee composed High Flight and sent a copy to his parents. Several months later, on December 11, 1941 his Spitfire collided with another plane over England and Magee, only 19 years of age, crashed to his death.
High Flight
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
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