Have you heard about the wife and mother who’s been accepted as a candidate for a mission to Mars? She won’t be coming back, and even if she could the radiation exposure from the trip wouldn’t render a good prognosis.
I think she’s amazing.
Have you ever seen an ancient Cathedral or ruins in Greece or Egypt? They’re the types of places where the workers who laid the foundation would never see the finished project. Maybe their children or grandchildren would.
What the hell has happened to that type of imagination and work ethic?
A couple years ago I heard that a private company was looking for a couple married forever. They wanted a man and woman who could go on a journey into outer space without killing each other (my words). Apparently twenty years of marriage was considered a good indicator for lack of homicidal impulses. That’s kind of a joke, and I’m wondering if trial runs wouldn’t find that long-term married couples don’t make it past the moon before something mysterious offs a mate. I mean rarely a night of snoring goes by where I don’t briefly consider that a pillow would shush him up—but I can get up and write in another room. When I make Dear Hubby nuts he packs up and goes fishing. Putting a couple alone on a spaceship, I don’t know. I’m not sure that’s a good investment.
Still, when I first heard about the couple to Mars I tried to get more data. It certainly piqued my interest, and I love to travel. I asked my husband about it. He’s a man of Science, I knew he’d be into it. I mentioned it to my kids. We’d be able to talk via Satellite. I’d still be able to Tweet at them. It’s not like there’d be no communication. Someone’s got to go, why not us? It could be my chance to be part of something bigger. I could be part of the first team in to map out what might someday become an intergalactic highway for humanity.
When I mentioned it to my oldest daughter she considered me with a serious expression. She has eyes like a galaxy and can see just that far. “Mother. If you’re thinking about going to Mars because you’d have years and years to work on your novels where no one would interrupt you, I just think you should know that would officially make you the lamest person in the universe.”
Don’t you hate when other people can see right through you to your ulterior motives? Give me a break. It’s hard to get alone time to write! Some people write in crowded cafes or coffee shops, that is where their muse whispers stories to them. I’m an absolute believer in muses. I assume the muse is simply a part of the brain where story churns. In the correct environment those stories shoot out from that muse-y section of the brain and into the conscious mind. For some writers activity stimulates that portion of the mind. For others, we need midnight, a moat, or an intergalactic space ship.
Even if I’d have ulterior motives for volunteering for such an opportunity, I still think that the woman who’s been accepted into the program is amazing. She has the foresight to look beyond the everyday and love tomorrow, even if she won’t be around to see it maybe thanks to her, someone else will be.