Memorial Day 2012

Scenes from Valhalla Memory Gardens, where Boy Scout Troop 228 assisted in the special ceremony honoring our heroes and their families for their service to our Nation. From my family to yours, a heartfelt Thank You to all who serve: past, present and future.

Some suggested Memorial Day reading:

As Memorial Day Nears, A Single Image that Continues to Haunt
America: Her Finest Hour is Yet to Come

Capture the Dragon!

Dragon-Flight! No, I'm not talking about the beloved Anne McCaffrey novel from my childhood. I'm talking about the first private sector space capsule called Dragon, built by Space Exploration Technologies, or SpaceX. A few days ago, Dragon was launched from Cape Canaveral on a Falcon 9 rocket, with a planned mission to dock with the International Space Station.

I'm working from home this morning, which gives me the benefit of having the television on in the background. Of the large number of otherwise useless channels I get on the satellite dish, one of them happens to be NASA TV. Ten minutes of this channel was enough to send my brand new 9-year old back to his room to play. It may be dull, but there is something mesmerizing in watching the capsule approach ISS with the earth turning steadily below. When I first tuned in, the capsule was at 70 meters and holding, and while I made my first cup of coffee, it moved to 30 meters. According to the mission guide, the Dragon is to close at 10 meters at which point ISS engineers will operate the station's grappling arm to pull Dragon in for docking.

NASA and SpaceX both have gone out of their way to characterize this exercise as a test flight only, but there are various supplies aboard the capsule for the station crew.

As I have said before, I believe the future of manned space flight is going to require a partnership or consortium of government and commercial interests. From what I have read, there are more private venture startups lining up behind SpaceX, which I think is a good thing (not the least reason as providing employment opportunities for NASA employees and contractors as NASA ultimately downsizes due to budget pressures, and the minimization of the loss of institutional knowledge).

There was a fascinating discussion between the station and Houston as Dragon approached the 10 meter point, as the pair was passing into twilight. But not surprisingly, the space station crew has no fear of the dark, so the go to capture in the dark was given. Slowly and steadily, the grappling arm reached out toward the capture (at which point my young son came back in the room, of course). Closer, closer …

And … Capture is confirmed! Historic stuff, and way cool!

Next up, docking. And now back to work for me.

A Walkman Will Survive

Back in October 2010, I blogged about Sony's decision to discontinue the once-popular Walkman (portable cassette player for you young-uns). In that post, I wrote:

I still have my Walkman, packed away in a box somewhere. How well do I remember that beloved player, which more than once came to my aid as I pedaled my way 5 miles into a fierce 40mph Dakota headwind between the bowling alley on base and the sleepy town I called home, about which I've written previously. It was the Rocky IV soundtrack, as I recall, plus a number of other tapes I still have shoved in a closet. That Walkman also help pass the time on some long family trips. I used it up until my first year or two in college.

Ah well. The Walkman was my generation's iPod, I suppose. Am I now officially "old"?

Yesterday, while continuing the arduous task of sorting through items rescued from my former home, I found that Walkman. I put new batteries in this morning, and put in some Boston (also recovered from the wreckage). And what do you know, it still works! Acquired in 1983, my Walkman may very well be the only device we have left that will play cassette tapes (my wife's may also have survived).

It may be a relic, but it works, and that's just fine with me.

I Am Prodigal

What follows is a chapter of a personal nature, associated with a project I began many years ago called "A Portrait of Me." I have not blogged all chapters (nor do I intend to), but links for those that I have may be found at the end of this post. In these, I lay myself bare and open to scrutiny. It is, after all, my story. What follows is not a happy read, but it is critical to what came later.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from Pole to Pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud,
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how straight the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll.
I am the Master of My Fate;
I am the Captain of my Soul.

-- "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley, 19th century

Relief floods my senses as I punch the clock and head down the stairs, past the popcorn machine and out the door. The restless spirit that has plagued me these many months is percolating once again in the chambers of my teenage heart. It pounds and it pounds, feeding the angst that threatens to unhinge my mind, held together only by the sheer will of my stubborn pride. On this warm summer night, I crank down the windows, put the car in gear and go from zero to 60 in a quarter of a tank. These nights, I drive by instinct. It is the same almost every night: up and down the main roads for half an hour, through the McDonalds (never stopping), before cutting a well worn path first to the north, then west by the school, down back through town (still don't see anyone I know), to the south out by the paper mill, before finally working my way back home. Windows down, Eagles blaring (sometimes Boston, sometimes Def Leppard), headlights leading the way as I cruise. Most nights, the driving sedates the restlessness, but not so this night.

Out in the dark and away from lights, I finally pull off the road. I hop onto the trunk of the car and look up at the starry night, gazing at friends in the sky who now are virtual strangers to me. Yet even here, there is no respite from the pounding, the torment of a lonely soul who gave up his friends for others, all for the promise that was supposed to come with faith, with surrender, only to leave this feeble newborn alone in further isolation, his salvation merely a trophy on somebody else's wall, as if that alone was the prize to be won. The utter hypocrisy, the damaging words, the rationalized behavior of these deluded disciples was too much to bear. Is this what You expect of me, to walk through life as if nothing matters beyond a pathetic expression of belief? Am I supposed to believe that all this has no greater purpose than putting on airs of self-righteous snobbery? No. I refuse this. I refuse to be subject to such falsity. Let this be my declaration: You may be Lord, but You are not mine. I shall be the Master of my fate and the Captain of my soul. I alone have the power and the will to be good, and should I fail, the responsibility is my own. I cannot be perfect, but I can aim for perfection, and I shall live with the consequences of my success and my failure. For I shall not be conquered, and this restlessness shall cease. I will do it, because I will it. And I will it. With my fist and my tears, I will it.

I drive home, my path and my purpose now clear. There is no escaping what I have done, even as I revel in the darkness of my declaration of rebellion. What folly! To entertain the fantasy that the finite can control the infinite. But my pride keeps me steadfast: I cannot be conquered. Nor can I be victorious. I am Prodigal.

Yet lurking in the quiet recesses of the night, the claim upon my life is not yet revoked. There will come a reckoning, to lay my folly bare, to set the course of a future now clouded from view. There will be but one option: Surrender. But on this night, and for the next two years, I will remain invictus.

"My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand." (John 10:29, NASB)

"You did not choose Me, but I chose you …" (John 15:16a, NASB)

A Portrait of Me: The Key
A Portrait of Me: River Walk
A Portrait of Me: Journey's Dawn
A Portrait of Me: I Am Prodigal
A Portrait of Me: This is My Story (coming soon)

Supermoon

What do you do when it has been 10 days since your last post, and the mental faculties aren't functioning well enough to write extemporaneously? Why, post a picture of the moon, silly. I missed the supermoon on Saturday, in part because of some cloud cover. But the photo below by Tavi Greiner, courtesy of Universe Today, captures the moment. Follow this link to see other shots of the oversized satellite.

(h/t): Universe Today
Image Credit: Tavi Greiner

One Year Later, Or Last Month

Today marks the one year anniversary of a devasting and widespread outbreak of severe weather across much of the south, resulting in catastrophic devastation and loss of life. At one time, I had begun to prepare a piece for this blog that would look back on that day, from the frantic effort to find a way home across a veritable war zone featuring numerous blocked roads cluttered with downed trees and power lines, to the race to my brother-in-law's house in a failed attempt to patch a roof before the next round of storms, to hiding for the better part of 8 hours in the basement of our home as the darkest of days turned into night. I would have recounted the 7 days without power, the discovery of community among our neighbors, the stories of blessing and heartache and marvel that were born of that experience.

Yet as I sit here, I find that my view of April 27 is clouded - and yet made more clear - by March 2nd. What I could only imagine then, I now know. In the past 8 weeks, I have met several people at the ballfield, at the school, and around town whose lives were changed by April 27. Each conversation, many with complete strangers, was made rich by the understanding and empathy that comes from a shared experience.

As we labor to move on from March 2nd, I am struck by the reality that recovery may take far longer than I expect. To this day, there are still families all around us still struggling to get life back on track after April 27. There are still those who shake in fear at the even the threat of bad weather. Even I have lost my taste for a "good thunderstorm" in recent weeks, and as one who enjoys the science and mystery of weather phenomena, that's saying something. Maybe it'll come back in time, but for now, peaceable weather would be preferred. The point is, I am learning from those who know, that "normal" is a long way off. But I will not lack for hope, and I will remain confident that a restoration is coming. Are we changed? Yes. But we are together, and that means everything.

In closing, I offer the following links below, for those of you who may wish to look back at April 27. God be with you.

My Posts:

The post I made just before 1 pm on April 27

The day the power came back on

When the Lights Came Back On

Other Look Backs:

Huntsville Utilities, TVA overcame long odds

A Year Ago Today - al.com

Local Meteorologists Look Back

Special Report from the National Weather Service

Plus ça change ...

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. That simple phrase remains one of the very few I can still recall from my days in high school, sitting in a French class taught by a teacher with an Art major and a powerful southern drawl. Such a grand way of saying what we've all heard before: the more things change, the more things remain the same. To the philosopher, it may be one of the most celebrated abstractions used to define the experience of the human condition through the passage of time. To those of a more pragmatic disposition, the notion is so intrinsically obvious as to warrant that other celebrated saying: "Well, duh!"

I am old enough to have seen the times change, and young enough to not be all that surprised by the fact. For instance, I am old enough to remember the days when TV stations would sign-off at midnight, play the U.S. National Anthem, and shut off their transmitters. I am young enough, however, to recognize - and to a certain extent appreciate - the 24-hr broadcast cycle as a market-driven opportunity. (You know somebody got rich selling all those Ginsu knives that could cut through tin cans and metal pipes and still slice your tomatoes). I would imagine that there are few remaining TV stations that still sign-off that way anymore.

I'm reminded of the time I lived on base near Grand Forks. Every day at 5pm, the flag would be lowered, accompanied by the playing of the anthem, and Taps, through the system of PA speakers that blanketed the base. Every car, every pedestrian, every kid on his bike would come to a stop where they were until the final note had faded in the wind. Maybe using the word "every" is a bit naïve, but from my vantage point and recollection, I don't recall seeing many violators of that etiquette. Nowadays, I still chafe when I see people talking, cooking, hats-on, and otherwise ignoring the anthem and flag (say, at opening day of little league). I wonder sometimes, if that custom of lowering the colors still continues, in the same way I remember it as a kid.

I also remember going to the movies on base. Prior to the start of any feature presentation, the screen would fill with the flag, the speakers would pound out a drum roll, and the theater patrons would rise as one as the anthem was played. The memory of silhouettes standing at attention against a movie screen filled with images of national landmarks and flights of Air Force fighters, bombers and tankers is one I'll never forget. I consider myself fortunate to even have such a memory.

To satisfy my curiosity, I asked the almighty Google if playing and standing for the anthem was still a common practice at theaters on military bases. The results were largely inconclusive, but I saw several references that seemed to indicate that, indeed, this custom remains alive and well. I'm glad.

Times have changed, and so have people across the generations. This is nothing new. But just as human nature transcends the changing times (in ways both good and bad), so too do certain ideals and virtues. I only wish we could spend more time appealing to that which is virtuous in us, rather than what is base in us.

The first video below is the video that begat the meandering rabbit trail above, posted by a friend of mine elsewhere. (I say meandering rabbit trail, because as I look at the first and sixth paragraphs, they seem like they should be the bookends of a different kind of essay, rather than the one I've chosen. But this is the path my mind took, so I'll leave well enough alone for now - an opportunity for reuse later). The second video is one I found, that while not exactly the same, is reminiscent of what I remember seeing in the theaters. Enjoy.