The autumn colors blazed through the foggy day, matching the red of my tiny car as it sped northward. George H. Smith’s The Constitutional Convention in audiobook played on the speakers, James Madison arguing for a strong national government, the small states pushing back, Walter Cronkite’s voice reassuring.
Appomattox Court House loomed through the mist. Round bales of hay dotted the fields like ghosts of soldiers. I put the book on pause.
I was lucky enough to have a meaningful day ahead. Previously, it would just have been fun.
The astronomy talk at 1 pm was a delight. The residents of my previous employment gathered ‘round, and pushed back on anything strange I said. “What do you mean?” They felt like the family they had become. Even the boss’s mom, stopping by to say hello, sat in and asked about UFOs. People love to talk the “big things”, like God and Aliens. They’re hungry for it.
The birthday party DJ gig later was equally fun. A lady who could barely walk rose at the sound of James Brown, indescribably groovy, locked into the beat. Coolness never dies.
The evening space lecture found me flat on my back, sprawled on the floor in front of the room, dramatically reading ancient Greek poetry about the stars.
The silver moon is set;
The Pleiades are gone;
Half the long night is spent, and yet
I lie alone.
(Sappho)
Those bales in the mist are on my mind. It feels like the 1850’s to me. What are we doing for the world?
The residents who sat and listened to my space talk showed me that all this weird stuff I love can be used for something more than just fun, or artistic gratification.
(And, they sure keep me honest. One of my dear friends there, falling asleep a few times, roused herself at the top of the hour, and said “OK, that should do it!” It was time for bingo.)
Those battlefield haybales are still there in the mist, a ghostly presence keeping me focused on that question.
What am I doing for the world?
Stay focused, friends. Stay sharp. We’re counting on you.