Eric Boe the Astronaut
Years ago, I read an article that was from a PhD student at an impressive school which meant it took me a while to comprehend both the language and the concept. While I am positive the researcher who spent years on such a topic would find my review of the subject simplistic to the point of insulting, essentially, the research project showed that time was a perception and not an exact scientific unit.
When people were at the end of their lives, the perception of time was directly dependent on if they had many “time markers” or major changes in their life. If you lived a life with little change or few time markers, then you would perceive that you lived a long time, regardless of your age. And if you had lived a life with lots of change, then you would perceive that you had lived a short time.
I remember reading this article because it produced a great internal debate: if I wanted my life to “feel” long (if I feared death) then should I resist all forms of major change? At a practical level, I would not move from country to country, would take the same vacation every year, hold the same job, keep the same friends, and even live in a place with no seasons.
Rightfully so, I quickly decided that my life had always been about change so I had to accept that it would seem short. And as a result my life has endured many great time markers. Going to school in Syracuse. The Navy days in Seattle. Two years I spent in Paris. Buying a house in Oregon. Moving to Vermont to go back to school. A year in Westport, Connecticut. My mom’s miracle surgery. A long trip to Spain. Running a marathon. Etc.
As I write this, I am contained on a Delta flight somewhere over the middle of Texas, thinking that this week will absolutely be one of the many time markers in my life: attending the launch of my cousin going into space as the pilot on the shuttle for NASA. Right now, the official NASA count down clock has started (Go to: http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/shuttle/launch/index.html) and I believe we are close to 30 hours away from take off, with a 40% chance the weather will prevent the initial launch and we will need to restart the clock. I am as scared as I am excited about the whole event.
I have read the entire NASA website on the launch, including exactly how the time clock works, and a recent interview with Eric Boe, my cousin. As I read the article, he talks specifically about how he has wanted to be an astronaut his whole life and suddenly I find myself on my own version (a much safer one) of space travel. (Here’s the interview: http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/shuttle/shuttlemissions/sts126/interview_boe.html)
I am somewhere in my young childhood playing with an entire collection of horse models with my sister Lisa. We had almost all of the Breyer horse collection, I would guess a total of 20 horses, but my fa
vorite was a beautiful appaloosa roan that I named Strawberry. Sometimes she was a wild mustang, a famous hunter jumper, or the winner of the Kentucky Derby, but she was always my horse. She was always spirited, yet gentle. My Barbie and Ken dolls would ride and take care of Strawberry, using small rubber bands for bridles and halters.
vorite was a beautiful appaloosa roan that I named Strawberry. Sometimes she was a wild mustang, a famous hunter jumper, or the winner of the Kentucky Derby, but she was always my horse. She was always spirited, yet gentle. My Barbie and Ken dolls would ride and take care of Strawberry, using small rubber bands for bridles and halters.
Somewhere in the middle of my space travel, I am interrupted by the sound of an equally as young Eric Boe, screaming in with airplanes and buzzing the entire heard of our beautiful horses. Barns were toppled and few horses w
ere left standing after a variety of different fly bys. I find myself running to the kitchen to find my mom who is serving coffee to her sister, my Aunt Carol. I am screaming in the most hysterical childlike manner, “Mommmmiiieee, Eric destroyed our horse barn. He even knocked over Strawberry! Tell Eric he’s not allowed to do that.”
ere left standing after a variety of different fly bys. I find myself running to the kitchen to find my mom who is serving coffee to her sister, my Aunt Carol. I am screaming in the most hysterical childlike manner, “Mommmmiiieee, Eric destroyed our horse barn. He even knocked over Strawberry! Tell Eric he’s not allowed to do that.” I do not remember exactly how my mother and aunt solved the dilemma, I am sure with rolling eyes and a slight chuckle, but somehow we came to learn to play together during our many vacations together. Eric doesn’t have sisters and I don’t have brother; we learned to compromise on both sides.
Now back to my own space travel, I fast forward to yesterday. I was walking home from the gym, going through the list of things that had to be done before we left in the morning for the airport, when I realized three little bo ys were hiding behind a tree. They were all blond, looking as if they w
ere going to pounce on me at any time. One boy shoved the other out into the open and screamed, “You are out of the space ship, you are OUT! You are a space zombie. A ZOMBIEEEEE!” The second boy ran back behind the tree.
I watched them carefully as I continued to walk by: they slipped around the tree so they were never again fully exposed. “Astronautitos,” I thought to myself and giggled, thinking of how I love that in Spanish anything small has an “ita” on the end.
ere going to pounce on me at any time. One boy shoved the other out into the open and screamed, “You are out of the space ship, you are OUT! You are a space zombie. A ZOMBIEEEEE!” The second boy ran back behind the tree.I watched them carefully as I continued to walk by: they slipped around the tree so they were never again fully exposed. “Astronautitos,” I thought to myself and giggled, thinking of how I love that in Spanish anything small has an “ita” on the end.
And so now as I sit on the long flight to Florida, I think about this week and the mission ahead … of the count down clock … of touring NASA .. 
and of watching my cousin step onto the shuttle to be the pilot. I can only think that the world will see Eric as an astronaut. But to me he is not an astronaut, but rather an Astronautito, hiding behind a tree until he runs out to buzz my poor horse model named Strawberry and scaring her half to death. Maybe zapping her with his space gun and screaming, “Space Zombie”.
and of watching my cousin step onto the shuttle to be the pilot. I can only think that the world will see Eric as an astronaut. But to me he is not an astronaut, but rather an Astronautito, hiding behind a tree until he runs out to buzz my poor horse model named Strawberry and scaring her half to death. Maybe zapping her with his space gun and screaming, “Space Zombie”.
In years to come when someone asks me about major time markers in my life, I am sure this will make the list. Well beyond the recent election, the continuous bad news on the economy, my final ride on Cycle Oregon, or even the trip to Ethiopia where I learned to eat popcorn with coffee. This year will be about the Great Space Machine that hopefully on Friday night lights up the sky and then returns in 2 weeks now with a smiling astronautito wearing an orange NASA suit who has been off to zap the Space Zombies.
