After several months of planning, we have decided on our summer vacation destination and route. We are going to go watch the Perseid meteor shower under very, very dark skies. And in keeping with our recent roadtrips, we’ve named this one: Falling Star Trek. After all, we’re trekking out to see falling stars.

Having the dogs’ lodging arranged, the grass mowing scheduled, and the neighbors lined up to take care of the house, we will set out this weekend. Right now, our plan is to take three days to get to Moab, Utah, where we’ll spend five nights playing in the desert. From there, it’s two nights in Bluff, Utah, again to play in the desert.

And then it’s showtime.

From Bluff, we head to Monument Valley for three nights of astronomy and viewing of the Perseid meteor shower in some of the darkest skies you can find in the US. Don’t take my word for it, check out the Dark Sky Finder for the area! I can just remember seeing really dark skies from my grandparents place in Bokeelia, and I can’t wait to see those skies again.

Watch this space for more as we trek across the southern US in search of flaming rocks in the sky!

Comments around the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing abound today. As well they should. For one shining moment, mankind stood on the edge of discovery unlike anything seen in so many years. And now, forty years later, only incremental gains have been made on the brave first step President Kennedy challenged this country with in the 1960s. To me, never since have we been united in such a vision, nor poised for such a giant leap of faith as Apollo 11 and subsequent lunar missions set the stage for.

Being born just about six weeks after JFK’s assassination, I grew up around the notion of man in space. My father worked at Cape Canaveral. I can remember seeing the splashdown of the returning astronauts, and listening to the only voice there was — Walter Cronkite — describing what we were all seeing take place in front of us. It was magic… or at least seemed like it.

In school, I was taken with space travel, same as many other kids starting school in the early 1970s. We were too young to understand the horrors of the war raging on the other side of the planet, too young to see and remember Star Trek on TV during its original run, but exactly the right age to be swept up in all the wonderful images from NASA and the books in the school library promising colonies in space. I think I checked out almost every book on astronomy and space travel in our school libraries at Harrison Elementary and Brown Middle Schools, and vividly saw the artists’ concepts of where we’d be by the time I was “all grown up.”

And being the age I am, I also got to watch the first shuttle flight — that of Enterprise, and how proud I was that the first shuttle was named that! — when I was working in the library at the middle school. Through a friend of my parents, I met an astronaut — Paul Weitz, a Skylab veteran, and later member of a shuttle crew — spending a whole day with him as he toured my hometown, preaching the virtues of the then fledgling shuttle program. I watched the early shuttle missions, and really, to me, that’s when things began to change. The shuttle launches became regular, and seemingly easy, and for years, they were lost on me as I reached into my early twenties, and began to consider what I’d do with my adult life.

I was sitting at the MEPS station in Knoxville TN on that day in January when Challenger exploded, and for six grueling weeks, I endured US Air Force basic training, hungry for any scrap of information that would tell me what had happened in this tremendous disaster. And for a while, it looked like we’d recede, pulling away from space, like a child burned by a hot stove. Suddenly, space was hard, and we all got that explained to us in the sacrifice of brave souls on a winter’s day.

The seeming ease and the sudden loss in the shuttle program have, to me, sabotaged the future I expected to see through the eyes of the child I was. Sure, the space station has enabled there to be few days in the last many years when there hasn’t been mankind in space, orbiting far above us. It still excites me to go out occasionally to see the ISS cross the sky, lit by the sun in our darkened sky, but it’s not as far as we should’ve been by now.

Kennedy challenged us — yes, as a country, but also as a species — to reach the moon inside ten years. And we did it. Even to this day, the impact of that challenge is felt around us in the technological advances that make our lives easier. And now, forty years after the dream was realized, we all engage in a certain kind of pride — as a people, not as a race or country — that we were there. To my view, it was the Last Great Thing — the last big scary thing we did as a people.

It’s an odd wistfulness that I hear folks look back on it though, somewhat akin to remembering “the good ol’ days.” Unless we were sitting somewhere in space, the Apollo missions shouldn’t be viewed as something quaint and somehow old, but instead as something of pride and wonder and inspiration, and as the first step to the mankind’s future.

Here’s where the skeptic in me comes out. Until we — again as a people, a planet — can begin to speak with enough of a common frame of reference, it’s just gonna be impossible to go much farther than the moon. A single country simply can’t bankroll that kind of exploration, even if it is set about with a single-mindedness akin to our response to Kennedy’s challenge. A visionary needs to step forward, a cause needs to be found before those next steps can take place.

Think about it. We had both in Apollo: Kennedy was the visionary, and the cause was to prove our might as a country, standing up to the Soviets. While I don’t think sabre rattling exhibitions of might are the best reasons to go forth on our next steps, I do believe that a common cause is needed before folks will truly line up behind such an effort. It just seems that there are so many obstacles nowadays.

Even within our own country, we can’t speak with a common voice. We are fractured, divided, divisive, simultaneously equally materially opulent and morally bankrupt at times, and that’s likely just within any given neighborhood. Multiply by a whole big bunch, and the scope of the problem becomes clear. Our culture has become too focused on what gains can be had in the short term, angling to take the credit or calling out where the blame must lie, rather than focusing on the long view and how we can all get there.

I heard it said well the other night in a Cronkite tribute. If you’re younger than your mid-40s, you probably have no recollection of the Apollo missions, no sense for the excitement, wonder and awe at what was achieved, and how much it meant. Folks born in the early years of the shuttle program are now in their early thirties, and my daughter, soon to be making her own way in the world, likely can’t see what all the fuss was about — after all, from the view of her years, we’ve always been in space, haven’t we? Those are the folks that need to get the fever to reach beyond our fragile planet. It won’t be my generation, and it may not be hers, but the foundation’s gotta be built upon, not for us, or our children, but for our children’s children and beyond. That’s why it’s important, that’s the cause.

This little rant started out as just some thoughts on space, the future that has yet to come, and my clumsy view of some of how we got to where we are. It’s a bit of a buggy ride, I know, fraught with crazy wild-eyed ravings. But tonight, in reflection of Apollo, I’m reminded of the future I was promised as a child, and crazy present that in so few ways lives up to those visions.

Molly underwent surgery a month or so ago to remove a cancerous growth. She recovered well from it, but we recently noticed that her scar was kinda swollen, which was unexpected. Today, Beck took her to the vet.

As it ends up, the cancer was back. The doc went in, and took a much larger amount of material this time, which of course, meant a much larger incision, and a little more gruesome looking aftermath. The doc also took an x-ray of her chest and found nothing insidious in the images, so that’s the good news. Of course, I’m mortified about the rapid re-growth over the last month, but am trying to put that out of my mind, and just help her mend.

Last time, we didn’t get the pain under control until the day after the surgery, which made the first day miserable. Molly whimpered and cried that whole first day and night. This time, we seem to have it under control, and though she has really glassy eyes, she seems to be bearing up better than after the last surgery.

More to come, I’m sure…

Almost anyone will tell you that I like weather. I pay attention to the weather like no one I know. I’ve always done that, but I have an even heightened interest in it since I bought my Jeep last year. I like knowing when I can take the doors off, when I can take the windows out, and when I can keep the roof down. Today, the doors were off, and the windows were out. No biggie, I thought. After all, knowing about the weather is something I kinda pride myself of, which is what makes today so weird.

I had to go to SoCo this morning, and didn’t really pay any attention to the weather. We had gray skies, and nothing threatening, so I didn’t even give the skies a second thought. While in SoCo, I started hearing thunder. Again, I didn’t think much about it. I’ve driven my Jeep in the rain without the doors on in the rain, and never really thought too much of it. However, today, about ten miles from home, I encountered a moonsoon with rain blowing all the way across the interior of the Jeep. To say the least, I was totally soaked.

Becky (who wasn’t with me) and I started doing some damage control, drying the carpet (drenched), drying the seats (wet) and trying to figure out how to dry the thing out. We learned new things about the Jeep today — how to remove the rear carpet, and where the drain plugs are. And man, did the drain plugs need to be removed. Small rivers drained out of the bottom of the floorboard, and the removed carpet drained and drained.

Like Beck said, if you’re smiling when you’re driving, it was worth it. And I smiled. I smiled while I couldn’t see through my glasses and the windshield at the height of the storm front. I smiled when I aimed for the puddles on the road. And I smiled while we dissected the Jeep to help get the water out of it. I even smiled when I set up the fans in the garage to help dry the seats.

I’d still put a wet day in my Jeep up against a dry day in just about any other vehicle!

As the three or four of you who regularly take a look at this blog know, I try to sidestep the political conversations. There are a few days out of the year though, when politics should stand aside, and Americans should stop, reflect, and thank God for where we are, what we have, and how blessed we have been.

My mother sent something in e-mail this morning that contained a quote by Ronald Reagan. When Reagan was elected in 1980, I was 16 years old, and felt certain that I would not live to see the completion of my high school years. You see, I was convinced that Reagan would get us nuked back to the stone age. Reflecting on that time though, it seems like he was likely the best answer available at the time, and really did set the stage for a prosperous decade to come.

I went looking for Reagan quotes to see if I could confirm that the one she sent actually came from him. In looking for that answer, I found a few more, and thought I’d put ‘em all here, on this day where we Americans celebrate the establishment of this land.

You and I have a rendezvous with destiny. We will preserve for our children this, the last best hope of man on earth, or we will sentence them to take the first step into a thousand years of darkness. If we fail, at least let our children and our children’s children say of us we justified our brief moment here. We did all that could be done.

Putting people first has always been America’s secret weapon. It’s the way we’ve kept the spirit of our revolutions alive—a spirit that drives us to dream and dare, and take great risks for a greater good.

I’ve spoken of the shining city all my political life, but I don’t know if I ever quite communicated what I saw when I said it. But in my mind it was a tall, proud city built on rocks stronger than oceans, windswept, God-blessed, and teeming with people of all kinds living in harmony and peace; a city with free ports that hummed with commerce and creativity. And if there had to be city walls, the walls had doors and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to get here. That’s how I saw it, and see it still.

After 200 years, two centuries, she still stands strong and true on the granite ridge, and her glow has held steady no matter what storm. And she’s still a beacon, still a magnet for all who must have freedom, for all the pilgrims from all the lost places who are hurtling through the darkness, toward home.

The ultimate determinate in the struggle now going on for the world will not be bombs and rockets but a test of wills and ideas – a trial of spiritual resolve; the values we hold, the beliefs we cherish and the ideas to which we are dedicated.

Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same, or one day we will spend our sunset years telling our children and our children’s children what it was once like in the United States where men were free.

Enjoy your 4th of July, wherever you are. Cherish your family. Enjoy the fireworks, food, and friends. And revel in the freedom that we Americans celebrate today. Today is first day on the road to the next 4th of July — what freedoms will you enjoy between now and then?

High-power analog television has but a week of life left in the States. And with analog on the ropes, and most of the locals already gone, I’ve been watching for some things I couldn’t have seen otherwise.

One thing that really surprises me is just how often there are openings going on. With casual checking, I’ve found stations coming in from somewhere almost every other day. And Tu Canal from Mexico is in about every third day on channel 2. With us having stations on channel 2, 4 and 5, I had no idea any of this was going on. It’s been fun to see, but come Friday, the domestic stations will be gone, leaving me with Canada, Mexico and Cuba as the likely analog stations I’ll still see from time to time.

I’m still not quite sure how I’ll figure out when there’s domestic E-skip taking place that I could leverage for DTV. An exercise for the writer, I guess.

Tonight, the airwaves held a surprise. Since the mass shutdown on June 12th, I’ve seen plenty of activity on channels 2, 3 and 4. Tonight though, I got a quick glimpse on channel 6 of KOCT-TV from Carlsbad NM. Tu Canal had been in for an hour or two, so I knew things were hopping down that direction, but to see the MUF climb up to channel 6 was pretty cool. I’ve only seen anything that high here once before. A few years ago, we had some kind of opening — probably Es — that allowed us to watch a bunch of stuff from up around Rapid City SD. This was nowhere near as long lived.

However, my huzzahs go to KOCT — they identified with a long duration slide that allowed me plenty of time to catch it at its peak. Many of nightlight stations seem to identify pretty rarely — probably like they did in real life at twice an hour. I’ve had a channel 2 from somewhere in New England in twice over the last week with Norm from This Old House talking about DTV and have yet to see an id on the station. That’ll make ya happy.

In any case, with one week of domestics left, I’ll be paying attention as I can, and seeing if I can get anything new in the log. Once Friday rolls by, I’ll put my list of stations up. Hopefully, our local channel 5 will go off the air, and I’ll find some station(s) still on before they shutdown too.