Time, and How it Flies

 38 years ago, the space shuttle Challenger exploded off the coast of Florida.

It was a snow day, in my little town in Tennessee.  My mother, who was a teacher, took my me with my sister to my sister's regular babysitter.  I'm not sure if my Mom went to school anyway to get work done, or just wanted a house without kids in it.  But I was at the house of a lady named Eleanor, and I was 8 years old, and obsessed with the space program.  The obsession was even stronger, since we'd had classroom material about Christa McAuliffe, the teacher who was going into space.  

I'm 46 now (almost 47!) and not nearly as obsessed with the Space Program as once I was.  But it's one of those moments and days I'll always remember.  Sitting in the den of Eleanor's home, even after the younger kids had been put down for a nap, watching the news unfold over the course of the day....

That might have been my first dealing with media saturation.  Or fatigue.  I remember going home and being somewhat aggravated that it was still the only thing on the television, and lamenting thus to my mother, who suggested going to read a book.  This being, of course, the days when we had only 4 channels, and I think the Challenger disaster predates my family's getting a VCR by a year or two.  

Anyway.  

I'm writing.  Or trying to.....