February 7, 2010
Better a Scrub than Nothing
Around 1am I loaded my stuff into the car and began an unconventional path toward the space center. The errands would only put me further behind schedule, but they seemed a necessity. I hoped Walmart would have a step stool should I decide I needed the camera tripod higher than my 5'3" would accommodate to frame the shot just right. Loki was also sporting his low fuel yellow. Running out of gas in launch traffic seemed an incredibly poor way to spend the pre-dawn hours.
"The last night launch" is a title that has been tossed around several times since the shuttle program's conclusion was announced in 2004. It's a great way to drum up extra attention and interest in the liftoff, but those of us who pay attention to the business realize the true "last" won't be known until the vehicles are no longer flying. For all of our knowledge and planning, some aspects of spaceflight still remain beyond our
control.
But this knowledge did nothing for the heavy sense of finality that weighted me as I drove northward. The announcement a week ago had changed everything. I liken it to the encounter with the broom-headed dog in Disney's "Alice in Wonderland". After eliminating the path ahead of her he walks around the obstacle Alice presents and continues erasing the road behind her. That's where many feel our Agency now is - standing on a patch in the darkness with no defined direction ahead and no ability to go back. Last to occur at night or not, this first launch of 2010 was the beginning of the final lap. And we now had no idea when we'd be on the track again after crossing the finish line.
I couldn't help but realize all of those things as I drove northward on roads far quieter than I expected to find. Once again I had to suppress the overwhelming array of emotions that has made the past week so difficult to endure. I tried to focus instead on the excitement of launch and a potentially final photo opportunity I sincerely hoped I would not mess up. I also attempted my own informal weather assessment by comparing the stars in the western sky with those in the east. What could the clouds tell me?
I spent about an hour on base alone before my three companions for the evening appeared with donuts and coffee. I had mixed feelings about their arrival. Part of me wanted to do this one alone; just me, my camera, and some mild sociable exchanges with whatever strangers happened to be around as I waited for the world's fastest sunrise. The rest of me became thankful for the company and the opportunity to pretend for a little while that I had friends again. The intermittent messages from old friends elsewhere as we sat parked in the VAB lot were also a welcome addition.
With about 15 minutes left in the countdown I decided it was time to brave the 50 degree weather and set up the camera. I was amazed how few other people there were around; how many vacant spaces existed between the OSB and the LCC and that I would have my vantage point all to myself. Just as I had gotten everything set up as I wanted it I saw streams of cars beginning to drive away. With no shuttle to capture I attempted a quick test of the camera instead. It was easily the wisest move I could have made.
When I returned to my car I saw his neighbour was gone. The others has left me. No shuttle launch and now no good-bye - at least not one that I'd heard. I guess all people shouting "SCRUB!" from their cars sound the same. Even the shared disappointment of having to wait another day will soon be just a memory.
I spent another hour alone at the office to let the traffic ease up before returning home. The next attempt may not afford me that luxury. I have no idea how to balance it, but I'm going anyway. For just a little while longer we're launching regularly,. And for now I still have a badge for one of the closest seats on the Space Coast. There's nowhere else on the planet I would be.
Captured At:1814
February 8, 2010
The First of the Last
"There's nothing that I would wake up at 430 in the morning for," one of the girls said to me. We were in an upstairs room away from the high pitched yelling of those actually watching the game and I had just remarked that I'd be driving up to the Cape for another attempt at the shuttle launch. I wasn't sure which saddened me more: that I had met another person who saw no value in our space program or that I'd encountered one more individual walking this planet with no apparent concept of passion. It's tough having something you devote a significant portion of your life to regarded by others as irrelevant. I also believe strongly that a life lived without vibrant color isn't really living at all.So while it seemed madness to most everybody else, I left the party around 10 to squeeze in a few necessary hours of sleep. The launch would happen this time. I was sure of it.
I was equally sure that the clouds would ruin my last-in-a-lifetime shot. It's difficult to approach something you want badly knowing that failure really is the only option. It's difficult to know that you get only one chance and anything you learn from the experience will only serve as a reminder that you don't get to try again. But I was stubborn as ever and was going to go for it anyway. No surprises there.
I arrived at my office around the same time as the night before. The lack of email traffic suggested there would be nobody to meet me this time around. I would get the solitary experience part of me had wanted for the first attempt. With about 45 minutes to go I drove toward LC-39 and found the place even emptier than Sunday morning. Opting for a slightly closer location, I began setting up my tripod next to Loki. Various Twitter feeds confirmed my belief: Launch of STS-130 was "go".
When the main engines lit at T-6 seconds and counting I pointed the clicker at my camera to let the data collection begin. The flame they produced created a gentle glow in the darkness that quickly erupted into near-daylight as Endeavour's solids fired and sprung it off the pad. The orange pseudo-sun ascended steadily toward the clouds leaving a trail of smoke in its wake clearly visible against the purple sky it had awoken. Then the sound came; rattling, echoing, and drowning out every other noise.
I could do nothing but smile as I took in the sight with wind and sound waves rippling across my body. The rest of the world had disappeared completely. There was nothing for me in that moment but the awe and the hope that has always flooded my spirit watching the miracle of human spaceflight. My backup camera was fired only half a dozen times, mostly at moments when my eyes couldn't quite believe what they were seeing. The freedom of not being locked to a viewfinder was incredible. I felt like I was watching my first launch all over again.The sound of another car in the parking lot snapped me out of my trance. I clicked my camera off immediately to save it from the unwanted influence of headlights and let it churn away at an image I was certain the clouds had blown out. It continued processing as I joined the mass exodus moving down SR 3 toward the south gate. Despite evidence of a slight backup on 528, the roads were surprisingly quiet. Within an hour I was home discovering the blessing of shooting in RAW and the tragedy of not tweaking a setting instinct had suggested I modify even though none of the "experts" had addressed it. Beginner error was expected and accepted. The disappointment would set in much later.
But in the end the pictures didn't matter. I was grateful for a few minutes where I could believe in our space program again; where I could forget how its world was changing and the uncomfortable ride it was taking me on in the process. STS-130 will be remembered as one of my favourite launches - another nighttime treat from Endeavour, who has always been so good to me - at a time I needed affirmation that we don't strive for the future in vain. We have always been of the stars, and somehow we will remain among them. We have to.
Captured At:2347
February 15, 2010
And Like the Sun He Disappeared...
Monday had trickled by as lazily and uneventfully as one would hope to finish out a three-day weekend. It was also an anomaly in the recent weather forecast, which made it something I refused to waste completely. I resolved that when the sun went down I would be someplace to see it.Despite the best of intentions, the change in the light on the drive south suggested my planning had been in error. The timing was correct, the weather was not. Arrival on the other side of the river confirmed it: the clouds in the west were too heavy for the sun to overcome. Today would end gently and without fanfare.
With the show on hold for another day it would have been justifiable to turn back. In fact, I suspect most other people would have. But in my mind it seemed the importance was recognizing the end of the day for what it was and pausing to mark it, not the display the sun typically put on when it occurred. Loki was disappointed to become the sole vehicle in the little grass lot. I, on the other hand, was content to have the park to myself. One small heave and I was resting in my tree blending into the calm blue enveloping the world. I was also gaining new appreciation for a lens that captured the scenery with a perspective much closer to how my own eyes did.
The sun was now certainly below the horizon and my stress-laden back could accommodate little more time on my perch, yet I could not bring myself to leave. Something in the air begged me to stay with it for just a little longer. I awkwardly disengaged from the tree and walked further along the river until I reached a westward-facing swing. It was easily large enough to fit an average-size family and I was certain I had never seen it before.The "K-Pax" opening theme helped set the scene as I rocked slowly in the dimming light, every sense bathing in a gentle familiarity. And then I saw him. He was just out of reach of the thinnest area of clouds, his thin white smile steadily becoming more apparent against an evolving blue. I looked down, shook my head and smiled. He had been watching me the entire time.
It was as her head was turning back upward that she noticed a figure moving toward her from the left. She knew that if she kept her gaze fixed on the sky the stranger should pass without conversation. This mutual silence seemed the first code of solitary wanderers out at that hour. Few ever broke it. Watching the pale white highlights shift on the highest clouds absorbed her attention so completely she forgot she wasn't quite alone.
Then a voice broke through the other sounds in her head. It was nervously friendly and very familiar.
"Hi..."
She looked over in disbelief as she pulled the buds out of her ears and uttered a puzzled "hi" in response. They hovered together in silence. When it became too awkward, she looked down again.
"You're not supposed to be here," she finally said.
"I know." His response was soft and apologetic.
"I mean, it was all supposed to be over and done and we go move on with our lives."
"I know."
"And I have tried so, so hard..." She trailed off, another more concerning thought entering her mind. "Do I even want to ask how you knew I was here?"
"I didn't. I was just walking a new route when I noticed there was somebody on the swing. The way they were curled up reminded me of you and-" He sighed. "You're right. I shouldn't have stopped. Do you want me to go?"
She picked her head up again and looked at him. She said nothing. The low light whirled in her dark eyes, lost and sad. They had always given her away, and the truth they told in that moment was that she was struggling with the answers she wanted to give and couldn't bring herself to.
Cautiously he sat down next to her. "You know, I'm glad to see you haven't changed."
"I've changed," she began in protest.
"Well, yes, I'm sure you have. We all do. But you're still out here tonight watching a less than spectacular sunset. That tells me the girl who sees the magic is still there. Who you are inside hasn't changed. And that's a beautiful thing, Rebecca."
A flash erupted along the grass as one of the cars across the street came to life. While I watched it drive away it occurred to me that as much as I was enjoying the breeze and the half light, my body needed care as much as my spirit did. Thoughts of returning to the office weren't motivating, but the task would be impossible without food and a good night's sleep. I left the swing and walked back toward my car with Buffett now serenading the way. "Last Mango" somehow seemed all too appropriate.
Captured At:2242
February 16, 2010
Unswept
He had mentioned the flat white box almost in passing when he arrived. "I brought you some chocolate," he said with a bit of a laugh as he put it down on the desk. I laughed a little bit as I attempted a thank you, but I really had no idea what was a proper response. The longer we' knew each other the less I had any idea what he was thinking. Was this an act of protocol assuming I'd be upset if he'd shown up empty handed or was it a genuine attempt to do something nice? Part of me wasn't surprised by the gift. In fact, it had almost been expected. The more interesting line of thought came with a simple question: if he hadn't done it, would I have been disappointed?After the movie - a lovely suspense flick involving newlyweds and murderers - he pointed out that it was after midnight and he should probably go home. He stood up and paced the room aimlessly before returning to the white box. "Hey, you never opened your chocolate." This time the box was handed to me. I looked inside and offered him a piece, but neither one of us ate anything.
"I'm not really good at being romantic," he stated seemingly out of the blue. "I'm over 30 years old and I don't know anything about it." He crossed the room again toward the porch door as I watched him while slightly puzzled by what prompted the remark.
"Are you supposed to be?"
"Oh, I dunno," he responded as he pulled back part of the blinds to look outside. "How cold do you think it is out there?" All I could do was laugh to myself and shake my head.
"I honestly have no idea."
Within five minutes I was standing in the doorway saying good-bye as he walked down the stairs. I still couldn't figure out the bizarre exchange that had taken place, but I didn't worry too much about it. What struck me more was that I had nothing to offer him. How do you explain romance to somebody who has no concept of it?
It was only then that I remembered how much I, too, had once struggled with the word. I would hear it and neither think nor feel anything. It was less than just another word, it was an empty word. Something akin to "the" in its lack of a tangible definition and dismissed just as easily when encountered. The moment I realized the void saddened me. I knew this thing was supposed to be deep and amazing and influential, yet it just couldn't reach me. My intense inner passion failed in one of those areas where passion mattered most.
Thankfully time has amended my understanding. The word no longer falls through an empty heart or fails to register in my over-analytical mind. It actually stirs me quite strongly when I allow it (which I seldom do).
What I realized when I considered the subject and the events triggering it was that what classifies something as "romantic" is an extremely personal thing. Giving my friend a checklist of what falls into that category would have done him no good whatsoever. Using me as a metric for the general female population is foolishness, and even it if was my interpretation alone that he cared about, words would never be enough. Here experience is the best teacher there is and, unfortunately, I'm not sure this one is mine to help.
But hey, at least when I finally dug into the box the chocolate wasn't too bad.
Captured At:2159
February 19, 2010
How It Ended
What I remember of the beginning is minimal. There was anger in the voice that approached me, and I did the best I could to respond to something I had been avoiding specifically because I didn't know how to do so kindly. The tension built steadily as the conversation continued and almost doubly so in the moments when my response was pure silence. This most ridiculous altercation I'd ever had with a coworker lasted well over an hour, took place in two offices, and echoed in angry footsteps through the hallways between the them.Somewhere near the height of the conflict two very distinct neurons fired simultaneously in my brain. The first was a memory of him telling me he was going to pull the plug. The second was a conclusion that in the morning I would request that very thing.
What I remember of how the plot twisted is non-existent. One minute we're bitter combatants, the next she's apologizing that she has to leave and assuring me we're going to get it all fixed up just the two of us. But I didn't walk away on a hopeful note. I walked away feeling beaten down and flattened. Even worse, she had become among the smaller of my problems. I now had evidence that my entire world was a lie. I had taken every step somebody could expect of me to help ensure I got things right and it didn't matter. Those I should have been able to rely on had failed me and the blame was being forced squarely on my shoulders. I saw I was trapped in a situation I wasn't sure anybody could function successfully in.
I could have been angry, but I wasn't. I just felt worn out and lost.
The text message fired off to the only life line I could think of. "I know you have a game tonight, but if you have a few minutes and you're willing, please call me". Whether I muddled through the immediate aftermath alone was now out of my hands. And it kind of scared me.
Almost immediately the ringing tone exploded through the car speakers. I didn't know jumping that high while wearing a seat belt was even possible. We talked for my entire drive home and then some. I told what pieces of the story I could remember and everything I was thinking and feeling and how I didn't know what to make of what had just happened or what to do. He listened, he apologized, he thanked me, and he asked that I give him some time to think about it because he really didn't know what to do either.
The next morning he rode with me to pick up our visitor. From the way he asked how I was doing I suspected he knew both the answer and that he could do nothing about it. He got an earful all the way to badging and all the way back. I went through the motions with our guest much quieter than usual, certain everyone could see through me enough to know something was wrong even if they didn't know what. When it was all over we sat down in his office once again trying to make sense of it all.
"I just need to get out of here," I said with a resigned tone.
"How far do you want to go?"
"Australia."
"If you went to Australia, would you come back?"
"At this point, no," I answered bluntly. "I'm at a point where I don't want to come back here or be anywhere near these people or do anything even remotely related to what I've been doing ever ever again."
It was a rather tragic place to be. All of my excitement, all of my passion for the greater mission was gone. I had been thoroughly abused almost nonstop for the past year while continuing to strain with everything I had to keep moving and keep fighting for what I thought was right. And the conclusion I had reached was that nothing was worth what I'd been through. Nothing was worth what my team had been through.
And so he told me he was going to shut it down. He was angry, he was disappointed, and he saw that I didn't need or deserve what I was suffering with. I could work a few real 40 hour weeks for a change, focus on my class work and my developmental program, and maybe help him with the work for his half-dozen teams to save KSC. Yes, in the morning, that's what he would do.
As we walked out to our cars that night I challenged the plan. "If you kill it, you don't give her the opportunity to show she can do any better, and you don't give me the opportunity to show her I can do any better," I observed. "And if I stood there last night saying we could figure out a way to work on things and move forward and suddenly the project is gone, I look like a liar." The problem was, the last time I had given somebody a chance to work things out it blew up in my face and only did more damage. Perhaps my hope and naivety and desire to trust were just working against me again.
I left that night with a heavy decision. Did I believe we could work things out or was it time to end the project? In a little over 12 hours I'd have to know for sure. My position was unenviable; even some the girls in my home group admitted they had no idea how to decide such a thing.
Back at home I replayed every major issue we'd had and every major criticism I'd consistently received. I went back through email and took notes on what I found there. I reflected on some of the key things I'd been told along the way. As I did this digging I came to two major conclusions. The first was that my team's management had failed them and had failed me. The second was that the only motivation I had to keep fighting was that I didn't want the project to have fallen apart on my watch. Fortunately I was wise enough to recognize that personal pride was a poor reason to keep putting everybody through hell we were apparently enduring.
I went into his office first thing in the morning as usual, this time closing the door behind me. "So what do you think?" It was a relief to discover we'd reached the same conclusion and had done so for very similar reasons.
We spent the morning looking at the impacts and figuring out the close-out plan. We placed phone calls to the off-center management associated with the work, the group that would have to pick up the slack, and the president of the company whose new development contract would no longer be coming. The talks with the local management came in the afternoon. When they disappeared in the office with the project manager I booked it around the corner to find the two people on the team I had always felt the most responsible for. I knew it was likely to get me in trouble, but I wanted them to hear it from me first. I wanted them to know it was in no way their fault.
I acknowledge that I didn't always do things right, but I also know without a doubt that I always tried to do the right things. There's a big and very important difference between the two. I understand that sometimes the greatest show of wisdom is recognizing the battle is lost within enough time that there might still be something left to save. There's reason to find peace and comfort in both of those things, but it is slow in coming.
At the end of the day he reassured me we made the right decision. It didn't make the pain go away. It didn't ease the tears continuing to build behind my eyes and waiting to leak down my cheeks again. It didn't touch the larger issues I still had to struggle through or address all of the things I felt like I still had to say. It gave me no answers, no direction, no suggestion at how to cope with the unwavering feeling that the last five years of my life had now proven to have been completely wasted. I got in my car numb and with no sense of the relief one might have expected. All I had was the disappointing truth.
DON was dead.
Captured At:1719