July 20, 1969

“We are not figuratively, but literally stardust.”-Neal Degrasse Tyson

On this 50th anniversary of the moon landing I wanted to share a couple of stories of how important the moon and stars are to me.
 
The first story is of my dad’s scrap book and Apollo 11. I assume it was a scrap book of interesting things, newspaper and magazine clippings. It was his attempt to learn how to read English having newly arrived from West Germany in 1968. In July of 1969 he and my mother were half a year away from having their first child, my older brother. In this scrap book, he carefully placed articles and stories and pictures of Apollo 11. I used to look through this scrap book and be amused at the old paper, bits of coloured and aged tape holding everything together. The paper had already yellowed by the time I found it, when I was five or six. And I would often sneak down to his office, and haul out this scrap book. It was a favourite of mine. I’m not sure why I never questioned him about it. It was just something ever present and a piece of my dad that was there. I’ve been assured it’s still somewhere in the house, but I haven’t seen it in over a decade now.

The second story relates back to my grandmother and shooting stars. She told my mother when she was a little girl, that shooting stars were spirits of souls going to heaven. My mother told me this and us both being women of science giggled at my grandmother’s innocence. But it was a cute story and one my mother decided to share about her childhood and her mother.

The third story is of a kindly a kindly gentleman, Mr. Johnson, who was essentially my substitute grandfather. He would come by to buy his cigars and if it was dark enough, he’d bring me outside in front of the store and point out all the constellations you could see in the city. Orion, the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper. Casseiopia. Seeing how interested I was, my mother would cut out Terrence Dickenson’s astronomy article that ran in the Toronto Star back in the 80s, a little highlight of anything exciting to see for the week and give it to me. And there was Jack Horkheimer’s short ‘Star Hustler’ bit on PBS (which featured Isao Tomita’s version of Debussy’s Arabesque No. 1 which I will forever associate wth star gazing) just before the channel would sign off where he did the same, summarizing something interesting to see in the sky for the upcoming week. It was a great excuse to be up way past my bedtime and my dad would humour me to let me watch it. It was educational after all. 

So naturally, through all these influences, my love of astronomy was instilled in me a young age and with much love. When I look up at the sky, at first, I’m looking for constellations, satellites, shooting stars. But then I’m looking and take time to look at the sky in a meditative way and to think and to dream. After a while I’m contemplating the meaning of life and what happens to the conscious mind after all is said and done.

Eventually I have my flights of fancy. How wonderful would it be to have a spaceship. To spacewalk. To see the planet from outer space. What dreams the sky inspires. It brought men to the moon 50 years ago today. May it bring men to the stars someday. I’m beginning to think grandmother’s theory wasn’t completely wrong. After all, when you look at the stars you’re looking into the past. The light left those stars when dinosaurs walked the earth, when the pyramids were built, when someone who is gone today was still alive. There are spirits, dreams and memories up there. Perhaps grandmother simply meant it was those intangible things that make us human was what those shooting stars were showing us.