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TALKING TO MYSELF: 26 August 2012 Annelise wants to be a spaceman, she told me, so that she and I can fly to the moon.
“What will we do when we get there?” I asked, not telling her that the astronauts had found the moon to be a cold, dark place. I sank deeper into my easy chair, though, in case she had any ill-timed illusions of leaving the earth’s atmosphere that afternoon. My bones have been achy lately, and I wasn’t sure I was up to spur of the moment space travel. She answered matter-of-factly as though the answer would be obvious if I weren’t so old between the ears.
“When we get to the moon, we can touch the stars,” she said.
RIP Neil Armstrong
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