Finished watching Wednesday's lecture. I had started it while my son was in an evening class, but the school got too loud and their wi-fi is slow, so I stopped it halfway through.
It's late enough that I don't really want to watch today's lecture, I'll take care of that tomorrow.
And I haven't blogged all week. This is a week where a part of me feels like I *need* to blog, every year. I (almost) always remember. A part of me thinks we need to talk about these things in order to remember and learn the lessons they teach. And another part of me wants to keep my thoughts and my journey to myself. Because this week of remembrance is somewhat private, my own retreat to remember and recommit.
46 years ago last Sunday, my parents were in school, probably junior high. But as a student at Purdue, I found both Gus Grissom's autobiography and his wife's book. And on the occasions when I entered Grissom Hall, I'd mentally say hello to his ghost as I passed his photo.
