JUNE 16, 2023 – (Cont.) While Mother asked what I’d been up to lately, I rose and approached the bench, ignoring her question, and inspected the crash helmet. “What on earth is this for?” I asked.
“Have you heard about Skylab?” Mother answered.
“That it’s slipping out of orbit?”
“Yes,” said Mother. “They don’t know where it’s going to fall, but I heard that they don’t know for sure whether it’s going to burn up on the way down. They think it might not and that some debris could survive re-entry and hit the earth.”
I started to laugh but wasn’t sure if Mother was kidding. “Wait a minute. You mean . . .”
Mother’s tic was in the wind-up phase. “They say there’s a chance that it could fall on the continental United States. They don’t know just where, but they say it could land somewhere on us.”
“You’ve got to be joking!” I said, turning the helmet over in my hands. “Mother, what are you thinking? I mean, think this through. What are the chances that Skylab is not going to burn up, and if it doesn’t burn up, then what are the chances that it’s going to hit the United States, and if it hits the U.S., what are the odds that it’s going to strike right here where you happen to be, and even if it comes down over Grindstone Lake, what’s the probability that it’s going to hit exactly where you are, and if all those remote chances should line up perfectly . . . well, Mom, what good is a crash helmet going to do?”
“Well,” Mother said, moving her head to the side and her jaw a bit farther, as the tic wound up again. I could tell that she was truly afraid of Skylab. “Some protection is better than none.”
The next day after sailing on my own for a while under a sky clear of clouds as well as devoid of space debris, I entered the cabin through the front doorway. No one was inside. On the dining room table was the newspaper of the day, a sure sign that Mother had been to town. Although at home Dad was on top of the news, he would have none of it when he was at his Shangri-La. It was always Mother who bought a paper when they were up at the lake. I don’t know if it was boredom or curiosity, but whenever she went to town, she would buy a paper and read it front to back. So there it was on the table, the latest issue of the Minneapolis Star-Tribune-Wisconsin Edition. The headline read, “Skylab Falling.” I chuckled, as I recalled to myself the exchange with Mother the day before.
Just then, I heard the spring on the back screen door stretching out, announcing that someone was entering the cabin. I took a step around the corner in that direction and saw Mother enter—her crash helmet strapped on tightly. “I’m ready,” she said with a deadpan look.
“I guess so,” I laughed.
Subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.
© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
