I suggest you queue up Pink Floyd’s "Dark Side of the Moon" while reading this, my first musical blog.

I watched the 1969 moonwalk on a black-and-white Zenith TV. It was a hot July night, and the house on East Church Street was not air-conditioned. I thought we were somewhat fancy since our TV was on a stand with wheels that allowed my dad to roll it onto our front porch.

I only remember being told this was historic—a miracle, unbelievable. My older sister remembers my grandmother crying. I was nine, and although I knew something important was happening, I was just excited we were on the porch on a hot summer night watching TV.

On a field trip a few years later to the planetarium, I "got" it. The trippy, ethereal music played as we filed into the huge chairs that leaned back, speakers on either side of our ears. The dome filled with twinkling stars, planets, and other celestial objects, making all the field-trippers oooh and ahhh. Space was cool.

By the time I was 12 or 13, I was in the "season of exploration." You know—when you crank the stereo, drink Miller Pony bottles, stare at the moon, and learn how to expertly lie to your parents.

Fast-forward to now: April 6th, 2026. I’m watching the Artemis 2 Orion capsule on the far side of the moon on a high-definition, color, smart TV in an air-conditioned apartment on the Space Coast in Florida. I saw the launch; I felt the power; and I know the historic importance.

Now I’m 66 and still in the season of exploration. The moon still hypnotizes me, even when I’m sober. I’m spellbound and inspired by it. How lucky am I to be alive and able to experience the history of space exploration. Watching and hearing from the four extraordinary humans aboard a floating capsule around the dark side of the moon is stellar. Godspeed for a safe return to your home planet and the world that is in awe of your courageous hearts.

Fifty years from now, I may not be able to stare at the moon—but I might be floating around it, wailing "The Great Gig in the Sky."

One can only hope.