So the husband wings out to the Marshall Islands again for launch attempt number 3. His brother K. always goes with him — K. is a chef-owner of a restaurant in Boulder, Colorado who happens to think that physics is fun*. So obviously there is a physics-is-fun gene running through that family, and I often wonder when/if it will manifest itself in my sons (who sure as hell won’t be getting any of that stuff from me). My sons, of course, are a long way from rocketry — they’re still awed and amazed by a singing purple dinosaur.
E (the husband in question) went to a Superbowl party yesterday afternoon, which I found amusing because neither of us could even name the teams playing. (Actually, that’s not quite true. There was someone from Seattle who was supposed to come to LA on space-related business but postponed as soon as he discovered that ‘his’ team had made it to the Superbowl. So E. became aware that Seattle was involved.) E emailed me on his phone yesterday afternoon: This is the longest one-hour game ever.
Which might have been in the back of my mind when I wrote this earlier today about my character Kai**, from the viewpoint of another character who’s come to know and love him: Kai had the size and frame of an ex-jock who had kept himself in shape through the years. You met him for the first time, you wanted to ask, “You played professionally, right? What position?” But the man couldn’t follow a football game if his life depended on it.
So the Steelers won. Whatever.
Olympic figure skating is just around the corner.
Now that is exciting.
*But what K really likes, as E himself just pointed out to me, is launching rockets from exotic locations.
**Although there is a character in an upcoming novel I’m planning who is based very loosely on my husband, E and Kai have little in common. Except, perhaps, a preference for the finer things and an inability to deal with most spectator sports (although E will watch figure skating and gymnastics with me, because he loves me and I force him).