Question of the Day | 07/19/2009 11:00 pm
Today marks 40 years since man's first visit to the moon. Did you watch the event? What do you recall thinking and feeling?

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I remember that day vividly………..We took our portable TV over to a friends house. Connected it up outside under a 200 year old Oak Tree.
My husband, my two sons and our 2 friends. It was truly beyond belief.
That’s one thing nice about getting really old………….So many wonderful memories of phenomenal things that have happened in this World. From sitting around our Radio as a family listening to the old Radio shows…………to sitting around a Television watching men walk on the Moon.
DeBúrca obj - If they hadn’t landed on the moon that day, there wouldn’t have been your description of watching the event, here on WOW to-day…and I would have continued to wonder if we would ever read your messages here again.
Welcome back. My hopes were that you were possibly in Ireland for a while, but would be back to this site eventually. (and here you are, obj be praised).
I do remember that day so well! We were at our cottage on Cape Cod and my parents were entertaining friends from home. I so desperately wanted to watch the ‘moonwalk’ but my mother refused to allow me to turn on the television.
I respect the fact that she limited our family’s exposure to tv, but that day I believe my mother made a bad call.
THE MOON and the YEW TREE
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God,
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility.
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky–––––––
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection.
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.
The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness–––––
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.
I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars.
Inside the church, the saints will all be blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness–––blackness and silence.
Sylvia Plath––1961

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