Thank heaven the Martian winds have cleared the solar panels on "Spirit", the long-running Mars Rover. Now Spirit can receive instructions from NASA engineers at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory on how to get unstuck from a sand dune.
Since Spirit may or may not act on the engineers' instructions, I feel their frustration. It's the frustration of MOBOs everywhere, when grown sons choose whether to acknowledge receipt or actually implement maternal suggested guidelines. Once sons and Martian rovers reach a certain age, moms can't dictate their behavior. No remote control can steer guys out of a rut they've dug themselves into, but moms can occasionally suggest driving options.
Moms wait for the moments when sons' energy collectors are blown free of dust by the Martian winds. Perhaps we can sneak a message in before the system shuts down again without seeming to nag.
This weekend one son is driving to the White Sands National Monument, his seatbelt buckled, I pray. Another is sailing off the coast of Massachusetts, and he better be wearing that life jacket! The oldest is navigating wedding plans and true love. They all have selective reception from my maternal wavelength.
The words I don't want to hear--"I'm sorry Mom, I'm afraid I can't do that."
© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder
1 comment:
Moms as robot launchers. What an apt concept.
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