Amaze, amaze, amaze. — Rocky in “Project Hail Mary” You know when something is everywhere, so ubiquitous that you don’t even give it a second thought? But then you see some astronauts on a spaceship in zero g doing astronaut things and a jar floats by like a balloon some kid accidentally let go of. It hovers briefly before drifting out of reach. In that moment, all you want is a jar of the stuff. I mean it’s Nutella, for chrissakes, not Tang. Remember Tang? There was a time in my life when my mother literally squeezed fresh orange juice every day for breakfast in a retro aluminum citrus strainer. One by one, she’d load up the orange halves and press those SOBs within a nanosecond of their lives into pretty little juice glasses. But natural, pulpy goodness be damned. All I wanted was Tang — my glass of fructose, citric acid and sodium acid pyrophosphate. My 34 g’s of sugar I’d seen the astronauts mix in little plastic pouches because if they didn’t, it would fly all over the place. Back then, moon missions and astronauts felt far away — impossible, especially to a little girl. Watching Artemis II this past week, they feel anything but, and it’s pretty clear that even 250,000 miles from home, humans are still … human. Take Christina Koch. She made history as the first woman to orbit the moon. And yet the internet naturally focuses on things like her workout routine, her enviable biceps and inevitably, her hair. She boarded the rocket with tight braids only to appear later with her curly hair in a full-on free fall, prompting judgy tweets like, “Wouldn’t it be better for long-haired astronauts to tie their hair back?” Consider also the viral image inside NASA’s Science Evaluation Room, rows of mostly women at mission consoles, a stark contrast to the old Apollo geek squad with their pocket protectors and thick black glasses. Just women being awesome. As someone tweeted, “Suck it, Heritage Foundation!” And another: “Who run the world … and space??” Finally, there was the congratulatory phone call from Trump during which the president praised the crew, especially the “brave person from Canada.” He was referring to Canadian mission specialist Jeremy Hansen, after which he randomly pivoted to his Canadian bestie, hockey player Wayne Gretzky.  And then the line went dead. The four astronauts sat there, literally twiddling their thumbs and batting the mic back and forth as they sat in silence for a full 63 seconds. Wiseman finally grabbed it for a quick comm check, wondering if “you guys were still on the line.” Trump promptly chimed back in, “I am, yes I am.” Apparently, awkward pauses aren’t just limited to Earth. “Being human up here is one of the coolest things about this mission,” said Koch. One minute you’re looking at the far side of the moon. The next, you’re looking for a pair of socks.  As funny and awkward as humans in space can be, Artemis has shown us something deeper. The kind of moments that bring to life what might be the all-time cringiest human cliche, I love you to the moon and back. The kind of stories that reduce even the most cynical among us to ugly crying. Like the moment Jeremy Hansen, on a call with mission control, proposed naming a crater Carroll after their commander’s late wife, who passed away in 2020 at the age of 46. Hansen’s voice cracked as he described it — “a bright spot on the moon” — and Wiseman reached out, then floated across the cabin to embrace him. Koch and Glover followed, the four of them folding into a quiet, weightless hug. Apparently, we had to go all the way to the moon to see two straight men in a gesture of heartbreakingly genuine vulnerability, or “peak masculinity,” as one tweet put it.  Another called the four of them the first poets we’ve sent into space. And then there was pilot Victor Glover, looking back at Earth and describing it as a “fragile and beautiful oasis” in the vast emptiness of space. A powerful reminder to appreciate and protect our big, blue marble. We are all one, at least from space. The idea stuck with me, and later a friend and I talked about the randomness of our existence. “Why us?” he asked, like some sci-fi Rick Blaine in “Casablanca.” Of all the planets, in all the galaxies in the universe, we had to walk into this one. But why? As Christina Koch said while looking back at Asia, Africa and Oceania, “We do not leave Earth. We choose it. We will explore. We will build ships. We will visit again. We will inspire. But ultimately, we will always choose Earth. We will always choose each other.” The other morning, stepping out into the darkness with my dog, I looked up and the moon hit me in the face like a prizefighter landing a knockout punch. I thought about the crew of Artemis — them looking at me, looking at all of us, looking at them. And I thought, Why not us? We should all be so lucky to love something like that — to the moon and back. The post Betty Diaries: Love you to the moon and back appeared first on Park Record. ...read more read less