I'm still so very sorry about the explosions last week of the unmanned Antares supply rocket, and the manned test flight of VirginGalactic's SpaceShipTwo. I've wanted to be an astronaut as long as I can remember, probably since the first time I read Little Bear while the USA was deeply in a race for the moon. To make it even more upsetting I just finished reading the epistolary novel, God is an Astronaut by Alyson Foster. In Foster's story the narrator's husband works for a company that operates tourist low-orbit space flights, the lastest of which has exploded killing all on board. She is reluctantly persuaded to ride the first flight after the investigation to the cause of the explosion is discovered and remedied. Unlike her, I would volunteer to take that trip willingly. I still want to boldly go....