When you think of a space walker, you may visualize a chap confidently exploiting the most advanced technology which this rich and powerful nation can provide, but not me, friends. I see a covey of little old ladies hunched over their glue pots in Worcester, Massachusetts, and I only hope that between discussions of Friday-night bingo and the new monsignor, their attention doesn’t wander too far. Maybe it’s basic insanity to abandon hearth and home to dance in space on the end of a fifty-foot cord.
