It's been really cold here for this time of year -- actually even for winter. The high yesterday was 30° but with the windchill factor felt more like the high teens and low 20's. A little unusual for Maryland, but not shocking. Maybe the cold will kill some of the stinkbugs. At any rate, I'm thinking of you, Kay, in Hawaii and Mage in San Diego, now that your temps are just a pleasant memory to us. Enjoy, Ladies!
Last night I watched a beautiful sunset and the contrails of a few planes on their way to parts unknown. I began thinking of my flying history. As some of you know, we travel a lot and our means of choice is flying as my husband really hates to drive. I've come to accept this and actually come to realize that I really do love to fly.
I was, up until a few years ago, a real "white knuckle flyer", the one in the window seat, keeping an eye on the engines, looking into the eyes of the flight attendants for signs of panic, and clutching a Rosary in my hands.
What's changed? Frequency, for one thing; being scared gets old. Certainly, realizing that with me, it's probably a control thing, has helped as well. And aside from a bit of faith, there is one more thing. I mentioned in an older post that my dad 'flew the hump" during WWII. He was one of those very brave who flew the C-47 /DC-3 over those long, grueling trips to China-Burma. They were armed only with side arms, and to escape the fire of enemy planes, they would 'hang low' making their trips even more dangerous through the Himalayas.
More than my recalling his missions, every time I fly, my dad, who died in 1998, flies with me. I can feel his presence in the air quite strongly. I like to think he's up in the cockpit, too, acting as radio operator/navigator. I believe he marvels at these new jets, so different from the prop "sky-train" he flew. I can hear him saying to me, "Kath, this is a piece of cake."
Last night I watched a beautiful sunset and the contrails of a few planes on their way to parts unknown. I began thinking of my flying history. As some of you know, we travel a lot and our means of choice is flying as my husband really hates to drive. I've come to accept this and actually come to realize that I really do love to fly.
I was, up until a few years ago, a real "white knuckle flyer", the one in the window seat, keeping an eye on the engines, looking into the eyes of the flight attendants for signs of panic, and clutching a Rosary in my hands.
What's changed? Frequency, for one thing; being scared gets old. Certainly, realizing that with me, it's probably a control thing, has helped as well. And aside from a bit of faith, there is one more thing. I mentioned in an older post that my dad 'flew the hump" during WWII. He was one of those very brave who flew the C-47 /DC-3 over those long, grueling trips to China-Burma. They were armed only with side arms, and to escape the fire of enemy planes, they would 'hang low' making their trips even more dangerous through the Himalayas.
More than my recalling his missions, every time I fly, my dad, who died in 1998, flies with me. I can feel his presence in the air quite strongly. I like to think he's up in the cockpit, too, acting as radio operator/navigator. I believe he marvels at these new jets, so different from the prop "sky-train" he flew. I can hear him saying to me, "Kath, this is a piece of cake."
