Being a frequent flyer on N9710A has been an adventure so far. I have really enjoyed seeing the Oklahoma landmarks from the air and getting photos and video. I am hoping my photography skills improve as I become more familiar with what to expect in the air. My pilot is, of course, very safe and always prepared for anything. Once a Boy Scout, always a Boy Scout, I guess. I am learning what to pack in my passenger flight bag, crackers, Dramamine, lip balm, my camera. My biggest problem at the moment is overheating. I get nervous and that raises my body temp and when you add that to the already high July temperatures, it becomes an issue. I have been packing a little ice chest with cool packs to stuff in my shirt and drinking lots of water. My Pilot says he can add air conditioning to the plane for $30,000. I’m thinking about having a telethon. :–)
My friends have asked how we get around once we land. Many of the airports have cars they will loan pilots to get around town and they are also very helpful with restaurant recommendations and maps. At Grand lake they had a grill in the airport, a restaurant at the marina within walking distance and they will give you a ride anywhere on Monkey Island. When we landed at Goldsby on Sunday they had a fridge stocked with candy, cokes and hot pockets that you could leave money in the jar for. So, even though it was small we were able to cool off, snack and watch TV for a bit before heading back up.
On Thursday I will bravely fly out of Oklahoma to OshKosh, Wisconsin for AirVenture, which will be my longest flight in Glory. I am looking forward to taking lots of pictures.
Running, or jogging in my case, is hard. It’s hard even without the heat and humidity. It’s hard even before you turn 40 and your knees start to get creaky, hard without the sweat dripping down your forehead and burning your eyes, hard without the bugs in your face and up your nose. It’s hard. Hard enough. As if it weren’t hard enough already, sometimes you get heckled. I have friends that run long distances who tell me stories about cars pretending to aim right for them and then swerving away at the last minute or of teen aged drivers throwing drinks out the window so they hit the ground right in front of them. Not cool. I have not had that happen to me, thankfully, maybe because I mostly stick to neighborhood sidewalks and parks. Most of the time people just wave or nod their heads as I pass. Yesterday someone shouted something from a car as they passed me huffing and puffing my way up a hill. I really couldn’t understand what they said but the little negative voice in my head thought they probably said something like, “Keep running, fat girl, you’ve got a ways to go!” Maybe it was someone I knew saying, “hi” or maybe they weren’t even talking to me. There isn’t any way to be sure and since I can’t be sure, I choose to believe that what they actually said was, “Looking good, baby!” and I tell myself, “Yes, I am.” and I just keep running.
Theodore Roosevelt’s Man In The Arena
“It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.”
from “Citizenship in a Republic” Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910
For the entire text of Citizenship in a Republic click here
My Pilot took me to dinner at the Aquabar at The Landings Marina at Grand Lake o’ The Cherokees last night. I have tackled by airsickness with a combination of ice packs to keep cool, beer and Dramamine. Drinking lots of water to stay hydrated helped but I discovered there is a drawback to all those fluids, you can’t just pull over at McDonalds for a bathroom break.
I’m not sure how St. Joseph became the patron saint of selling your house. I read online that in began in Europe in the 1500′s when a cloister of nuns prayed to the saint because they needed more land. They buried medals and their prayers were answered. Since I read it online it must be true, right? It is believed by some that if you bury St Joe in the back yard, upside down facing the house and pray to him daily that you will sell your house quickly.
When I started preparing my house to sell, a very thoughtful friend gave me a St Joe statue along with a prayer and instructions on the how and where to bury him. She also included the amazing story of the Loretto Chapel staircase as an example of prayers answered by Saint Joseph.
Patron Saint of home and family, a father figure and a carpenter, he would be a good person to go to in this situation. Once you have cleaned and painted and spruced up the yard, what are you going to do? I think Papa Joe might say, you give it to God and you pray. Burring something seems like a good way to tell yourself that it is in God’s hands now. Very often when you let go of worrying about something you receive it. When will the house sell? Where will I end up next? I’m not sure but whatever happens, in the end, I know I will end up exactly where I am supposed to be. Of course, I will dig up St Joe, clean him off and take him with me.
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Thanks to Karen for the gift, the prayers and being an all around great gal!
Flight number three out of KPWA headed to Clinton Regional Airport KCLK. I enjoyed seeing the wind farms from the air but did not enjoy the wind and was the first passenger to use the SicSac. :–P I will be checking into various airsickness remedies before our next flight.
Spent Saturday morning at Samuel Gordon’s and The Cheesecake Factory. Diamonds and Red Velvet Cheesecake! How do you top that? How about flying to Tulsa for dinner.
My first flight with Rod in N9710A aka Glory. A short sightseeing flight around Wiley Post Airport in OKC and Edmond. It wasn’t as scary or stomach turning as I feared. Seeing a rainbow seemed like a good omen.
I’ve done some pretty stupid things in my life. Most of the time these events can be explained by saying, “It seemed like a good idea at the time. What I can’t stand is when it really doesn’t seem like a good idea and I choose to do it anyway. For example, it is probably a terrible idea to wear dangerously high footwear on an occasion that you really don’t want to fall on your face. Pretty stupid shoes or stupid pretty shoes. Either way, I’m going for it.
Working in the medical field means that for the last 19 years, if not longer, I have worn athletic shoes every day. My feet are spoiled. I am no stranger to high heels, back in the day I could dance all night in a pair of stilettos and I still enjoy being a girl and dressing up on nights out. I may have taken a fall or maybe two. Actually, I fall quite a lot. I have injured myself and embarrassed myself while wearing ridiculously high shoes but I have also tripped over nothing while wearing my running shoes and even fallen waist deep into a water hazard at Oak Tree while wearing sturdy golf shoes. So, I think my spills have more to do with balance and less to do with choice of footwear. Wearing high heels just adds a little danger to the situation, like working without a net or twirling a baton…that is on fire.
This week I ordered a beautiful pair of pumps to wear when I marry Mr. Perfect. Wearing sensible shoes on a special occasion is simply out of the question. Every girl knows that high heels make our legs look fabulous and since there will be photos, flats are not an option. I really didn’t even think twice about how high they were when I ordered them. Yesterday they arrived at my doorstep. They are 4 1/2 inches high. Which is pretty freakin’ high. I put them on and wobbled around the living room. I am really not sure I can walk in these. I Googled tips for walking in 4 1/2 inch heels and the only advice I found was on transvestite websites. Apparently, you really do have to have cojones to attempt to wear these things.
After a little practice, I could almost walk on the carpet or on the cement sidewalk but the wood floor was too slippery to walk unless both my heel and toe came down simultaneously. This can be accomplished by either bending your knees like Pee Herman dancing across the bar to Tequila (not attractive) or walking sideways like a jazz chasse step (not dignified). Maybe I should dig out my old tap shoes and twirling baton, light that baby on fire and really make an entrance?
So, if you see me walking down the aisle in some unattractive or undignified manner, it is possible that I am trying to be the next Youtube wedding dancer sensation but more than likely I have just decided, against my better judgment,
Rondine al Nido by Pavarotti. You do not have to understand Italian to feel the love and longing he sings of.
In 1910 when Father Saint John O’Sullivan came to the mission San Juan Capistrano in Orange County California, the historic church was in great disrepair having survived government turnovers, change of ownership, storms and an earthquake. Over the next 20 years he would lead the restoration of the mission and he would call attention to the swallows (le rondini) that returned to the mission every year. Every year, on March 19th, the faithful birds return from Goya Argentina to spend their Summer at the Mission San Juan Capistrano.
Sotto la gronda de la torre antica
Una rondine amica,
Allo sbocciar del mandorlo è tornata.
Ritorna tutti gli anni,
Sempre alla stessa data,
Monti e mare essa varca
per tornar.
Under the leaves of the old tower,
as the almond tree blossoms,
a friendly swallow has returned.
Every year she returns,
always in the same day.
She crosses mountains and sea
to get back here.
Every year, sempre alla stessa data, always on the same day, without fail, they return. Every year, that is, until this year. This year the swallows passed by the mission’s old bell tower, la torre antica, where it was becoming over developed and food was more difficult to find. They flew right on past Father O’Sullivan’s famous church and settled in for the summer at the Vellano Country Club in Chino Hills. I can’t really blame them, it has a Greg Norman signature Golf Course, a 47,000 ft Tuscany style clubhouse, fine dining, state of the art fitness facilities and breathtaking views of mountains, valleys and canyons.
Vellano Country Club in Chino Hills, CA (photo by pcooperphotography.com)
Solo amore
Quando fugge e va lontano
Speri invano
ma non torna più,
Speri invano
Ma non torna più.
Only love flees
and does not return.
It makes you hope in vain,
but it does not return.
It makes you hope in vain,
but it does not return.
The swallows are apparently following the trend of being “spiritual but not religious.” You hear people describing themselves more and more in that way. I guess it comes from lack of faith in and patience with the men running the churches or perhaps just a feeling that organized religion is too judgmental or doesn’t really mesh with our values. I certainly understand these feelings but I do find comfort in rituals and tradition and I am able to separate my faith in man, or lack thereof, from my faith in God. Still, I have certainly spent many more Sundays at the country club than on my knees in church. This movement towards being spiritual but not religious has made it more common to spend Sundays on our own, with our families or in a place of worship that seems more current and lets us wear jeans and bring in our cup of Starbucks. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe not.
Perhaps God waits for me, for us. Perhaps He waits for us to see the beauty in that old bell tower, those rock hard pews, those uncomfortable depictions of Christ and the saints suffering. Perhaps He waits for the excitement over the Country Club to wear off and the emptiness in the luxuries it offers to become apparent. Perhaps God wants us to know that sometimes it is good for us to sit in an uncomfortable pew for an hour without our Starbucks and realize that it isn’t all about our own comfort. I have been to the lovely mission San Juan Capistrano and it is not comfortable or modern but it is beautiful, meaningful and spiritual.
Ne la penombra dolce della sera
Passa la primavera.
Cinguettano le rondini nel volo,
Ebbre di luce e d’aria.
Ed io son triste e solo;
Monti e mare tu non varchi
per tornar.
Mia piccina,
Fosti tutta la mia vita;
Sei fuggita
E non torni più.
Sei fuggita
E non torni più.
In the soft twilight of evening
springtime is passing.
The swallows chatter in their flight —
they are drunk with light and air.
But I am sad and lonely.
You do not cross mountains and sea
to come back to me.
My little one,
You were my whole life,
but you ran away,
never to return.
You ran away,
never to return!
Maybe being spiritual isn’t about being comfortable and being religious isn’t such a bad thing. Being religious shouldn’t have to mean being judgmental and out of touch. I wonder if God watches the swallows return year after year and waits for us to return to Him. Maybe, like the song, He also hopes in vain, spera invano, because maybe we are becoming more and more “spiritual but not religious”. Maybe He hopes in vain because now even the swallows have decided to spend their summers at the Country Club. Luckily, while we are the Club, drinking our soy lattes, trying to figure it all out, God will wait patiently for our return. He will wait a lifetime if that’s what it takes.
My mom stopped by my house and told me story she thought would be funny for me to post on Facebook. Thanks mom, but I write my own material. 3 months ago
