Estates sales are funny things. I learned as much about people as about Aunt Blanche. Dozens of vintage dresses sold the first hour; young ladies, and women buying for their retro stores. Several arguments ensued. See more at www.blanchetrimble.wordpress.com
Flying to Texas Saturday morning with Bill, a little excitement at 9,000 feet interrupted our normally dull flight. The headset conversation with ground control went something like this.
Ground Control: N Eight Zero Yankee, do you have a camera?
Bill: No sir, I don’t.
Control: You’re going to regret it.
Bill: What have you got, over?
Control: F-15 Eagle coming your way in 6 minutes.
Plane 2: I have a camera.
Control: Sorry, you’re too far away.
Control: Eleven o’clock in two and a half minutes. Just above you. I’d appreciate if you didn’t shoot ‘em down.
Bill: Hear you. Looking but don’t see a thing.
Control: You’re a little faster than I thought. There’s six F-15’s a little behind to your left.
Bill: Yeah! I see four in formation – not six. Roger.
Plane 2: It’s Air Force. Two probably got lost.
Control: You probably didn’t hear but an F15 commented “Radar Contact.”
Bill: Took your advice and didn’t shoot.
Control: Appreciate that. And it was four, not six.
Bill: Glad to help any time, over.
And of course, I don’t have any pictures to show that the F-15’s really passed by!
Around the town of St. Francisville are almost a dozen plantations dated back to the 1800’s and a few even older. Although most of the plantations are open year round, and have guided tours at a minimal cost, consider going when the Azaleas are in bloom like during April. Color is everywhere. Spanish moss, old cemeteries, and huge trees. Slave cabins, the finest antiques, and a history nowhere else. Stay a day or two at a bed and breakfast. It is well worth the trip. I’d love to go back some day.
This first picture is the Greenwood Plantation, the grandest example with 28 columns around it. Others to tour are the Catalpa Plantation, Myrtle Plantation and the Oakley House at Audobon State Park.
We loved the Oak Alley Plantation, (picture in the prior blog) maybe because my husband gave me a Keith Andry painting of it on our first date – which I’ll never sell. 🙂
True love versus false love. How can we tell the difference? Both may be as attractive as roses, but one is the dime-store plastic kind and the other a fragrant red beauty. We need something more substantial than a temporary solution, wider than an Oklahoma sunset, and deep enough to fill the void inside. Actually, we need a God’s kind of love. Nothing else will completely and always satisfy. Nothing.
I’ll be driving to Shawnee once a week to teach a wonderful group of women at Temple Baptist Church. My Bible study, Love From the Inside Out, is about true, godly love, the kind Jesus exemplified. Part of the study evolved from women prisoners I counseled and the amazing truths they taught me about love.
Please pray for me and these 21 women as we study and share together – and as we learn to love others, even those difficult people in our lives.
Glenn, my flight instructor, asks if I’m ready to move to the pilot’s seat. Nope. I choose to stay in the co-pilot seat, for now, at least, since I will hopefully only fly if something happens to my husband. I want to become more confident knowing for sure I can fly from my regular seat, assuming I’m awake, since I usually sleep when my husband flies. Wait, I would be awake if…. Oh, never mind. See, I trust him. It may be more difficult to fly from the right side, however, because it’s hard to see the instruments, like the airspeed indicator, turn coordinator and the altimeter. Yep, I looked it up. That’s in Chapter 3.
I’m pretty consistent at the 1,900 feet altitude this time, which is supposed to help while I learn to take off and land. Clearly, it frees me to focus on whatever the next lesson is to be. I come in too slow on the first landing so have to increase the throttle. The next time I’m too high, reduce throttle, bring nose down. Whoa…bring nose down too much. I discover what happens when you don’t keep the nose up or “flare” enough during landing. Your instructor steps in. Otherwise, I would have hit nose first instead of back wheels first. Not good. Grumman owner hubby would not be happy. Neither would Joey, his partner. Thank you guys for trusting me. Or trusting Glenn.
About this time, I realize I need a bathroom break. No can do. Lesson to myself. Don’t drink a glass of water just before going flying.
The next is a fairly good landing; another one not so good. The sixth time I must have flown too fast, too high, or too something, but that darn plane refuses to hit the ground. Bounces like a yoyo, a string pulls it back into the air. It won’t touch down, almost as if it has a mind of its own. Glenn thinks I haven’t pulled the throttle all the way back. When we finally land nearly three miles down the runway, we’re closer to the end than normal.
Glenn says, “I’ll help you out and do the take off.” He quickly pushes in the carburetor heat, puts up the flaps and gives it the gas. We take off in seconds. I don’t understand his bravery. Why anyone would want to be in the same airplane with me while I’m learning is beyond my understanding. I’m told that you let the plane settle down quietly instead of fighting with it and pushing the nose down.
I’m ready to quit. For obvious reasons. But we continue and finally on the eighth landing, I hear, “That’s enough for today.” I taxi to the hangar and shut down, lock up the airplane, close the hanger door and rush to the bathroom.
Postscript #3
I quit lessons because the plane is scheduled for its annual inspection. Temporarily. Soloing is a possibility. If I can take 10 lessons, maybe I can fly alone someday. The possibility of flying to Texas anytime I want is tempting. But at this rate, it may take a couple of years.
An old picture of my husband as a baby with his Grandparents.
Correction: My husband was not born in 1940. This is his mother and his grandparents.
