Little Boy Lost

The panic crept over me slowly, like syrup just starting to warm up. I looked outside to the sandbox from my vantage point over the kitchen sink through the back window. The box was closed and the little boy who had been playing there just a moment ago, was nowhere to be seen. I dropped the package of crackers I was holding and ran outside. "Jacob!" I called into the still morning. There was no response other then a nearby bird's call. I jogged to the sandbox and took in the view in all directions. No toddler here. I quickly started moving through the trees and bushes, darting around the large boulders strewn about the area around the house. I made my way to the road, continuing to call out his name. Still no response. I thought about the large dogs just a few houses away, the Arkansas river, fast-moving and cold, about a half mile away. Could Jacob have run that far? Knowing the natural curiosity of a two-year-old little boy, I wouldn't put it past him. Frantically, I covered about a quarter of a mile radius in about ten minutes. I ran back to the house, unable to find Jacob, and dialed the next door neighbor's phone number, hoping he may have wandered to a familiar location. No answer. I considered calling his mother, who was at a Buddhist retreat about an hour away. Should I alert her too soon? Was there really any way that I had actually lost her child? I didn't want to think about it, but images of the Fire Department and a Search and Rescue team came to mind in a rush. I ran back outside hoping there may have been an area I had missed when I spied the door of my car cracked open. As quickly as the panic had washed over me, it dissipated like an ocean tide, replaced with relief, tinged with a hint of anger. I rushed over to my car, my new Audi A4, my dream car, the one I had been hoping to buy for years, and scooped the little boy off the front seat. "Park?" he asked innocently. "Yes, Jacob, we will leave for the park soon. But you can't run away like that. And you shouldn't get into Sarah's car without permission." Inside I was flabbergasted. I turned the car on and realized that in the short time of my search for him, Jacob had managed to reprogram my stereo, turn on the lights and windshield wipers and re-adjust my seat. I tried to calm down and remember that no permanent damage was done, but it was a challenge. Next time, I am going to invest in a leash and simply tie him to the sandbox. And perhaps lock my car doors as well.

Seat backs and Tray tables

There was a crunch, a grumble and a high-pitched whirring sound. "That was just the engine, folks. Don't worry about it." Chuckles, a few genuine and a few nervous, came from the group of passengers sitting in the seats of the Brasillia 120 as it pulled away from the little county airport of Sheridan, Wyoming. I resumed my safety briefing. "This aircraft is equipped with four emergency exits. The door through which you entered is opened by...." I continued on through the flotation devices and fire extinguisher operation until I was satisfied that most of them had paid attention to most of the information. I performed my final compliance check to make sure that these fully capable adults had listened to me when I told them to put their iPods away and open their window shades. Satisfied, I sat in my jump seat, buckled my lap belt and called the cockpit. "Lets get this bird in the air," I said, which is code for "The cabin is secure and ready for take-off."

My original thought when applying for the job of an airline flight attendant was mostly about making connections and determining whether or not I liked the lifestyle of a frequent-traveling-jet-setter. My imagination painted the idea of working in the airline industry as glamorous, as I visited new destinations, met interesting people and held the mystique of someone who got to wear a sweet uniform and wings and who walked right through security with so much as a nod. The reality of eating meals from either fast-food establishments or out of Tupperware, watching more TV in a week than I have in my previous lifetime, and getting to know hotel employees in Williston, North Dakota by name, was a little different than what I had envisioned. But hey, if I want to be a pilot someday and wish to log a few hours as an airline pilot, I may as well get an inside look at the daily grind before completing all my flight training and locking myself into a new career.

"Sir, would you like coffee or water?" He looked at me and without even blinking said, "what kind of juice do you have?" I cleared my throat. "I have coffee and water." Silence for a moment. "Do you have Sprite?" In the future, I will not complain about learning V-Speeds, minimum equipment lists or weight and balance information. My only hope is that there will not be any coffee in the cockpit.

The longest PM half trip.... ever.

Being back in Buena Vista and resuming my great love of serving coffee has allowed me to see a lot of people I haven't seen since last spring. Some of these people are wonderful and it has been great to get caught up again, but some, like one short customer I saw recently reminded me of another summer adventure from 2007.

I must start this story by prefacing that I will not use real names since the Internet is used by so many people, even third-graders. Thus we will call the main character.... Little Timmy.

Last August I finally got checked out to be a trip leader on the river. I was about to embark on my first single boat trip. I was a little nervous at this new undertaking and the responsibility it represented. It was nearing noon and I was wondering where my guests were, so I wandered into the front office. Lillian, the office manager was there and introduced my to the first party to arrive. I was surprised that I recognized them. Little Timmy was one of the children I had babysat when I was just a youngin'. He was also the child I dreaded sitting for the most. By far. At the age of two, he was talkative, precocious and hard to entertain. Apparently not much had changed in the last six or seven years. He came rafting with his father, aunt and cousin. I put on my best game face and started answering the barrage of questions.

"What's this?" he asked, grabbing the flip line with carabiners fastened about my waist. I described how to use the flip line as I moved his chubby fingers away from my groin area. I tried to fit him with a splash jacket and he asked what it was made out of, he asked how long the ride to the river would be, he asked why I was wearing sandals, he asked if I thought it was going to rain, if he was going to be allowed to paddle. No, most definitely not because I needed him to just hold on and help me spot wildlife along the way. As the constant stream of questions and stories continued, I met the other two people on the trip: an older woman and her adult daughter. The woman turned to me and asked, "Is that thing coming with us? I specifically asked to be on a boat without children." I asked the office manager about the mix-up and she told me I was the only guide available that afternoon. I would just have to make do and try to keep the peace. I later found out that the woman was a retired elementary school teacher and was over children. I am not making this stuff up.

The trip itself was relatively uneventful and far from silent. I tried my best to keep Little Timmy occupied with talking to me as quietly as possible. I could not keep him from screaming at a high pitch through each rapid however. At the end of the trip I learned the hard way that single boat trips often travel much more quickly than trips with multiple boats. I overestimated my arrival time by about forty minutes. Forty minutes wouldn't be too bad at a lovely take-out like Heckla Junction on a warm, sunny day, but on this particular afternoon, about the time we arrived, it began to rain and then hail. The disgruntled women made their way to the outhouse to wait, while I sat with the boat and Little Timmy and tried to answer his many questions about why we were sitting next to the river, in the rain, without a ride.

Needless to say, I didn't receive a tip at all, and the story would simply fall into a long list of memorable rafting stories, if Little Timmy lived in say, Massachusetts. But this little boy lives in Buena Vista and apparently drinks coffee. Perhaps next summer, they will go rafting with Noah's Ark.

Is North 0 or 360???

There are many ironies in life. Here is one of my own.

I pride myself on being of average intelligence. I can solve most problems pretty quickly. However, compass headings are not my gift. I am told to fly a heading of two-three-zero and it takes me a little while to translate that into somewhere SW. I am sure there are plenty of people who struggle with this. However for those of you who know me very well, this is funny in my case because I have a compass rose tattooed onto my left foot. Either I need to start flying bare foot, start memorizing heading numbers or simply find someone else to navigate.

Flying in the winter time....

The quest to finally solo in an airplane has sorely tested my patience. After learning the basics, I was required to complete a written test on my knowledge of everything from airspace rules to what viscosity of oil the airplane takes. After completing the tests, I then needed to schedule a time to meet with a check airman to determine whether I knew what I needed to in order to safely fly the plane by myself. The day I went in to meet with him, the clouds rolled in and kept us on the ground. The oral part of the exam went well though. I then moved to Colorado Springs to help my dad with his business and went to Texas for Thanksgiving. Finally, yesterday, I was able to go up with the check airman to test my flying skills. I was supposed to solo this morning. But as luck would have it, a storm rolled in from Baja, California and kept me on the ground yet again. I am scheduled to try again on Monday morning, but at this rate, I am not holding my breath.

Finely-Tuned Study Habits

I have sat in many public places with books opened, intently scanning the contents without too many interruptions from other people. Occasionally someone will ask what I am reading either just to be polite or to simply get my attention in order to chat about something entirely different. But when I started flying I had no idea how much attention I would receive simply by studying for it. On several occasions the reading of my flight text book has been cut short by someone interested in the subject matter. Tonight was no exception.

I had the option to simply read at home, but I was hungry and whatever I had lying around in the refrigerator sounded less than appealing. So I packed my materials and headed down to the neighborhood pub, Conor O'Neills. I found an empty bar stool at a large, communal table. I ordered my bangers and mash, along with a dark ale and opened my book. It wasn't long before my waiter started making conversation about it. After about an hour of focused study, a large group arrived to fill up the remaining chairs at the table. It also wasn't long before one of the guys said, "So, uh, what are you reading?" I held up the book. "Wow." he said. "My buddy from high school got his pilot's license." Uh oh. Here goes another hour of chatting about whatever this guy thought he knew about the airline industry even though I have nothing to do with jets or Boeing or flight stewardesses. "That's great." I answered. Soon we were laughing and becoming best friends.

Then, as I was about to finish up my "study" session, another girl sitting the table mentioned that she had her private pilot's license and she would be more than happy to help me study anytime I needed it. Her name is Whitney and I can find her at the bar.

I always knew that rich kids have a bunch of friends, I never knew that pilots do too. My waiter is coming flying with me tomorrow morning.

Mary goes flying.....

Alright, its been a while since I have posted anything on this blog and I am sure some of you.... my mom or grandma or Bess.... are wondering what exciting things have happened in my life lately. The truth is, quite a bit and not much. I suppose it depends on what your definition of "exciting" is.

I had a little adventure today. My sister Mary is in Boulder visiting me for the weekend. I am drawing closer to the fateful day when I shall solo in my airplane and decided that since I am still practicing some maneuvers, now would be a good time to take Mary up and show her the finer side of single engine flight.

It started out pretty smoothly. We sat on the tarmac and did the pre-flight and made the tower call. Then came the rough stuff: the flying. I knew small planes can be a bit bumpy and so I gave her a small paper bag this morning, chuckling as I told her she might get queasy. She laughed at me and took the bag good-naturedly. Neither of us knew how handy the bag would be.

We made our way to the Longmont area where I practiced some ground-reference maneuvers and if this wasn't enough of a ride for Mare, we headed back to Metro airport for some touch and goes. Proof that I need to keep working on making my landings and take-offs smoother lives in a little paper bag. I hope someday she will go up with me again.... perhaps next time, I will feed her something a little lighter for lunch.