7/5/04

Howdy. Its been a while, huh. Good to see you. It seems that stormy Monday mornings were made for blogging. I'm just back to work following a fantastic July 4th weekend. On Friday I flew with Bert, who is one of my enthusiastic and talented students. We were doing touch-and-go's and he was flying the plane so well through the first few legs of the pattern that we kinda got to talking. Our conversation would reach a hiatus just before we were abeam the numbers on downwind and would start where it left off as we turned cross wind after takeoff. It was a natural and almost imperceptible transition, though; talking about fishing on downwind and about pitch, power, trim, and flare, on approach and landing. I'm not sure how the topic of fishing came up. He owns some land in southeastern Kansas on which lies a pond or two that are stocked with fish.
"My brother caught a hundred fish there the other day," he told me.
"That's awesome! First notch of flaps, trim for 85 knots," I replied
"Cessna 4 Papa Delta, you're number two to follow the Maule on about a one mile final," the tower called. He sounded really bored.
"Number two and looking for the traffic," we answered, but Bert looked confused.
"I see the plane on final, but where was the other one?"
"What other one?"
"Well, he's number one, but where's number two?"
"We're number two."
"Who's number three?"
"There is no number three."
"Why did he tell us to follow them all, then?"
"The Maule," I laughed. "Not them all! Maule is a type of airplane!"
He laughed. There was about a four knot right crosswind on runway 18. He was doing a great job on the slip right up to the flare, at which point he would level the wings and drift to the left during touchdown. Despite my demonstration and encouragement that, "It is OK to touch down on only the upwind main wheel first!" I could tell he still felt uncomfortable touching down in a bank. It got better and better, however, as the lesson progressed. That sensation must feel really unnatural to the uninitiated as I've had other students who have displayed apprehension at landing in the slip.
I'd planned on going to the airshow on saturday, but the weather was crummy; thousand foot ceilings and low visibility. Bert had told me that any time I wanted to go fishing on his land to give him a call, so I did just that. He gave me directions and asked me to keep track of how many fish we caught and which bait they were taking. He also asked me to check on his barn. So with that, Kevin came over, we packed up the car and headed south. We drove about an hour and turned off the highway and immediately the road turned to gravel. The road was narrow and winding and I was enjoying the slight negative G forces as we crested the small swells that pass for hills in Kansas. It reminded me of a Stephen King short story where a couple tries to take a short cut and the road gets too narrow and filled with ruts to turn around so they press forward and end up in rock and roll Hell. By outside appearances it was a happy little pastel American town out of the fifties, but it was inhabited by demonic versions of Joplin, Hendrix, Presley, etc. (I think the devil in that story was a sailboat salesman...) I wouldn't have been too surprised if we had met a similar fate, but instead we found Bert's barn and pond and it was perfectly picturesque. Big round bails of hay served as perches for songbirds in the adjacent field, and just to the east lived a forest that begged exploration. My spirit rejoiced to be in a place far enough from the city that all I could hear were the birds singing and the wind blowing through the trees. To beat it all, I caught a fish in the first five minutes or so and kept catching them here and there throughout the afternoon. I caught about ten fish in all, more than my previous lifetime total. About half of them were blue gill or crappie, and the others were small bass. What a hoot! I took a break for a little while and went back into the woods just to see what was there. To my pleasure, I found a gurgling little creek and quite a few wild blackberries. I couldn't resist trying a few of the ripe ones. God, they were good. There were only a few ripe ones though. In a couple weeks when the rest ripen up, a person could go down there and fill a bucket. Tempting. Kevin wasn't as lucky with the fish. He was setting his sights higher as far as the size of fish he wanted to catch, so his lures were a bit large for the little crappie and bass that seemed to be biting on my rooster tail spinners. Kevin finally caught a fish around 6:30 in the evening, so we thought we'd call it a day. We went to Fort Scott in search of a homestyle meal, and found it at the Cowboy Kitchen. The Cowboy Kitchen was a horrendousley tacky place with a big TV in the corner that played country music videos. The country fried steak hit the spot though.
I got home and it was time to clean the fish (I had only kept one). This was a momentous occasion since I'd never attempted to slaughter an animal before. I'm not all about the "gotta kill stuff and eat it to be a man" mentality, but there was something sort of fulfilling about the whole idea of eating this fish that I had caught. I was happy to see that no one else was home to witness the disembowelment of the innocent. I found a cutting board and a sharpish looking knife and tried my best to do as kevin had said.
"Cut from head to tail on top and on bottom and then cut around the head," he had instructed.
It sounded so surgical, but there was nothing surgical about what was about to happen. I felt like Rick Moranis chopping up Steve Marten in "Little Shop of Horrors." If there had been enough blood, it would have been spraying about. I did end up finding a few reasonable sized pieces of meat, but not enough to have it make sense to save it for a meal. So I resolved to cook it right then and there. I'd never cooked fresh fish either. I crumbled up Light Pringles in a bowl with onion salt and pepper and tossed in the few chunks of meat I'd managed to scrape off of Steve. The pringles didn't seem to want to stick to the fish, but a few crumbs did and I figured that qualified as breading. (I've since learned about the "coat the fish in egg" trick) Once the oil was heated up in the skillet, I tossed in the chunks and they made a delightful sizzle. I was very proud of that sizzle. It was the best sizzle I'd ever heard.
Once it was done, I ate it and it was actually not bad. I'm thinking of writing a cookbook full of recipes and other applications for pringles. I'm sure wonderful things could be done with the flavored varieties. I'm betting sour creme and onion would add a pleasing zip to fried bass or just think what fried chicken would taste like if breaded in pizza flavored pringles. I know, I know, I'm a genius.
Sunday cleared up and I found myself at the last day of the airshow with my good friends. Kevin and I were both eaten up with chiggers from our fishing trip. It was all Kevin could talk about. His ankles were practically covered in blistery bumps and mine were almost as bad (still are). Wes had the good sense to park in a parking garage overlooking the airport. We watched the whole show from that shaded vantage point. It was perfect. Highlights were the Thunderbirds and the Army skydiving team. Both were awe inspiring.
Last night, we went out to the mall for the local fireworks display, which rocked. Ashley had come to dinner with my mom and brother and I. Then we met up with Kevin after dinner and we caught up with Ashley's folks at the show. By happenstance, it was the first meeting of Ashley's parents and my mom. Mom saw this as good reason to break out the "Adam didn't like to wear underwear as a kid," and "I don't like children," and (my personal favorite) "I had a dead cat in my garage all winter one year," stories. ahhh. It actually seemed to go pretty well. It was one of those evenings that you savor as ideal for the weather and the atmosphere and all the people you care about and even mom's uninhibited story telling. I laughed harder than I have in quite some time. So what if the stories are a bit odd. I'm grateful for the Maule.

06/22

Howdy. Just sittin' here at the desk. yawn. too early. Worked yesterday too. It was dead. All I did was proctor something like four written exams. It takes about ten minutes to set up an exam and about five to grade. That would mean that during the eight or so hours I was on the clock yesterday, I may have only done about an hour of actual work. ahhh. The rest of the time I pretty much spent reading about sailing and sailboats. Nice diversion. Hold on a sec, I'm gonna go make a cheese sandwich for breakfast... mmmmm. If I think really hard, I can about make myself believe that I am having biscuits and gravy (which everyone knows is the best breakfast food ever conceived). I'm a much happier flight school desk attendant now. Where was I? oh yeah, sailboats. I've been thinking that at some point, I'm going to want to (er.. have to..) move out of mom's house. The options for a poor flight instructor would appear to be limited to:
a.) a crummy roach-infested, thin-walled apartment where I can't play my guitar and can't sleep because of neighbors' loud sex and Disney alarm clocks (the kind that play "Its a Small World After All" in the style of a sadistic calliope at 4 o'clock every morning...)
or,
b.) a crummy roach-infested trailer house with a roommate who gets high and has lots of loud sex-
You can see how both of these "options" are less than ideal for a refined, urbane individual such as myself.
So yesterday as I was satisfying my curiosity about sailing and sailboats, the little voice that always causes trouble and adventure said to me,
"You know, Adam, that all of these boats have beds and bathrooms and even kitchens. You know that you could go wherever you wanted, Adam!"
"But I could never afford a sailboat!" I said to the little voice (let's call him "THE DEVIL").
"Go look on eBay, Adam. Some of them are very affordable!" THE DEVIL urged.
"But I've never sailed!"
"How difficult could it be for a pilot to learn to sail?" THE DEVIL encouraged.
I won't bore you with the whole conversation, but it went on like that with me being practical and skeptical and THE DEVIL trying to make this specious plan seem like a valid and even an appealing option. ha. I won - for now, anyway. THE DEVIL is very persistent. ("My dearest Wormwood...")
Went and played softball last night with the church guys. I play catcher because I don't really know the game and can only throw as far as the pitcher's mound. I'd planned on going home after work to change clothes and grab my glove etc. I got half way there and was called back to the school to proctor another test, so I called mom to have her bring my stuff to the ball field. The test ran long, and I got to the park just in time for the start of the game. Mom had brought my clothes and shoes, but she'd forgotten my glove. I know. I can't believe it either. I caught the first inning in slacks and a polo with a borrowed glove. I was late in the batting order so I had time to change clothes before my turn to bat, but just barely. After walking straight from the bathroom to the plate, I flied out. Got an RBI out of the deal, though.
We spanked the other team the first game. We were just ON. The second game was a different story, though. We couldn't field, the calls weren't going our way, and we just couldn't get anyone on base. I can't speak for my teammates, but my personal lack of performance during the second game may be attributed to the three softballs I caught with my face. One tipped off the bat, and the other two bounced off the ground and up into my face. I've played catcher in quite a few softball games (I've always sucked) and this had never been a problem before. With every mind-jarring blow to the kisser, I became more and more pissed off. So by the end of the game I was playing angry which we all know is terrible for a person's athletic Chi.
My muffler fell off while I was driving to the sports bar after the game. I pulled over and threw it into the trunk. The ol' Supra seems to have a little more pep without it and its not that much louder. If it weren't for the fumes, I'd be tempted to leave it that way.
Ashley had arrived at the ballpark in time to see the second game, so she met mom and David and I at the sports bar. Just after we got there, a big group with a ridiculous crying baby came and nestled in right next to us. grrr. I still enjoyed the tasty beer and burger, but it cut the post dinner conversation a bit short and did nothing to restore my chi.
I called Ashley after I got home and our quiet conversation really helped to calm me down. She has a beautifully subtle way of conveying calming reassurance, which is exactly what I need from time to time. She's definitely my other little voice. I slept very well last night.

6-16-04

Howdy. Today was a beautiful day. Ashley and I slept in till 9:30 or 10:00 and then laid around and talked (no, really... talked) till I was late for my noon intro flight. I have to admit that I was less than excited to leave her to go give what would probably be a free airplane ride (CFI's don't get paid for intro flights, but we do them knowing that a percentage will turn into actual students. We call those who do not continue "rides"). I was only about ten minutes late and when I got there Chris (flight school asst manager) was taking the older doctor and his younger wife (nurse) on a tour of KCAC's facilities. phew.
I was bleeding under my right ear. Cut myself shaving. Wouldn't stop. I'd been using a pair of boxer shorts that happened to be in the passenger seat of my car to keep the blood from dripping off my jaw bone and onto my shirt, but I didn't figure I ought to take those into the flight school. So I continued bleeding till just before the couple returned with Chris.
The couple seemed pleasant, but not too interested in actually learning to fly. yep. ride. oh, well. They both had certificates for intro lessons, so after a half hour with the doctor (who seemed really afraid of the controls) I greased on a landing for them and we busted out a little Chinese Firedrill on the ramp. The nurse actually flew a little. I guess she had some experience in sailplanes quite some time ago in Cali. After I told her that the pedals turned the nose wheel, she still wanted to know why the ailerons didn't turn the airplane on the ground. I love being a flight instructor. I had wanted to take them over the city but there was a pretty heavy looking cell a few miles to the north of OJC. It was dumping rain and cutting visibility to what looked like nil. I didn't figure that would be a pleasant introduction to the world of general aviation for the happy couple, so we went back out to the south. Another cell chased us back to the airport from Paola. Kinda fun. Very beautiful.
After we landed (dropped it in a bit that time), they told me how nice it would be to be able to fly themselves to their house in Colorado or to see their kids. I gave them my card and told them to call me when they wanted to go up for another lesson. They laughed and said something about paying for kids' college. I wanted to tell him, "Gimme a break, you're a respiratory effing therapist..." but I just smiled and assured them that I know how expensive college is. Real reason: Guy had no cajones. Whatever.
Then, I left the airport and went to my favorite chinese restaurant- The New Bao Shing in Stanley. Kung Bao chicken kicked ass as usual. Went from there to Borders. Sat and read "What Color Is Your Parachute" for a while. Still don't know the meaning of life. Oh, well. Got a Mocha and Adrienne called. We tried for a while to discover the meaning of life, to no avail. Oh, well. When my dad's brother started showing symptoms of paranoid phsychosis, dad told me that uncle Dan had "always had a fair amount of existencial angst." Who are you? Who told you to read this? Leave me alone.