Trip Wire :: Part the Fourth (and final)

Like most children, Ember gets close to her enjoyments

On my sixty-fifth birthday -- a Monday -- I woke up in Enid, Oklahoma, in the home of our son and his wife. It was twenty-three degrees outside, with mostly clear, sunny skies predicted.

And wind.

I got started early, doing the coffee and reading routine, spending some last moments with Rambo, before getting ready to go.

Andrew came down the hall and made his coffee and ate some cereal before putting on his helmet and riding his bike to work, three minutes away, at seven fifteen.

These first three shots were taken on Sunday

(He used to drive his truck until Brittany totaled it in an otherwise minor accident a few months ago ... see, she's human just like the rest of us.)

Then Ember was up, and Brittany was giving her breakfast, and before you could say Bob's your uncle, it was time to kiss and hug and say our farewells.

Brittany took a few pictures of us loving on our dollybelle Ember, and then we were gone.

It's a mere ninety minutes by car from Enid to Oklahoma City, and we made it there without incident.

Her eyes are the eighth wonder of the world

Being, as it most certainly was, a sunny but cold and windy day, the streets were all but deserted. The climate posed a problem for us too, since we had no desire to do a lot of walking in those conditions.

My main objective was to shop for souvenirs for the kids and grandkids back home, which I always do because they take care of my pets while I'm out of town.

(Erica takes Rizzo in and lets him hang with her dog Sibi and Chad's dog Jonah. Audrey goes to my house every day to bring in the mail and take care of Sweetness, and spend a little time with her.)

Having stopped and asked a local for advice as to where we might find the best souvenir shops, we were directed to Broadway Avenue (also known as Automobile Alley), where, as it turned out, there were several such shops in close proximity to one another.

I kept laughing so I wouldn't cry

I was also in the market for a coffee shop, because I wanted to take some coffee home to Chad, and I wanted to drink some myself, along with second breakfast.

On the way we drove past our hotel, the historic Skirvin Hilton. More on that later.

Broadway Avenue was, in the past, home to multiple automobile dealerships -- the old-school kind, when such establishments were located in downtown areas. 

It was obvious as we walked to the various stores that we were passing by former car-sales venues; it's been a while since I've seen such a thing but I remembered what they looked like from when I was a kid.

She's as sweet as she looks

Huge places, with a massive amount of square footage given over to plate glass fronting the sidewalk. Back in the day, you could drool over the big shiny cars while window shopping, as you might drool over new shoes or clothes or smaller, more affordable toys.

TG dropped me off in front of Tin Lizzie's and went to park. Tin Lizzie's is a well-appointed, whimsical gift shop and I found several cute things for everyone -- from tiny 3-D puzzles for the children, to cute fridge magnets.

But not finding what we were looking for in the realm of t-shirts -- a perennial favorite in the what-did-you-bring-me category -- we went on to the next store: Shop Good.

There we found all the t-shirts we had sought, and then some. It was in fact the mother lode. But, wanting to see everything available before making our final decision, we cruised down a block or so to Plenty Mercantile.

Papaw got in on it too

They had plenty, all right -- pretty much everything was there except t-shirts. We looked around for a good while and I considered a few items, but the prices were high and my interest too low to induce me to pull out my wallet.

Wanting to think on my options for a while, I suggested that we go back in the direction of Shop Good -- where I was now certain I'd buy some t-shirts -- but walk right past it to Coffee Slingers Roasters.

I'd drawn a bead on Coffee Slingers right away while out on the street, and I was anxious for that refreshing coffee break.

They had a tempting display of bagged coffee beans, so I selected one for Chad and asked a young man behind the counter to grind it for me, to the consistency needed for a French press.

I imagine the Coffee Slingers flag spends a lot of time slung around its pole

He kindly did so, and then we placed our order. I got a latte and a slice of lemon cake. TG, not a coffee drinker, chose an ice-cold Virgil's Root Beer in the bottle, and a piece of coffee cake.

When we were paying, the same young man who had ground up my coffee swiped a card and mumbled something I didn't quite catch, about my latte being free.

? ? ? ? ?

I had not even mentioned that it was my birthday.

Automobile Alley, OKC: Where the neon lights are bright

So when it was time to slide our own card and pay, I asked him to please tell me again why my latte was free?

He replied that a local worship group (I think that's what he said) purchased a fifteen-dollar gift card every Monday and donated it for the baristas to use at (I gather) their discretion, to pay for several guests' coffee orders.

I was so touched by that. I asked the young man to please tell them thank you for me, and that it was my birthday and it really meant a lot to enjoy a free latte (which I realize was not really free because someone paid for it).

He smiled and said he would convey my gratitude to the group. 

And who's to argue?

Isn't that special?

The latte was scrumptious, served in a real black-and-white stoneware cup with a saucer, and the foam perfect on top, decorated the way experienced baristas do, with a heart.

The lemon cake was moist and fresh too, and TG pronounced his snack delicious.

After consuming every crumb and drop, we went back, a few doors down, to Shop Good. There, I picked out t-shirts for Audrey, Erica, Dagny, and Ember.

The black chandeliers were breathtaking

Once that was done, we were broke and briefly considered panhandling for money to get home. Just kidding. But t-shirt prices, along with most other prices, have gone up. Just saying.

It was still cold and windy, and the streets of Oklahoma City still deserted though it was only two o'clock in the afternoon, so we decided to see if maybe the Skirvin Hilton would allow us to check in early.

If the answer was no, we'd hang out in the lobby of the century-old historic landmark which has been meticulously restored in recent years.

We were there within five minutes and parked at the entrance, where a valet met us. TG talked with him while I went inside and to the desk.

A to-scale Lego Skirvin dominated one corner of the lobby

Let's pull over and park here for a mo.

A few years ago, we were in Baltimore on my birthday; I think it was 2019. That was the time I asked TG to go straight to the Westminster Burial Ground when we drove into town, so that I could pay my respects at the grave of Edgar Allan Poe.

It was an extremely cold, windy, but gray day on that occasion too. In fact, TG remarked this time that it's always cold and windy when we take my birthday trip.

Early March. It is what it is.

Original Art Deco elevator doors

At any rate, on that day when we arrived at our hotel -- Hotel Indigo, downtown Baltimore -- I happened to mention that it was my birthday (because it was), and we were instantly upgraded from an ordinary room to a corner suite on a high floor.

(It was divine! The views! Although I must be honest, downtown Baltimore is, shall we say, shockingly down at the heel. There are reasons for that. I won't go into them now.)

So, since it was my birthday on the day we checked in at the Skirvin Hilton in Oklahoma City, I thought I'd see if the birthday announcement resulted in an upgrade.

Hi! I said. We're here! And it's my birthday! I'm sixty-five today! I proved it by handing over my Real Eye Dee.

If in a pinch you had to sleep in the hall, it wouldn't be all that bad

The ladies behind the desk were so nice and friendly, said that could not possibly be true, haaha, and things like happy birthday to you, hope it's been a nice day for you so far.

So we chit-chatted like that for a few moments, and by then TG had joined us and one of the clerks handed him our key cards. Room Twelve-Oh-Three.

We made our way across the lobby to a bank of two polished brass, ornately carved antique elevators with a towering brass mail depository between them, hopped aboard one (mirrored on the inside), and mashed the button for the twelfth floor.

Smooth. And fast. Seconds later, the doors opened onto a wide, long, luxuriously appointed hallway. Signs told us to turn right, and then make another turn, to the left.

What's behind door number three

That took us to a short hallway. I read the numbers beside the doors: Twelve-Oh-One on the left and Twelve-Oh-Two on our right. There was no Twelve-Oh-Three. What there was -- at the end of the short hall -- was a room branded Presidential Suite. There was no number beside the door.

We were confused. I looked again at the little folder that contained our key cards. I looked at the room numbers. We were in the right place.

Try it, said TG.

I went to the door of the Presidential Suite and waved one of the cards. The light did not turn green; it turned red. I scuttled away, intimidated. To quote Will Turner: Someone will have heard that! 

Behold the foyay!

TG picked up a house phone in the long hallway and called the desk. After a brief conversation, he told me that indeed we'd been booked into the Presidential Suite.

Whaaaaat?

This time I let TG wave the key card. He was better at it than me. The light turned green and we went in.

Fifteen hundred square feet of luxury greeted our eyes. Windows everywhere looking out onto downtown Oklahoma City. Two bathrooms. A dining area. A luxurious living area and equally luxurious bedroom.

The coffee corner. All of the draperies were floor-length and stunning.

(Much, much more than we needed; their ordinary rooms are super nice and would have been plenty.)

I was pretty much overwhelmed and kept running to the windows to look out. It was opulence! I got a real kick out of the whole thing.

We settled in and then I thought it would be polite to go downstairs and thank the ladies at the desk. I told them that being upgraded in such a way was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for me.

Because it was. You could tell that the clerk was happy that she'd made me so happy.

A hallway led to the bedroom

We took a few pictures in the lobby, then went back up and hung out in our suite for a while, because we were tired and I needed to do some research to figure out what I wanted to do for the rest of my birthday.

We lolled on the block-long sectional sofa and fired up the huge flat-screen and turned on a movie and rested and regrouped.

After searching out several options and dismissing all of them for one reason or another, I decided that I wanted to go to Penn Square Mall and then to dinner at Whiskey Cake, which had been recommended by Andrew.

Now if you know the pirate at all, you know she is not fond of malls. In fact, as a rule I assiduously avoid malls. There's a story behind it which I won't tell but suffice it to say that mall culture in general gives me the heebie-jeebies.

The king-size bed was exceptionally comfortable

But occasionally when in a new city for my birthday, we go to a mall because it's cold outside and I like to shop. 

Penn Square Mall is one of the nicer malls I've seen on my travels, and I actually enjoyed being there, up to a point. We strolled into See's Candies and had a nice time chatting with the lady minding the store.

We were given a sample and yes, we bought candy. It was some of the freshest and most delicious candy I've ever tasted.

(See's in Los Angeles is where Lucille Ball practiced for the episode of I Love Lucy where Lucy and Ethel have trouble keeping up on the bonbon assembly line.)

Looking out at the Skirvin from the Skirvin ... a masterpiece of early twentieth century architecture

After our candy purchase, we strolled into Francesca's, where I bought two pairs of earrings. 

Then we just walked and people-watched and even sat and rested for a while -- to be honest, I was waiting to get hungry enough to go to dinner. The candy sample at See's had taken the edge off my appetite.

But eventually we drove across the parking lot to Whiskey Cake, where we had neither whiskey nor cake. I can't remember what TG ordered but I had chicken and waffles, and it was pretty amazing.

By then it was dark and I wanted to chill out, so we returned to the Presidential Suite at the Skirvin Hilton. I took some nighttime shots out of several of the windows and we relaxed for a few hours.

Devon Energy lit in white ... First National Center lit in purple

I slept well because the bed was fabulous. Unbelievably comfortable. I didn't want to get up the next day but I did, because we had to drive all the way to Memphis.

After breakfast in the Skirvin's stunning Park Avenue Grill, where I had the best overnight oats ever, served with hot coffee from its own little carafe left on the table (I love that), we packed up the car and took off.

Before getting on the open road to Memphis, we made a detour to Del City, Oklahoma, about ten minutes away.

That's because I wanted to pay my respects at the graves of Tony and Dana Gray. Like my own dad, who was also a pilot who died young in a plane crash, Dana was born in Shreveport, Caddo Parish, Louisiana.

The snazzy Park Avenue Grill ... we were not the only ones there

I did not know the Grays, but I was made very sad in the summer of 2016 when I read the news of their deaths in a crash that also claimed the life of Tony's brother Jerry. Their story stuck with me, and although they died in Houston, Texas, I remembered that the Grays had lived and been laid to rest near Oklahoma City.

Prior to our trip I had made note of the cemetery location and, when I saw it was mere minutes from OKC, we decided to go.

We found the gravesite and stayed for ten minutes or so, thinking about the Grays' tragic story. You're familiar with my interest in aviation disasters, so this fits right in.

TG took my picture next to the Grays' oversized black granite headstone, situated across from a matching bench with a picture of Tony and Dana on their wedding day in 1990.

They made these oats overnight, just for me

I'm so glad I had an opportunity to do that.

On the way to the cemetery in Del City, I had homed in on a non-chain donut shop across the street from a Dunkin' Donuts. My radar is always tuned to local, one-of-a-kind donut shops.

So after leaving the cemetery I said, I want a donut. Second breakfast! Always a good idea. TG agreed that it was a solid plan.

Best Donuts is a simple storefront. Their selection of donuts is not huge but is nevertheless more than adequate.

Although it hurt my heart, I was privileged to pay my respects to Tony and Dana

I selected a maple-glazed long john and on the spot, the courteous clerk filled it with Bavarian cream.

TG made his selections and I picked out a few more for later in the day, and we were on our way.

That was the freshest donut I have ever tasted. I will never forget it. (Donuts, always life-affirming, are even more so after a visit to the cemetery to pay your respects to the memory of folks who have passed on while still in their prime.)

I like it. Simple. Easy to remember.

We made it to Memphis by nightfall and enjoyed another good night's sleep. I slept so well on that trip; it was nearly miraculous. Not once was I hot or uncomfortable or restless.

(Epic winds notwithstanding, my hair behaved the whole time too. Cause for celebration if ever there was one.)

The next day -- Wednesday -- we aimed for our tiny plot of land in South Carolina, arriving while it was still faintly light outside. It's true what they say: there's no place like home.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

Trip Wire :: Part the Third

Nothing to see here

The day after Andrew's graduation, Saturday, we had nothing but time on our hands.

We were in no rush to do anything in particular; in fact, in Enid, Oklahoma, there is very little to do.

There's Oklahoma City ninety minutes to the southeast, but we were in no mood to travel and besides, TG and I would be going there two days later, on Monday, for my birthday.

Outside it was hot, sunny, and windy -- similar to the day before, only even more summer-like.

Brittany has been taking horseback riding lessons and, although she had no lesson planned for that day, I said I wanted to see her ride. So she contacted the farm and they urged her to come on, and bring the family.

So it was that at about eleven thirty we sortied, headed for Hooves N' Harmony out on the edge of town.

Once there, we were greeted by various sweet, friendly dogs. One of them, old and full of days, was a dead ringer for my Rizzo.

We blew over to the big barn, where Brittany would ride and where we were thankful that there was shelter -- albeit dusty and odoriferous -- from the sun and wind.

No I'm not called Mr. Ed and where are the sugar cubes

After a pleasant hour of meeting the horses and watching Brittany saddle her mount, then walk and canter, we went back to the cluttered stable where Ember was encouraged to find eggs, which a prolific poultry unit apparently leaves all over the place.

There is even a cat, name of Mango, who endeavors to protect the eggs.

Mango was sequestered behind some hay bales but Danielle, the farm owner, told her to scooch over so that Ember could retrieve the eggs.

Then Ember decided to hold Mango, who was vaguely opposed to the idea but submitted -- sort of -- for about fifteen seconds.

Sounds like my cat.

After that, we said our goodbyes and headed for Gloss Mountain State Park.

Now, if you know the pirate, you are aware that she's not known for being outdoorsy. I mean, I like being outside -- don't get me wrong; I take a walk every day -- but I'm no stripe of a hiker or climber or fisher or hunter or rider or spelunker or any such sporty thing.

Also when you go to Northwestern Oklahoma, you will be able to testify that three point five seconds outside the city limits of Enid, in addition to the often vivid blue sky, there is nothing but reddish land and brown things.

Cummins: Twinning with Rizzo across the miles

I speculated aloud as we drove that surely it's more attractive in summer?

Not really, said Andrew. Not much.

Enid may be the purple martin capital of Oklahoma and may also hold the nickname of Wheat Capital of Oklahoma and the United States for the amount of grain socked away there (it has the third-largest grain storage capacity in the world), but when it comes to something interesting meeting the actual human eye on any given day, all of that translates into nothingness.

(There is a reason that Air Force bases -- at least the pilot training kind -- tend to be situated in, shall we delicately say, out-of-the-way locations; it would be impractical, imprudent, and basically impossible to conduct the hectic flying pattern over a densely populated area.)

(When finished training at Vance, Andrew and Brittany will live for several months on Altus Air Force Base in Altus, Oklahoma, a three-hour drive southwest of Enid, where in 2013 he trained as a boom operator. It is there that he will learn to fly the KC-135 Stratotanker. To get to Altus, one tongue-in-cheek military blog said, "you drive to the middle of nowhere and keep driving a little farther.")

At any rate, I was a passenger and Andrew declared Gloss Mountain interesting, and I was happy just to be with my family, so away we went.

It took a while, but we got there. I'd seen nothing along the way and saw little more when we arrived.

QED.

Yes, it was a sort of mountain, that looked more like a butte -- you know, reddish with a flat top. The pirate was less than riveted.

Mango played along for six seconds tops

We parked the Jeep and got out. I saw to my horror that, using a crude, rudimentary, zig-zagging, inordinately steep and obviously all-but-ancient arrangement of steps, people were climbing gingerly to the top.

Before the wind blew me slap off my feet, I said, I can't do that, and then -- clutching at windblown straws -- the baby can't do that!

Andrew, the dauntless type, already had Ember on his shoulders. Just last month she was skiing at Taos, New Mexico, cool as a cute little cucumber between Andrew's knees while he held her with a harness.

She is fearless and they take her everywhere.

Oh she'll be fine, Brittany, as intrepid as Andrew, grinned as she sailed out ahead of me towards Gloss Mountain.

My soul was filled with dread and my mouth was filled with my own hair, which stuck to my lipstick as the wind made every attempt to alternately blow me prized pirate locks down my throat and/or right off my head, along with my facial features.

It is a modern-day miracle that I still have my sunglasses -- not to mention my eyelashes, nose, and teeth.

The whole experience gave new meaning to the Rodgers and Hammerstein lyric Ooooooklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain ...

That's Brittany in front, Andrew and Ember in the middle, TG bringing up the rear

At any rate, my family eased me into it by meandering first over to a flagpole and monument where a plaque explained something about a discrepancy involving the mountain's name. 

All I have retained is that it had been known as both Gloss and Glass Mountain, owing to the presence of a great deal of Selenite, which shines, and some mispronunciation or other by possibly intoxicated mountaineers/explorers, long before mascara was invented.

I could not have cared less even if I had been paid handsomely to do so.

Everyone turned towards the mountain again. They were going to go through with it. I said, I'm not doing that unless Johnny Depp is up there.

Haaahaha they laughed and kept going. We got to the base of the mountain, where a sign announced in no-nonsense terms that there were rattlesnakes and don't kid yourself, they are real rattlestakes. The kind that rattle. I was certainly rattled, but my companions were unfazed.

You won't believe this but, in the interest of being a good sport, I actually started climbing up the steps behind my peeps, thinking, maybe it won't be that bad and maybe don't be such a wet blanket.

But I kept a weather eye for the errant random rattlesnake, not having the faintest idea what I would do if I were to encounter one. (Probably faint, in the faintest fashion fathomable.)

About a third of the way up (read: one and a half minutes), Andrew turned around and said Hey Mom, here's a nice bench! I squinted and saw what he was talking about. Said bench was of Kelly green metal, clean, and most inviting.

Brittany is nothing if not kind, generous, and thoughtful

I'll just wait there, I hollered back. Relieved to be shot of me, my party went on to the heights.

Once ensconced on the handy bench, I held up my phone and attempted to get a good shot for you. But there was nothing good to get a shot of, and besides I had to sit a certain way so that my hair flew straight back, out of my eyes, instead of straight into them, in which case I couldn't see at all.

And there was even less when I looked in that direction, than if I turned around and looked in the other. But I dug two shots out of my recently deleted file, just for this post. You may thank me in the comments.

A few folks were making their way down and I said, Hey! Is it worth it to go all the way up? Undesirable conditions notwithstanding, I experienced a fleeting sense of FOMO (fear of missing out).

Not really, came the immediate reply from a young woman. It's just dirt and wind, and for the last thirty feet there are no steps and you have to climb on falling rocks.

? ? ? ? ?

As if.

I sat tight.

She thought of everything, including this over-the-top cake topper

It was not long at all before I saw TG, Andrew with Ember still on his shoulders, and Brittany, heading down.

I got up and scampered nimbly to the parking lot, to serve as their welcoming committee.

TG asserted that he'd felt like George Leigh Mallory on those last thirty feet, where there were no steps and only a flimsy railing.

(For Christmas I bought him two used books about Mallory's doomed 1924 bid to summit Mount Everest, and he's now Mallory fluent.)

We re-boarded the Jeep and headed for home, where I tried to stay awake but ended up taking a one-hour nap before dinner.

Brittany had simmered homemade sauce all day and with it made baked ziti that was without any doubt the best I have ever tasted, better even than any served in any Italian restaurant anywhere.

She served it with bread and salad, and we were all famished and it was so tasty and comforting.

Afterwards, we watched episodes of Downton Abbey, which program Andrew loves and adores. He goes on and on about the characters and their brilliant conflict resolution, and the costumes, and the scenery, and all of it.

The funfetti cake was festive and delicious

His favorite characters are Molesley and Carson, although like everyone else, he's crazy about Lady Violet. He fervently dislikes Lady Mary, who is my second-favorite character after Lady Violet.

We agreed that without Lady Violet, no one would ever have taken much notice of Downton Abbey.

She is the linchpin, as it were. Strive to be a linchpin for someone, somewhere! is what I always say.

After a good sleep, it was Sunday and winter had returned. The day was gray, rainy, and cold, with the temperature reaching thirty-nine degrees for a few minutes in the afternoon. Dreadful.

After attending church by means of internet (don't judge), Brittany and I went shopping for a few necessities, then returned to the warm house. Later, while Ember napped, Andrew took TG and me to the BX where we bought souvenirs. TG got a nifty Vance-branded waterproof jacket for golfing.

Brittany had made a big pot of Skinny Chicken Fajita Soup, which we consumed lustily at the dinner hour. She'd also made a cake for my birthday, and there were presents, and we had a little party.

This is the balloon Brittany bought for me, back at home

I played with Ember for a while in her room, where she removed the contents of her toy bin, toy by toy, until they were all on the floor and she had told me most of their names. Later, we read a few more books.

Then the baby went to bed, and we watched additional Downton Abbey episodes as the cold wind howled outside the cozy house.

Our visit was near to an end and, as I drifted off to sleep, I tried not to think about leaving my loves. The next day would be exciting and full of birthday adventure.

Yes I will tell you all about it in our next installment. There will be suites and sweets and a poignant visit to a cemetery.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday

Trip Wire :: Part the Second

It's official

I was up early on Friday, March 4, 2022, the morning of Andrew's graduation from UPT 2.5 (Undergraduate Pilot Training).

Being careful not to make any noise and wake Ember, who was in for a long day, I took a shower, then made coffee.

While I toasted one of those Aldi L'Oven Fresh Keto Friendly bagels that are impossible to find (and yet Brittany did), Rambo begged for a treat and got one. I had already let him outside to check his messages.

If I was not on the sofa, Rambo lounged against the wall

I settled onto the sofa in the quiet and read my Bible. Rambo settled on the floor beside me.

Before I knew it, everyone was up and it was time to get all the way ready.

The men left first, in our car, so that TG could save us a few seats toward the front of the Base Auditorium.

Let me call you sweetheart

Brittany and I blew over there -- the wind was a presence determined to disturb everything from hairdos to hemlines, and succeeding -- in her Jeep, and were seated for less than ten minutes before the ceremony began.

Ember, at two years and three months old, needed lots of distractions, and her mother was prepared: fruit snacks, small toys, a pink-edged screen loaded with cartoons and games.

A pilot and his parents, one of which is a pirate

In addition to earning his wings, Andrew was a recipient of the Flight Commander Award -- although that achievement was not recognized at the ceremony. None of us understand it; do not get me started.

At the conclusion of the fifty-minute graduation, an Ember-shaped squall appeared on the horizon. She was struggling to forcibly exit her mother's arms and a friend, endeavoring to take her so that Brittany could get to Andrew, was having zero luck convincing the child to chill.

One for the family photo album

I motioned to TG, who strode forward and took Ember, who instantly ceased wriggling and became quiet. I think the grandkids all like the height from which being held by Papaw allows them to see the world. Then there is the fact that it's Papaw and somehow they know that means, less nonsense will serve you better than more.

At any rate we did not stay in there for long; the lighting was murky and no good for pictures.

I took this epic shot using Brittany's phone

Andrew found his wife and pressed something into her hand. It turned out to be half of a pair of wings, which had been scored so as to be easily broken. Each one of them keeps their half until death do they part.

Then Andrew and his classmates formed up for a group photo on the stage, and someone read a poem and the new pilots sang a song, and we all headed out into the warm, cloudy, windy day.

See? I can get on a plane

Since the wives do not pin their men's wings on during the ceremony, it's done immediately afterwards. Andrew was offering his pocket ruler to others to get their wings level, and then it was Brittany's turn.

She pinned his pilot wings directly above his boom operator wings, which he has had for years, denoting his service around the world refueling airplanes while in flight.

There's a lot of waiting in the Air Force ...

I love the way he looked at her when she pinned them on.

Eventually we returned to our cars and drove to where the three types of airplanes flown on that base, were poised on display.

... and a lot of sitting

All of the pilots train in the T-6 Texan II. Subsequently, depending on what was revealed to them in the meeting on the previous day regarding which plane they will fly permanently, they train in either the T-38 Talon (fighter pilot) or the T-1 Jayhawk (heavy pilot).

(Heavy aircraft include tankers and transports).

The T-1 Jayhawk is Andrew's next flight training aircraft

Since Andrew is set to fly the KC-135 Stratotanker for his unit, the 134th Air Refueling Wing of the Tennessee Air National Guard, he will next train in the T-1 Jayhawk.

I took pictures of Andrew and Brittany standing on the wing of the displayed T-6, then someone took a picture of me and TG standing on it.

There's a certain glamour to airplanes; I won't deny it. It's exciting to be so close to one that you can feel the steel beneath your feet, and peer through the canopy into the impossibly small interior.

Silver wings on my son's chest

We took more pictures -- of TG sitting in one of the pilot seats of the T-1 Jayhawk (yes it was difficult but he folded his six-foot-four frame and managed to fit), and Andrew with his family, beside it.

All the while, there was thunder in the sky as planes took off (it was a regular training day for some) and entered the Vance pattern.

An instant heirloom

Having the collective conviction that it was time to regroup, we drove the three minutes to home and changed into more comfortable clothes. It had been decided that we would have lunch at McAlister's Deli. I was starving so that plan got a booyah from me.

Andrew, still dashing in dress blues but announcing his intention to change into his flight suit, was just inside the door when I asked him to hang on for a minute.

He read the words meant for his private inspiration

I wanted him to open his gift from his dad and me, meant to commemorate both his graduation and his upcoming birthday.

I'd asked Brittany several weeks earlier what I should get him, and she had suggested a pubs (publications) bag, in which pilots carry their essential flight materials.

We sent this one to the maker of the pubs bag

He had been using a cheap black canvas one for training, and it was frayed. Real pilots have pubs bags of genuine leather. 

The one she pointed me towards was so great, I knew right away that it was the gift we wanted to give Andrew on this momentous occasion.

So tired from all this to-do, Daddy

The bag was custom made by Jake Jelineo of Aerodrome Leather Works, and he could not have been more accommodating, nor more prompt in delivery of an item of consummate workmanship.

The bag is of saddle-colored leather and features Andrew's name burned into the front flap, along with the wings insignia. Beneath that is an image of the tanker, and on the back is the Air National Guard logo.

It's like they knew I was coming

Inside the flap, where only Andrew can see it, we asked Jake to engrave these words from High Flight:

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

(Never mind that the author of these words, John Gillespie Magee, Jr., died at the age of nineteen in a training exercise while a pilot with the Royal Canadian Air Force during WWII; it is the definitive pilot poem. I have placed it in full on my own late pilot dad's Find a Grave page.)

Victor November

Andrew was pretty bowled over by the pubs bag; he wanted one so badly that he told me he probably would have bought it for himself if we had not given him one. He dubbed it an instant heirloom, something that, if his son or daughter were to become pilots, they could carry like their father before them.

So we took some pictures both before and after he changed from his blues to the flight suit, and then we went to lunch.

Andrew on the flight line, talking airplane

We relaxed in the afternoon; when Ember had gone down for a nap, we urged Brittany to put her feet up while Andrew took me and TG on an informal tour of the base.

I sat in a simulator and "flew" a T-6, and I even did a loop-the-loop and did not crash, although I did have a hard time maintaining level flight, and we will not talk about either my takeoff or my landing.

It was a splendid snack

The pirate is no pilot.

TG was next and he did much better than me. Hand-eye coordination? Hunny you're born with it. Or you're not.

That evening, we went out again -- for supper at El Patio in Enid. Then Andrew took us for a nighttime cruise around Enid. Which took all of seven minutes.

Ain't that the truth

Once back home, we were all pretty well wiped out -- and full -- but Brittany had ordered a huge, beautifully decorated cookie from a lady on base who custom-makes the confections, and in due course we broke that out and all had a piece. It was delicious.

Ember brought me a few books to read -- I don't remember whether it was before or after cookie consumption -- and then she was off to bath and bed, and without too much more ado, I followed suit.

It was a wonderful, joy-filled day and one that we will never forget.

More to come! Stay tuned.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend

I'll fly away ... again

This grave is no longer marked; like Bird himself, it was temporary

I owe you a post about the continuing saga of our Oklahoma trip, but I'm saving it for later in the week. 

While looking for something else on my blog today, I found this post from March of 2015 and made an executive decision to play a rerun.

It's not so much that I think it's such a great post, as that I thought you who were not familiar with my blog all those years ago, might enjoy reading it.

It sort of ties in with our current theme of flying: as in, I will never fly again and neither will Bird. We'll leave all of that to Andrew and his fellow pilots, and others who enjoy availing themselves of both private and commercial aviation.

(TBH I had forgotten all about Bird. I'm glad I was reminded, on this rainy almost-spring day, of his brief but beautiful existence.)

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I'll Fly Away :: March 2, 2015

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I have another bird story for you. More recent and just as poignant as the last. Knock on wood.

It all started on Friday when Erica dropped by for a short visit. As she was leaving, we noticed a bird flapping around near the ceiling of the garage.

It looks like a woodpecker, I said. Not your classic Woody look, but although I'm no stripe of an ornithologist -- I can barely spell that -- something about him spoke woodpecker to me.

And recently, we have heard the rapid drilling sound of woodpeckers in our neighborhood which is replete with thousands of the longleaf pines favored by the species.

(I even mentioned it to Dagny as we strolled outside one day: A woodpecker's loud activity sounded in the distance and I asked her if she heard it. Pre-verbal as Dagny may be, I believe she did.)

This happens from time to time: A bird flies into our two-car garage and, despite the single massive door being open, wide open, the outdoors beckoning only feet away, the bird cannot figure out how to escape.

They fly frantically from high shelves to a windowsill to the door opener, refusing to go down a few inches and out to freedom.

You can't talk reason into them either. Believe me; I have tried. They do not listen. Catching them is also out of the question. You can't get close enough to salt the tail.

A sweeter, braver bird you never saw

So it was that on Friday, after Erica left, I closed and opened the garage door a few times, hoping that Bird would pay attention, read the memo, and fly out.

He didn't.

Then I decided to open the back door to the garage, which pass-through leads to our pool area.

My thinking was, there will be a cross draft and he will sense that, and he will see that there is not one, but two routes of egress to his sky and his trees, his nest and his loved ones, food and water.

I got busy then, with supper and whatnot, and TG came home, and I don't know why -- because I routinely begin spinning yarns the moment I see TG at the end of the day -- but I did not mention Bird.

Later I noticed that both the garage door and the back entrance were closed. I opened the door from the kitchen into the garage and looked all around for Bird.

Not seeing him, I assumed he'd seen the light and resumed his normal avian lifestyle. Checked out with as little fuss as he'd checked in.

On Saturday morning I was home alone and in a different part of the house than the kitchen, when I heard a scratching noise coming from that direction.

He'd fallen on hard times

I knew it wasn't Javier because he was spending the weekend with Erica.

The noise was loud enough that I went looking for what might have been the source. I found nothing to explain it.

In the early afternoon Audrey and Dagny dropped by. Having opened the garage door using the outdoor keypad and entered the house through the kitchen, Audrey said: There's something out here that you need to see.

I trotted up there and what do you think I saw? Bird.

He had wedged himself into the corner of the threshold at the kitchen door, and had fluffed his lovely shining white-speckled black feathers all out and hidden his beautiful little red-tufted head in their depths.

Audrey thought he was being cute but she didn't know the story. I knew he was in trouble. Listing near to the scuppers, as it were.

I ran for my kitchen gloves and put them on my hands. I lifted Bird from the cold drafty threshold. He was still alive but he did not resist.

Out in the sunshine, Bird perched on my gloved fingers and became very alert. He seemed to enjoy the cool breeze in his feathers. I sent Audrey back inside for my camera.

Baptized with love and care

Dagny, secure in her mother's arms, was speechless the whole time. All eyes.

Speaking of eyes, Bird's were bright. He looked all around, like he truly cared.

A hope sprang up in me that Bird would be okay; that he would take a breather then recover, spread his wings and fly from the gloves, merge onto the sunshine road, find a fast food joint, have a meal, resume his Bird Life.

But he didn't. Eventually I set him down gently onto the driveway. Once there, he appeared disheveled, despondent, listless.

I picked him back up again. Don't judge. Do not judge me. I was doing the best I could. In college I studied not birds, but English and History. And that was a long time ago.

We toted Bird out by the pool where there is a pan of water that's kept fresh for Javier.

I put Bird on the edge of the pan so maybe he could drink, because surely he was dehydrated. He clung there, stiff and awkward, striving unsuccessfully to gain is bearings. Then he flopped off.

I picked him up again and my plan was to carry him out to the part of the yard beyond a low retaining wall, where there was foliage and maybe he would have the strength to eat an insect which I hoped would be available.

All good things must come to an end

But by the time I reached the wall and was looking for an appropriate spot to set Bird down, he expired.

He up and died! His feet curled like spidery fists and his eyes went dim and he was so still, I just knew.

I laid him out carefully on the retaining wall and although the sun shone bright on his still wings, it was cold.

Audrey and I talked about how we were glad to have been with Bird when he passed.

At least he wasn't alone, she said. Then: I have to put this kid down; my arms are breaking.

We all went inside. I got online and in no time had pegged the departed Bird as a red-cockaded woodpecker.

Later I fixed Bird up in a coffin lined with cotton. The black and silver box, which once held jewelry less pretty than Bird, had a hinged lid just like a real coffin.

I propped it open with a stick from one of the longleaf pines favored by the likes of Bird.

A coffin worthy of a splendid bird

I viewed him briefly, admiring all he'd once been, and paid my respects.

Then, using an old serving spoon from the kitchen drawer, I dug him a grave in the soft reddish earth just beyond the retaining wall.

The stick was removed, the coffin lid closed. I placed it just so in the grave, then spooned the dirt back over Bird.

Using two more pine sticks and some green duct tape, I fashioned him a clumsy cross and made a sign: Bird.

I marked his spot and if you are still reading I am going to confess to you, I mourned Bird's passing.

The late winter sunset flamed the sky by then, glowing with the urgency befitting something with so little time to exist before the final fade.

I took a picture of that as I turned to go inside.

Another February was dying.

The sky offered its own condolences

Later, a cold dismal rain fell on Bird's grave and I thought about that a lot, wishing things could have been different for Bird.

He was a good bird, a perfect and wonderful bird. I'm sorry he got trapped in our garage.

But: Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. (Matthew 10:29)

God knew. He cared about Bird, His own creation, even more than I ever could.

His is a perfect plan, for all of creation.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

Trip Wire :: Part the First

Okay with me

And we are back! (Actually we got home on Wednesday evening but it has taken me this long to get organized. Apologies.)

TG and I left Columbia on March the second at nine o'clock a.m. EST, bound for Enid, Oklahoma, by way of a one-night stop in Memphis, Tennessee.

(We gained an hour along the way, but we'd be obliged to give it back on the day we headed home.)

The purpose of our trip was to be present when the son and heir received his wings from the United States Air Force and officially became a pilot.

As we speak, he has continued with his studies and will be learning to fly a whole 'nother aircraft, which training he is due to complete sometime this summer.

Meanwhile we had the most wonderful time, I cannot even tell you.

But I will.

To begin with I must be a wee bit negative in that -- well, let's put it this way: the first day of the trip was so tedious that, that night when Andrew texted to check up on our whereabouts, I told him that it had been one of the most boring drives I had ever experienced.

Just wait until tomorrow, he responded.

It was the weekend we'd all been waiting for ... photo courtesy Brittany Weber

Haaaaahaha. He turned out to be one hundred percent correct.

To soothe our weary souls, we went to a nearby restaurant and had a delicious dinner followed by a good night's rest. The hotel breakfast the next morning was pleasant enough, served up by a young man who picked out the crispiest bacon for me and nestled it beside my scrambled eggs.

We were on our way by around ten o'clock, by which time I had grown a trifle more savvy.

As in, we ditched the Sirius XM and I hooked my phone up to the car's Bluetooth and played audio books and podcasts and an eclectic array of music from Spotify, and it helped to pass the time.

Bluetooth and audio materials notwithstanding, once we crossed the line into Oklahoma, although it was a beautiful warm day, it seemed an endless bleak journey until finally we reached the gates of Vance Air Force Base in Enid, at six o'clock in the evening.

Andrew was there to greet us and get us through said gate and onto the base (our REAL EYE DEES were successfully deployed), where he and Brittany and Ember live.

Talk about curb appeal

Earlier that afternoon, he and Brittany had attended an informal ceremony during which Andrew's buddies and classmates learned which aircraft they will be flying next.

(Andrew already knows he'll ultimately be piloting the KC-135 tanker for his unit in the Tennessee Air National Guard.)

As we drove up to their house, Ember and Rambo were traversing the lawn to clap eyes on us.

Ember was clutching her two wooden horses, which have their own barn but really live in her heart. Rambo, fresh from a trip to the groomer, sported a snazzy blue and white necktie.

Poor old Rambo is fourteen. Andrew acquired his beloved pet in 2011, and they have traveled many a mile together.

There is a cancer in Rambo's leg that is inoperable except for if they resorted to amputation, from which he would likely not be able to recover given his age.

Rambo may be up in years but he's still a handsome old dog

So he hops on three legs and limps using the bad one, and he also has two bad hips, and is extremely thin although he eats his kibble and still hankers for treats.

I had brought treats to add to his stash, and he pretty much begged me for them the whole time we were there. Seems to me there's a good bit of life left in him if he can do that.

(And we are glad because the thought of losing him looms over Andrew and it will be painful when the time comes.)

Their house is perfectly charming, not least because of the love with which Brittany decorates and cares for it.

We were made instantly comfortable and before we knew it, Andrew was cooking up hamburgers on the grill.

Along with those, we had a beautiful salad and baked beans and deviled eggs. It was all scrumptious.

When my dollybelle what's-her-face Ember wasn't reading, she was often lolling

Ember was intensely interested in seeing how many books she could get me to read to her. She is obsessed with being read to. I see that as a very good thing, so I was glad to oblige.

I have only brought you up to speed on the first two days, but it's all I have time for.

Part the Second will be along shortly.

And that is all for now except to say, don't forget to spring forward! Arrggh.

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Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend