Christmas Magic

Christmas found me.

I talked to my Mom on Christmas Eve. She said my previous blog broke her heart! She did like, however, my resolve to be happy. She told me that when you make the effort to try and be in good spirits, it usually happens! She was right.

Christmas Eve there were 4 of us in the crash pad. Val, Chris, Fran, and myself. We decided to have a Christmas Eve Feast!! I defrosted salmon fillets, Val made herbed roasted potatoes, Chris made crescent rolls and asparagus, and Fran brought wine and dessert. We lit candles, got lit ourselves on the wine, and had a wonderful, civilized dinner. Afterwards, Val took pictures of me ... um.... interacting with the air-filled phallus next door. Seriously..... that thing looks like a red rocket. It is supposed to be Sponge Bob jumping out of a Christmas present and wearing a Santa Hat. To me, because of the awkward angle, flesh-coloring, and red tip.... it looks like a penis. I call it the "Christmas Cock."

Is that lawn ornament happy to see me?

Anyway.....

I woke up early Christmas Day, letting Val (my FO for the trip) sleep while I took my shower, got pretty, made coffee, and ate breakfast to the Christmas Carols of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I even plugged in the Christmas tree........ briefly checking underneath to see if Santa had made a stop. What can I say, I will always believe. By the time Val woke up, I had switched the tv to "A Christmas Story." I felt the sting of tears, a pang of sadness, and longing for my family as Ralphie was opening his Red Ryder BB Gun, but I thought, "NO... I am not going to cry today. Today, I will be happy!"

Val and I had a lot of fun on our day trip. It was 4 legs. Cleveland - New York (LGA) - Manchester NH, New York, then back to Cleveland. It is routine for airports to broadcast their weather conditions and special notices on a frequency, then dedicate a special alphanumeric letter that you are supposed to tell Air Traffic Control when you check in, so that they know you have the most up-to-date information for that airport. Normally, these alphanumerics are Alpha, Bravo, Delta.... blah blah blah. Well, we decided to use Christmasy alphanumerics like "Grinch, Jingle, Noel, Santa, etc", in an effort to add a little fun and to make ATC laugh. It was kind of hit and miss with ATC, but it made us laugh!! During the welcome aboard announcement, I would introduce the flight attendant as "Mrs. Claus," or "Santa's little helper, sent to us straight from the North Pole." I was feeling especially bold by the go-home leg, and heard myself say, "She sees you when you're sleeping, she knows when you're awake. She has important safety information for you, so pay attention for goodness sake!"

In each case, I concluded with, "Merry Christmas to all.... and to all a good FLIGHT!" 

I even got applause on one occasion! I dare say..... we really had a lot of fun. Working with an awesome crew takes a great deal of sting out of being away on the holidays.

We borrowed this ornament from our Christmas Tree

Remember how I said in my previous entry, "All I want for Christmas is to be home"? Well, Val and I each experienced our own Christmas miracles. We each had to 2-leg it. Me through Washington DC Dulles, and her through Chicago O'Hare. Both of our flights were delayed, which was great news for us because it would have been next to impossible to make our commutes home. Both of our commutes were full, but due to some miracle, we each got seats in the back. Even though both of my flights were delayed (actually, my connecting flight in Dulles returned to the gate because of an anti-ice system problem, and I thought my world was ending), I dragged myself in the door to my house at 4:00am. I figured it was still Christmas in Hawaii (where I was born).


Long story short, I got what I wanted for Christmas!!!!! We both made it home.

Now it's New Year's Eve. Once again, I am in the Crash Pad. I have a day trip tomorrow. Although I wish I was at home (another first for me to be away on this holiday), I am not nearly as blue as I was a week ago. The snow is really coming down outside! I have my New Year's Hoppin' John (a kind of Cajun black-eyed peas and ham) on the stove, and a proscuitto-wrapped pork loin roasting in the oven - the one I was going to make for Christmas. The crash pad smells like Heaven. I have my wine next to me as I write this blog. Later, I plan on tuning in to New Year's Rockin' Eve, and although Dick Clark isn't with us anymore, I can't imagine New Year's without watching the ball drop. Roommates Meaghan and a really nice ExpressJet Captain whose name totally, inexcusably escapes me now (thank you California, for your wine) are my company tonight. I will force them to eat black-eyed peas and ham for the sake of their 2013, because the damn yankees have never heard of that tradition and I care about their futures! It's not the wild New Year's Eves from my youth, but it'll do.

So, here's to the end of 2012, and to whatever 2013 brings! Happy New Year's to all, and to all a speedy hangover recovery!!

Cheers.

Blue Christmas

It's December the 22nd. Most of us are still here today. While the Mayan calendar may have been wrong, the Gregorian calendar (the one we all currently use today) hit the nail on the head. Winter Storm Draco came and dumped a ton of snow across the Midwest and is still partying in the East as I write this. It's a dramatic "Welcome to Winter, Bitches!!" from mother nature. I am happy to not be flying today.

As one who suffers from seasonal sadness (I don't think the FAA will let me call it depression), I expected the blues to hit me sometime this winter. Usually, it waits until mid-January. However, since I was not able to make my pre-Christmas commute home, I found myself with 2 bonus days in the crash pad here in Cleveland. As the precip changed from rain to snow, the wind kicked up, the temperature dropped, and so did my spirits. There is no lonelier feeling than saying good-bye to your crew at the end of a trip, and heading for a place that is not your home.

Not that the crash pad is a bad place to be. I love my roommates! We laugh a lot. Yesterday, I busied myself by walking 3 miles in the snow, to the grocery store and back, for supplies. I started drinking wine and rum about 2 in the afternoon and watched the cooking channel with 2 of my roomies. I made baked ziti for those who wanted it, and watched the snow fly by the window. It was almost fun.

Today, I have the place to myself. I'm trying to busy myself by doing chores. I even shoveled the driveway. Partly because it was a nice thing to do for those few who have cars here, partly so I wouldn't pop another cork at 10:00am. I may go for a walk later. Or, I may just pop that cork.

I wrote to my dad yesterday, while in my drunk funk. I mentioned that I was disappointed in myself for being such a Grinch this year. I don't know what happened. I love Christmas. But, this year, I just can't wait for it to be over. I've been so busy with work and physical therapy for my injured shoulder, I haven't had time to shop for anyone. I am sick of the Christmas music that I love so much. I really don't want anything for Christmas but to be home. Poor Sweet Cheeks is sick and has no one to make him chicken soup and pump him full of drugs and hot toddies. And our darling sweet Clara Cat needs Mommy to pick up the ornaments she pulls down from our Christmas tree.

I told my father that I didn't think I would be so blue, that I am mad and disappointed in the way I am handling my Crash Pad Christmas. I am such a happy person! But I am still angry and sad that I have to be away. I know that spending the holidays away from home is part of my job. I know that I am lucky to be blessed with so much in this life, and I feel guilty about complaining and being sad. I know there are people out there who don't even have loved ones to miss on Christmas. I know that Christmas is a spirit, not a day, and that even if I can't get together with everyone until March, it will still be a celebration. I am thankful that I won't be alone on Christmas; my work family is still my family, and I'm lucky to fly with my roommate friend Val on Christmas Day. Neither of us can make our commutes home that night, so we'll be coming back to the pad for Christmas dinner (if I can pull it off, a prosciutto-wrapped roasted pork loin) and wine. There are no lectures anyone can give me that I haven't already given myself..... I just can't guilt myself out of my sadness.

When I woke up this morning, my father replied to my message:

"There have been times that I wished we were like bears and could hibernate through the holiday season. It can be frantic and maddening. It can be lonely and disappointing because what happens doesn't live up to what this season should be.... There are times, I believe, when we need to wallow in our grief and disappointments. We try to remind ourselves of how good we really have it, and that we should be grateful. We are, but we have to allow the sad to settle in for a little while.

And, you are right: you are a happy person! And, you make others around you smile, laugh and happy. I know: that's the effect you have on me. That's part of your charm and that soul that can feel shattered, but somehow mends itself."

When I read that, I put down my coffee, placed my head in my hands, and cried. It felt good.

I am so lucky to have such wise parents, who know the words I need to hear.

Tomorrow, I will return to work. I have a 2-day trip, followed by a day trip on Christmas. I will look for the Christmas spirit in the smiles on the faces of the people I'll bring together these next few days. I will find warmth in their reunions. I will tell children that I saw Santa streaking across the sky on Christmas Eve and hope their faces light up with wonder. I will be strong, charming, cheerful, and funny for those whose hearts are also aching for their families.

And when I finally get to my loved ones, I will hug them like there's no tomorrow! Just in case the Mayans were right after all. HA!

"Livin' the Dream," indeed.

Back in the saddle again

Has it really been over 2 months since my last blog entry? Time flies when you're .... um... flying.

When I broke my foot, I had just gotten comfortable being captain. By the time I was ready to come back, I had been gone longer than I had been in the left seat. Needless to say, as one who is admittedly afraid of everything, I was full of anxiety about my return. What if I don't remember to sign something? What if I don't catch an error from dispatch? What if we're on fire, lose pressurization, or some other unthinkable emergency, and I draw a total blank on the memory items? What if I suck at being captain?? What if the months of sitting on the couch all day, playing x-box, eating pizza, and killing a bottle of wine a night made me blow up like the Goodyear Blimp, and my boobs, butt, and belly overcome the futile resistance of the cheap fabric that composes our M&H uniforms and I have no choice but to show up naked and jiggly to an airport full of terrified passengers?!?!?

Plus, the longer I stayed home, the more I got used to being around Don and the cat (in my mind, my husband and child, lol), the more I dreaded the thought of being gone. And though I hate to admit it to my work friends who read this, and especially my parents...... despite the obscene amount of money I and the ones I love sank into my career, as hard as I've worked to get here, as proud of me as everyone who ever believed in me is of how far I've come...... I almost didn't come back. The thought of quitting my job and going into nursing school was really tempting. I could even get in for the Fall semester! I just. Didn't. Want. to be away from home any more.

But the thought of putting a needle or a catheter in someone is nauseating...... so, off to work I went.

Luckily, the first flight they had me do was a repo flight from Raleigh to Cleveland. No passengers, and they paired me with the most awesome, patient, super-sweet FO I could have hoped for. It was a great way to ease myself back into the swing of things. She was on reserve, like me, and hooked me up with a great crash pad in Cleveland.  After that flight, I felt a lot more confident that I was not a walking tragedy, and that yes.... I do belong in the air. Don't let our CEO know this, but I didn't realize how much I missed work until that flight. Dammit, flying is FUN!

I spent the rest of September and all of October on reserve. For those of you not in the airline industry, when you're on reserve, crew scheduling owns you for at least 12 hours a day. It begins from 0300 - 1500, and then is usually adjusted to suit their needs - most often so that your last day of being on reserve puts you dangerously close to missing the last flight home, or insures that you miss it altogether. Luckily, they used me almost every day, and more often than not, I knew what my schedule would hold at least a day ahead of time. Having a crash pad (a house shared by me and about 11 other airline folk, with a bed of my very own for a flat rate a month) is essential!! Val... I can't thank you enough!!!

As for the feet? Well..... the broken one doesn't hurt. Every now and then, it's a little achy, but most days I don't notice it at all (thanks, ice cream!!). The Neuroma foot still hurts quite a bit. The surgery site is still discolored and feels bruisy. The incision itches like mad sometimes. But the most pain comes from walking in shoes. The good news is, I no longer have electric shooting pain up the 3rd and 4th toes that make me shriek a blood-curdling scream when I set the parking break and scare the hell out of the FO, FA, and first 3 rows of passengers (which was common before my surgery). The bad news is, it feels like I'm stepping on a big rock with each step. Well, not even each step. Sometimes, inexplicably, it doesn't hurt when I walk. My podiatrist says this is due to scar tissue and it will go away eventually. He hasn't steered me wrong yet, so I have faith in him. When people ask how the foot is, I answer honestly - "good steps and bad steps."

In the meantime.... it doesn't hurt when I drink! I'm trying not to fall into the trap of drinking every night to kill the pain, like I did before. I long to return to my healthy lifestyle I had when I was running 4 - 5 days a week. But it just takes time. I truly believe I will get there again, I just don't know when. People tell me that it takes a great deal of time to overcome the trauma of what my foot went through - and looking at the picture of the hunk of meat my doc took out, I'll admit my foot was probably pretty traumatized.

So, luckily there is plenty of money in my uniform account to order bigger uniforms!! The Holiday Season is upon us, and there is plenty of Holiday Cheer to be had.

First round's on me!!

A Cut Above

It's been approximately one week since I had surgery to remove my Morton's neuroma. In the event that any of my handful of readers (or anyone who happens to stumble upon this writing) is blessed with Morton's (or any other neuroma, for that matter), I hope they consider my experience in their quest to find the way of dealing with it that suits them. There are many options. After several months of the conservative approach, I chose to cut the sucker out. Know what? I'm glad I did, and I wish I'd done it sooner. The following is my experience.

2 days prior to the surgery:

I go to the outpatient surgery center, which is the first floor in a building full of doctors and physical therapists. Check in, sign some forms. Head upstairs to my podiatrist's office (we'll call him Dr. K) to sign a consent form and receive a prescription. I read the consent form that lists all the horrible things that could happen to me, which I already know because of all the internet research I've done and wish I hadn't. Dr. K sees me in the lobby from behind the glass doors, and because he is so awesome, I am pleasantly surprised that he comes out to talk to me. I express my doubts that this is the right decision. "I would just feel a lot better if we could see the thing, before we cut my foot open and go spelunking," I say. Unfortunately, you can't see a neuroma with an x-ray or an MRI. However, Dr. K looks at me exactly the same way I look at passengers who tell me they are terrified of flying - that mixture of empathy and reassurance - and tells me it'll be obvious once he gets in there. He says, "don't worry about anything." Despite my confidence in this man's obvious competence and years of experience, the fact that it has been diagnosed by 3 different doctors, and the knowledge that I've tried everything else I could possibly try to no avail, I remain dubious.

The next day, it dawns on me that I am scared for the same reasons some people are afraid to fly: knowing that something could go terribly, horribly wrong, combined with not knowing enough about what is about to happen, and most importantly - not having control of my fate. I relax. A little.

The day of the surgery:

I report to the surgery center and am escorted into a little room where I exchange my civilian clothes in exchange for a sexy robe that opens in the back, a single bootie for the special foot (I'm still wearing the boot on my broken right foot), and a hair thingy. I look like one of the lunch ladies from my high school days. We make sure I'm not pregnant (skimped by another month, yay!), the nurse starts an IV in my hand, and Sweet Cheeks is allowed to come in and see me before the surgery. Dr. K comes by and asks which foot (at this point, the boot on the right foot is off, but I am still wearing my sock. It's a festive sock, with wine glasses and grapes all over it. I thought about writing "no cutting" on that foot, but decided the sock would suffice). He signs his initials on my left foot and says, "This is me. And this..." he makes a vertical slash on the top of my foot in between the 3rd and 4th toes, "is where it is." He again reassures me and disappears.

It's showtime!!

The anesthesiologist comes to get me on my little bed, and suddenly my hand and arm burn as we make our way down the hallway. "Owwwwww," I say. She apologizes and turns to Dr. K who has magically appeared and says, "tell him what you told me." I feel myself slipping away and I feel it's only a matter of time before I'm gone. In a voice I recognize as the one I use after about 4 glasses of wine at the bar, I say, "HEY!! If I wake up and discover that not only have you taken out the neuroma, but you've given me liposuction and a boob job too... I promise not to be mad!"
He laughs and says, "Well.... that might be the end of my career."
And I retort, "but it just might be the beginning of mine!! HAHAHA!!"

Thanks to the propofol they gave me for anesthesia, I don't remember anything after that. Evidently, Dr. K came by my recovery room after it was all said and done and we had a normal conversation, during which, he showed me a picture of the monster he took out of me and assured me there should be no more neuromas (It was 3 cm x 1.5 cm x 1.5 cm). I do remember looking at the bandage on my foot and seeing a wine glass - it totally made my day! I went home, Donnie made lunch, and we both took a 4 hour nap.


It didn't hurt very much the next few days, and they gave me a little walking bootie so at least I wasn't on crutches. I was mildly peeved that it didn't match the giant boot that I wear on the right foot (Don has nicknamed me "Bigfoot).

By day 3, I really missed the taste of wine and felt brave enough to ditch the pain pills so I could drink. I wasn't sure if I should be proud of my dedication to alcohol or ashamed of it. BIG MISTAKE!!! After the small buzz wore off, I tried to use my heel to assist with getting myself out of the bathtub and felt an explosion of pain. I panicked. I thought, Oh Jesus, WTF have I done? I'm going to be one of those horror stories! I'll never walk, much less run or FLY ever again! PLEASE HELP ME!! I know you're not supposed to use the F word when talking to our Lord, but I was scared. The rest of the week, I remained in a pain-pill-induced fog, on the couch with my feet up, and read books on my e-reader until Don was ready to fire up the x-box.

9 days after the surgery, I was scheduled to go back to Dr. K's office and have the bandage removed. I hadn't slept the night before. I was worried he was going to take the stitches out and I didn't want to scream. So I took another pain pill. Plus, Mother Nature was really super pissed at me for going yet another month without fulfilling my obligation to my species by procreating.  Needless to say, I felt like hell and probably looked even worse. However, the staff at Dr. K's office is always so friendly. They even gave me a souvenir coffee mug! They removed my bandage. Dr K came in, had me move my feet in ways that to my surprise didn't hurt at all, we shot the shit, and he said, "We'll see you next week to remove those stitches!"

So... to sum it up so far..... It has been 12 days since the surgery. I am completely off the pain meds (unless you count recreational purposes.. hahah, just kidding, kinda). I am walking around the house barefoot without much pain. There is some numbness between the 3rd and 4th toes. I will get stitches out in 2 days, and I am no longer terrified. There are a few weird sensations in there that I want to ask him about when I see him, but otherwise - WHY the hell did I wait so long???

Disclaimer - this is only one person's experience. If you are considering having this done, it is EXTREMELY important that you find a good doctor. Originally, Dr. K was a second opinion. I trusted my original doctor, but was blown away by Dr. K's professionalism, cool personality, competence, confidence without cockiness, experience, and dammit - I just got a general good vibe from the guy. If you happen to be in the mid-Missouri area and need a good foot doc, I can refer you to him. Email me at deliawilles@hotmail.com and I will send you his info. If you're still with me after reading this lengthy account, thanks for sticking around. I'll post an update in a few weeks.

Going for broke.

This post is not going to be about flying.

That's because I haven't flown since before my last post. Actually, I haven't flown since July 15, because I am a klutz. If you put me in a straightjacket and a padded room, I will figure out a way to accidentally knock myself out.

A few weeks ago, while I was recovering from some kind of black plague I inherited from one of my first officers, I was walking down my hallway to the bathroom to get another tissue and maybe some OTC drugs that NEVER seem to work. Does that shit work for anybody? Anyway, ever since I broke my right ankle, tibia, and fibia 10 years ago, that ankle has been weak. Any uneven ground at all, and it gives. I tumble, usually in uniform at the airport, and usually in front of a crowd of people. Anyway, the rug in the hallway had a small wrinkle in it, unnoticeable to a normal person, but lethal to my ankle. As I tried to regain my balance, I heard and felt a "POP!" somewhere in my foot. Oh GOD the pain....... I shouted the F word about 10 times, then shouted the S word until Donnie peeked his head around the corner. I said, "I'm ok. I'm ok."

But I wasn't ok. I waited a few hours just to be sure it wouldn't start feeling better on its own, then called my podiatrist's office. As luck would have it, they had room for me the next day. I still managed to carry the laundry up and down our stairs, because in my denial I thought I was still commuting to work the next day after my appointment. I drank a bottle of wine and toughed out the pain.

The x-ray clearly showed a break in the 5th metatarsal head of my right foot. I looked at my doctor, and had just enough time to think, "how long?" when he answered my unspoken question - "4 - 6 weeks. You probably can't drive with a giant boot on, can you?" I said, "Well.... when I broke my leg 10 years ago, I waited until my boyfriend was out of the house, jumped in my car, threw the leg into the passenger's seat, and drove away like a thief. But that was an automatic;  I'm driving a standard now." He said, "no.... I meant, 'drive the plane.'"

Oh.

"Well, I could use a vacation," I said. He said, "you know.... since you're not going to be working anyway.... you might consider having surgery on your left foot to remove that Neuroma." I took some time to think.... and he's right.

In fact, I've been thinking a lot. At first, I was so pissed at myself for breaking my foot. And in such a stupid way, too! What a LAME way to become lame. I've been trying to come up with a badass story of how I broke it when people ask. I twisted it putting it up the ass of someone who really deserved it! I am on the Jefferson City curling team, and one of my teammates accidentally dropped one of those stones on my foot during practice. I was rescuing a crippled dog from a burning building, when the ceiling caved in. We both barely got out with our lives.

Nope.... I tripped in my own hallway. Weak. At least when I broke my leg 10 years ago, I was doing something awesome. You know what they say.... if at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you! Although, I couldn't tell my parents that I was skydiving. They'd freak. My boyfriend at the time and I cooked up a story that I broke it falling off a ladder while hanging Christmas lights on the house. My folks never really bought it, and kept asking questions. Only after I had healed up well enough to run away, did I come out with the truth. I haven't seen them laugh so hard in a long time!

So, the surgery to remove my neuroma is tomorrow. What is a neuroma? It is a non-cancerous tumor that grows on a nerve. It's painful. It's the thing that's kept me from running after my race in March. I thought that giving it time off from running would help it. It's only gotten worse. Now, each step is an explosion of pain. Not all the time... it's always a surprise. But, since I broke the right foot, the left one is doing double-duty and it's complaining. I tried physical therapy, 3 cortisone injections, chiropractic care, different shoes, and a second opinion, but nothing worked. It's like it's laughing at me! I'll show it.... I'll remove the little bastard.

You know what the worst thing you can do is? NEVER google "Morton's neuroma surgery." I am haunted by bloody, terrifying images and horror stories of how people are worse off after the surgery than before it. So.... this is a gamble. But I don't know what else to do. The timing is perfect.... time to shit or get off the pot!

I hope I'm doing the right thing. I hope breaking my foot was a blessing in disguise. I know if I hadn't been forced to take time off, then I never would have scheduled the surgery. I am comforted that I tried the conservative approach before resorting to this. I feel so lucky to have Don here to take care of me! He's been so sweet and helpful with my one-legged, gimpified state. And... to tell you the truth.... I am thankful for this extra time at home with him and our cat.

I told Don to take a picture of me with both feet wrapped up in their respective boots so I can refer to it on cold mornings when I'd rather sleep than go for my morning run. I am not looking forward to these next few weeks. I have already gained back 20 lbs since I stopped running. I so desperately miss being fit, and the endorphins that swam around my head after a 10 mile run. I am essentially at square one again. I hate the feel of the fat that has returned to my legs hips, face, and belly! Already, my right calf has atrophied into a floppy version of its old self. I am really regretting giving all of my fat clothes to Goodwill. The skinny girl inside me is screaming to go for a run!!

Will this be the rock bottom for me? Is it all uphill from here? Please God, let it be so.

High mins? Heigh ho!

I am finally off of "high mins!" "High mins" refers to a recently upgraded captain, or a captain recently upgraded into new equipment. Every airline has rules for new captains, but I think ours is the only one that is retarded about it. I think it's an FAA regulation - for the first 100 hours of Captain experience, you must add 100 feet to the lowest published decision altitude or MDA and 1/2 mile to the lowest visibility requirement to be legal to shoot an approach and make a landing at an airport. In no case may I, as a high mins captain, descend below 300' with a visibility less than 1 statute mile. For the pilot-speak impaired, it means that in order for me to legally land at an airport with shitty weather, it has to be slightly less shitty than what I've been trained to do. Okay, nothing wrong with that. Every airline does that. However, the retarded part of it is that I have to fly EVERY LEG, execute every take off and every landing, for the first 100 hours of flight time. UGH. It wasn't so bad until I started getting 4-day trips with the same crew. I felt so bad for the first officers stuck with me who looked bored to tears. For the record, I never minded flying with a high mins guy, because no one loves the sound of her own voice - especially on the radio with a chance to flirt with ATC and maybe get shortcuts - more than I do, and it was like a 4-day vacation. But that's me. They were all understanding about not getting to fly, and thankfully patient with my excruciatingly slow pace at doing everything. When the opportunity presented itself, I bought the crew a round on the overnights or coffee the next morning as a thank you. I wish I could have done more, but so it goes.

Legend has it that when you are on High mins for the first time, weird crap that you've never seen before suddenly happens to you. After over 5 years in the right seat, I am pleased to say that I'd seen enough that only one thing happened to me that I'd never seen before outside of the simulator. That doesn't mean that the rest of my first 100 hours was event-free, however. Anyway, the weird thing that I've never seen before was the failure of the landing gear to come up normally when requested. I initially heard normal gear-up sounds followed by abnormal gear-up sounds - the a wob-wob-wob of the wheels continuing to turn after liftoff (which is not normal), and the noise of the gear being down in the wind. I had just enough time to say, "what the F***?" before I heard the triple-chime of the aural warning unit accompanied by a red message telling us there was a difference between the position of the landing gear switch and the position of the gear itself.

Crap. "I'll keep it below 200 knots, you run the checklist. Autopilot on, my radios," I barked, feeling like Capt Sully. The ho-hum ending to a would-be thrilling, heart-stopping, news-flashing, hero-making saga is that the problem went away after running the checklist. I wrote it up when we got to our destination and got a roll of the eyes from the maintenance man awaiting our arrival.

While on high-mins, I also got to experience an extended maintenance delay. I was flying with a first officer who was FRESH out of training. The ink had not yet dried on his temporary airman's certificate (issued to him after passing the checkride in our training program), and his epaulettes were still shiny and unblemished from the tears of disappointment and abuse so characteristic of regional airlines. The Flight Attendant had been putting up with jealousy crap from her boyfriend and passenger abuse, and at her wit's end stated to me, "ANYTHING else goes wrong, and I'm calling off!!" This combination in itself was a little tough, but manageable. On his walk-around, the FO noticed a screw needed tightening. So, I call up maintenance, and have them send a guy who could tighten a screw on the aircraft. Should be a non-issue, right?

WRONG. I get back to the plane after getting some coffee, and the gate agent is upset, saying it's a no-go item. I look at her like she's crazy, and say, "It's a screw. There are only 122 other screws in that fairing. I see maintenance out there now. How can it be a no-go item? We'll be ready to board in 5 minutes." Turns out, the screw was loose because there was nothing to tighten it against on the back end. It was, unfortunately, in a portion of the aircraft that Embraer considered crucial. What was troubling, is that our maintenance knew this, and during its last airworthiness inspection, they GLUED it down so it would look like it was tightened upon visual inspection - rather than take the aircraft out of service to fix it properly. After a few flights, of course the glue wore off and the screw was loose again. We waited an hour and a half for a call from the engineering department at Embraer to call our Maintenance personnel with their blessing to put some "speed tape" (AKA "Duct tape") over the errant screw. As luck would have it, they could. The blessing was, this delay allowed us some time as a crew to relax and joke around a bit. We boarded, and off we went to a better day.

Things happen in 3's, so the last adventure of my high mins tenure happened on a flight from Richmond, VA to Detroit, MI. It was a hot summer day, and a line of thunderstorms had developed around Detroit, blocking off the arrivals from the south. We were given a holding pattern, to expect further clearance in thirty minutes. I slow down to save gas. More often than not, when you're given a holding pattern, you barely even get into the hold when they're clearing you out of it. I look in the direction ahead and the weather honestly didn't look THAT BAD, so I told the FO to wait until we're in the pattern to contact our dispatch via the 2nd radio. We enter the pattern. FO is on the phone with dispatch. I ask if that EFC time is going to hold. They answer, "as a matter of fact, we were just about to extend it." I look at the fuel load - about 2,900 lbs remaining, and sigh. We're diverting, all right. Now, where do I want to go? We're over Ohio. I know Cleveland and Columbus can handle the Delta codeshare...... in the meantime, my FO has contacted dispatch - Fort Wayne (we call it, "Fort Fun" in much the same way you'd call a bouncer "Tiny") it is!!

We tell air traffic control that we're diverting to Fort Wayne, IN, and comply with their instructions. We're #3 of about 6 divertees. I notify the flight attendant we're diverting. She asks, "will you make the announcement?" I don't want to, but I think, "as a passenger, I want to hear it from the horse's ass.... I mean mouth." I sigh again and say, "yes." I click the PA button, tell the FO I'll be out of the loop, and pause. What the hell am I going to say? I decide on the truth. Without humor. I feel so stupid on the damned PA anyway. I make what I hope is a commanding, yet compassionate (after all, they have connections) announcement, and return to the business at hand. We land at Fort Wayne and are at the mercy of the ground crew. All we need is gas and new paperwork to get going. It takes an hour and 45 minutes. Their ground crew, while completely competent, is stressed to the max with not only people like us, but normal service as well. To my surprise, they have water for the passengers. Thank GOD, because we were out.

I had to laugh at the captain of the ExpressJet plane next to us. Every so often, he would leap out of the cockpit, stand expectantly on his air stair door, and walk to the terminal. A few minutes, later, he would walk back. Sometimes, he'd look at me and we'd both smile and wave. I was reminded of the days I spent in jazz band in high school and college. When we'd play off-campus gigs, the whole band was called upon to help build and tear down the set. Trouble is, after the music stands and microphone stands were packed, there wasn't much that I could help with, but I didn't want to be seen doing nothing! So, what I did was walk "with a purpose" quickly in one direction.... hide for a bit..... then walk in the same manner the other direction. That way it looked like I was still helping, when in fact, I was not. I don't know if that was what this other captain was doing or not.... but it sure as hell looked that way. It made me smile.

Anyway.

We get fueled finally, and still have to wait another 30 minutes at the end of the departure runway for spacing into Detroit. We also had to fly the scenic route - over GRAND RAPIDS before we could turn south for DTW. It was an adventure, and I had a headache by the end of the day. However, I was blessed with a stellar crew throughout the ordeal. The flight attendant kept the passengers entertained, the first officer kept after ops to get our fuel and paperwork, and I hounded dispatch and kept the passengers informed. We enjoyed a round at the hotel bar before crashing into our respective beds.

After 100 hours as Pilot in Command, I am feeling a lot more confident and capable. It is much less awkward when people (passengers, TSA, my friends) address me as "Captain," though at heart I really don't feel like I deserve it. I wonder if that will change. It's funny, as an FO, I had all kinds of confidence, bordering on arrogance. Why should moving a few inches to the left make a difference? I find that the left seat has made a difference in my attitude. Suddenly, "they don't pay me enough to deal with that shit" is not true anymore. I find that I care a lot more about the people in the back, which shames me a little. I find that even though I thought I was good at talking to people in the first place, I am more choosy with my words. There is a right and a wrong way to talk to people, and every person is different. I try to react to things with patience instead of anger. All I ask is that my crews and dispatchers have patience with me. It's going to take a while for me to get good at this. By then, I'll probably get a call from United!

Most importantly, every day I think about the advice I garnered out of every captain I flew with. I try to remember what I liked and didn't like about their style. So that it sticks, I silently recite what that instructor said to me on my last day of sim training, "Take care of your passengers. Take care of your crew. Take care of yourself - your medical. Take care of your airplane - don't bend any metal. If you do those 4 things, in that order, you'll have no problem.

Sounds like sound advice to me.

Sidelined

A 24-hour layover in the Big Apple!!! I should be out with the crew, running around Manhattan, trying new foods and drinks, watching people, seeing the sights, and trying not to get raped, mugged, or murdered after mistakenly taking a wrong turn.

What I am doing instead is working on my online resume, gathering references, and breaking down my flight time into excruciatingly precise categories between now and the first time I stepped into an airplane over 13 years ago.

I'd like to blame my discontent with my current employer. However, while it is true that the majority of our pilot group is angrier than a midget with a yo-yo, my motivation to work on airlineapps.com stems from the fact that I feel the need to do something productive and I can't do what I desperately want to do any more - Run.

Last year when I was building my mileage, I encountered shin splints. In fact, over the course of my love affair with running, I've dealt with injuries - plantar fasciitis, illiotibial band syndrome, shin splints, runner's knee..... I've had them all. A running store analyzed my gait and said, "you're a heel striker. Change your stride to more of a forefoot stride, and those problems will go away." I started with drills and eventually changed my stride. They were right - my problems went away! However, a new problem arose. I noticed that the balls of my feet felt like they were on fire after a few miles. "No problem," I thought. "My feet will get used to this new stride in time. After all, all the running forums and literature say this is a natural stride and those Kenyans who are natural athletes run BAREFOOT, for hundreds of miles, for Christ's sake!"

When I was training for the half marathon, I developed a problem in my left foot that had symptoms similar to Morton's Neuroma. It started off as an annoying numbness in the 3rd and 4th toes after about 3 miles, progressing to an electric, shooting pain with every step. When this showed up, I'd walk a few minutes, and I was able to resume running for about another 3 miles. My normal problem-solving strategy of "Ignore the problem and it will go away," didn't work in this case.

I went to a podiatrist. He did an MRI. Couldn't find a neuroma. He said, "that doesn't mean there's NOT one, it just means that if there is a neuroma, it's too small. Try ibuprofen."

Well, it feels pretty big to me. Incidentally, ibuprofen doesn't work. Lots and lots of alcohol is what works! I digress.

After the race, I took some time off. I dedicated myself into studying for captain upgrade. I didn't run a step. Know what? The problem only got worse! It got to where I couldn't walk without an explosion of shooting pain up my toes with every step. My podiatrist gave me a Cortisone shot, which made my foot "Comfortably numb" for a day. The next day? Pain was back, and it was PISSED! Now, he's recommending surgery to remove the nerve. AAAACK!!! No WAY do I want to do that! I'm afraid it might be my only option.

Mom suggested a chiropractor.

I was skeptical, but hopeful. I walked in, and Dr. Chiropractor Lady adjusted my back and made me pop in ways that hurt SO GOOD! She then took a percussive pen-shaped thingy and "adjusted" my foot. For the rest of that day..... no pain!

Such is the success of each visit, yet it always comes back. I'm told that because my foot was out of whack for so long, it will take multiple treatments. Before leaving for my 6 days of work, I went back to the Chiropractor (she was unavailable, I instead was treated by her husband, Dr. Chiropractor Man). He used his hands to adjust my foot and it "popped" in some way. It felt good at the time, but started screaming at me the moment I walked away. Why didn't I go back in and have him undo what he just did? I was running late for my commute to work, and hoped that if I ignored the problem, it would go away <wrong again>. By the time I got to the airport, every step was excruciating. I wondered if he broke something. I almost called in sick.

I will finish the recommended 10 visits with the greatest of hopes and insist on Dr. Lady as my sole foot adjuster. I will also begin the physical therapy recommended by my podiatrist. However, if the pain gets any worse, I might just take a hacksaw to the whole damned foot and instead get one of those springy prosthetic things you see amputees using to complete the Ironman.

I've put on most of the weight I lost this time last year. I can't run, I can't walk, I can't use the elliptical - and it makes me sad. I suppose I could get into biking - but I'm home about 2 nights a week if I'm lucky. I could try swimming, but I must first have the confidence to wear a swimsuit!  Honestly, I just lack motivation to do any cross training when I can't run and these are convenient, even if they are petty, excuses to not work out.

I'm hoping this is just a lesson that life needs me to learn. I'm hoping that this is just an experience I will remember when I'm finally able to run again, or even walk without pain, to use as motivation on those mornings when I am physically capable of, yet too lazy to run. I see my friends' postings on Facebook, using their fitness software, proudly announcing to the world how far or how long they've run. I feel the bittersweet emotions of simultaneously applauding and envying them, and I miss the days when I used to post the same things on my Facebook.. I miss the way people looked at me when I was drenched with sweat, wearing my dripping clothes like a badge of honor. I miss the endorphins and the feeling of accomplishment after a 10 mile run. I miss the scenery and peace of the long runs, and the achy exhaustion after tackling hills and speed drills. I miss having a butt you could bounce a quarter off of. Mostly, I miss the confidence running gave me.

I will get it back, somehow. Keep those quarters handy.

Back to finding those references for airlineapps.com.

Cleveland Rocks!

I haven't been at our company sanctioned Cleveland hotel in YEARS.

As an FO, I was based here in CLE after our company saw fit to close our sacred STL base. I made a fine home at the Crowne Plaza, and have many wonderful  memories there. I found a family there. I am currently in the process of being transferred there, because while a two hour drive to STL only to commute on Trans States to CLE to reserve is dismal, it is still a fabulous improvement over the 20 minute drive to Columbia, MO to 2 leg it through Memphis to Columbus, OH to sit reserve that I'm currently doing.

Anyway, as I've stated, I haven't been here at our CLE hotel in years. I do remember, however fuzzy, one of the most fun times of my life at this very hotel.

It was the Tuesday before the Thanksgiving Holiday, 2007. I was on a four-day trip with a fantastic crew. We fly to CLE, fly to JAX (Jacksonville, FL), and return to CLE. We were supposed to fly to Providence, RI, but never made it due to the extreme weather. I remember telling the passengers on the taxi out of the JAX airport, "wave bye-bye to Mr. Sunshine, folks.... not much of THAT where you're headed this evening." Sure enough, we get to Cleveland, and there is a blizzard!! We taxi up to the gate, there is a message from crew scheduling - we are canceled until further notice. We are to proceed to our Cleveland hotel and wait for further assignment - who knows when?

As we stroll through the airport on our way to the ground transportation area, we come upon our passengers - gathered around a gate agent as if it was a revival in southern Mississippi. Our flight attendant notices a 16 year old girl traveling alone - face all torn up in tears. "What's wrong?" she asks. The girl responds with, "I'm trying to get to Providence, RI. My flight's been canceled. I don't have any money. I don't know what to do!! I can't get a voucher because I'm a minor!" My flight attendant and I exchange glances, and she says, "We can't just leave her. Should I call my manager of inflight?" I say, "NO!!! Better to ask forgiveness than permission." We take the poor stranded passenger with us. We buy her dinner, she stays in the flight attendant's hotel room for the night. We buy her breakfast. She ends up making a flight home in time for Thanksgiving! It was a holiday miracle! We are still stuck at our Cleveland hotel for another night - with a hotel full of stranded Southwest crews and distressed passengers. A friendly smile and a wink is all it takes to earn a drink courtesy of Southwest Airlines. And the wine flowed like..... well..... wine.

It was a party I barely remember, but will never forget!!

I remember a packed bar full of our crews, Southwest crews, stranded passengers, and hotel staff. I remember having a BLAST, but little else.

God, I love this career.

I am reminded of that special week every time I come here to this special hotel. I can't wait for the stories to come, and the adventures that await!

Milwaukee hotel brews... I mean blues.

This bleeping hotel.

I just somehow magically found my way back to my Milwaukee hotel room, after roaming the halls for more than 20 minutes. I swear, the hotel we stay at here in MKE was designed by none other than David Bowie's character in Labyrinth. It's as if he tired of tormenting young adolescent girls in movies and moved on to tormenting innocent flight crews ambling back from the hotel's pub like the star of an early Tom Waits song. I must have wandered these halls in a circle at least 3 times, looking for the building that holds my humble room. My tried and true technique of hanging the "do not disturb" sign on my door to at least narrow my choices during an alcohol-induced state of confusion was of little use this time. It's a puzzle, and the 3 beers I had should have earned me some kind of handicap, like in bowling or golf.

Nope...... they just made me more handicapped.

Seriously. When I look outside my hotel room window, I see an adjacent building roughly 15 feet away that looks like a group of engineers got high together and thought, "DUUUUUUDE.......... let's put another F-ing building RIGHT THERE, MAN!! HAHA!! That would be totally GROOOOVY!!!! People could like, peep into each other's windows and stuff!" Kind of like when you're really schnockered and think you're the Dos Equis guy - the MOST interesting man in the world..... then when you sober up the next day you find out that you in fact were a total JACKASS. This hotel is a gumbo of afterthoughts, a village with its own zip code thrown together into one steaming pile of multicolored moldy fermentation and creaky floors. Every time I stay here, I see a different kind of mold on the ceiling or a different mystery stain creatively placed somewhere in the room. To be fair, I'm sure the rest of the hotel is excellent. Each one of the 5 buildings connected together via hallway is named - The Presidential, the Executive, The International..... I kept thinking...."Where's the GHETTO?!?" That's where the airline crews stay!

Please don't think I'm complaining. I am, in truth, having a freaking BLAST on this 4-day. AND.... my moldy hotel room at least has a fridge so I can store the rest of my grilled chicken. It's gonna be a total of 10 days on the road for me this time. Poor Sweet Cheeks and Clara the Cat won't remember me when I get home.

My FO comes from a background of corporate. He just made 2nd year pay, which is about a third of what he made at his corporate job. I felt guilty that my in-flight meal today was home-cooked chicken breast (grilled under a brick by yours truly) and spinach drizzled with garlic-infused olive oil and half an avocado. His in-flight meal was a few pieces of bread and some peanut butter with a tortilla chip chaser.

Day 1 of our 4-day had us arriving in Omaha, NE at around 10am, with nothing to do but entertain ourselves until 1600 the NEXT DAY. Oh.... AND there was another crew with the same layover. Needless to say, we went out. We had a Tex-Mex lunch (during happy hour!), went to a casino, and then went back to the hotel for dinner and a nightcap.

It was reminiscent of the "good ole days" in St. Louis. It wasn't like I was at work. It was like a few friends and I took a plane up to the Midwest to hang out and have fun.

THAT'S what this career is all about!!

Today, we spent the day fighting the gusty winds and building storms in Wisconsin. Our last flight of the day (leg 5) from Rhinelander to Milwaukee had us deviating a great deal East, hugging the coast line of Lake Michigan before we were clear of the storms. It made me long for my freight hauling days - instead of flying around the storm, I'd just pick the best spot and fly THROUGH the storm and hit the bar early!! I really miss those days sometimes. Who am I kidding, I miss those days ALL the time.

Oh.... this "high mins" crap is getting old. I don't know if every airline does this, or just mine, but for the first 100 hours of Captain Time for me, I have to fly EVERY leg, and execute EVERY takeoff and landing. I feel so sorry for my poor FO's who are reduced to radio jocks and gear swingers - BORED out of their MINDS. Although, I never minded when I flew with a high mins Capt when I was an FO, because it was like I didn't have to work at all - PLUS, I could flirt with ATC!!! Totaling up my time.... I only have about 75 more hours before I'm off high mins!

Anyway. Time to find some baseball on the tube (Preferably the Cardinals, but I'll watch any team). I've run into a couple of people lately who've asked me how I like being captain. I always answer truthfully, "I love it!" It's like a whole new job. At last, I get to make the calls I want without worrying about carefully watching my words. I don't have to remember how every captain likes certain little things. I get to control the mood of the plane - which is jovial, or at least sarcastic and witty. I finally get to control the things I hated about flying with guys I didn't like, as well as do and say the things that the guys I loved flying with did. Does that make sense? Even though the commute, the schedule, the same complaints that come with working for a regional airline - they are all legitimate and ever-present, I have a renewed sense of gratitude that I am in this profession. I wouldn't trade it for anything!

Yep, I'm in charge now.

All tests passed, training is complete! I am now officially "Captain Willes!" Or "Cap'n D?" Or "Captain Squeaks?" Or "Capt. Squeaky D?"

Or maybe just the Bitch in charge! We'll see what my crews really call me after a 4-day.

The last blog update was written during a very stressful time. I don't remember the last time I was that miserable. It was probably during my initial training. Looking back and comparing the two, I will say that while the initial training was more emotionally taxing, Upgrade was more unpleasant and painful than a simultaneous root canal, hysterectomy, colonoscopy, appendectomy, and surprise amputation of a body part of the surgeon's choosing. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl during upgrade, and I thought it would never be over. I have a new respect for those unfortunate folks who are just above me on the seniority list who went through Upgrade years ago, only to be downgraded to FO a few months later, and then upgraded again. They went through the process TWICE! I'd rather have my toenails removed with a putty knife. Granted, a lot of this stress I placed upon myself because of how much it meant to me to be given this opportunity. It wasn't just about the much-needed raise in pay. It was a new certificate (ATP) and a type rating - just the possession of which opens doors that were closed to me as an FO with just my commercial pilot's certificate. It's another step up the career ladder; one step closer to my version of success. In short, it was kind of a big deal.

Since I was simply making a transition from the right seat of the EMB-145 to the left seat, I was given the "short course." That means a week and a half of ground school, 4 simulator sessions, an oral exam, and a check ride. Followed by 25 hours of IOE (Initial Operating Experience) and a Fed ride (a revenue flight with a check airman acting as my copilot and the FAA in the jumpseat). The whole process started on April the 2nd, and ended with the Fed ride on May the 10th.

The first simulator session was a disaster. Everyone said it would be, but I didn't really believe it would be that bad. I expected my hands to be confused; I didn't expect my eyes to be lost, too. Think about it: my hands have been trained to make certain motions when my mind commands them for the over 5 years I sat in the right seat. All of a sudden, they have opposite duties. Which is bad in itself, but add to that the fact that now I can't freaking FIND ANYTHING with my eyeballs. The screens are in the wrong place. Even stupid stuff like the autopilot and flight director buttons were difficult to find. I found myself glancing at the FO's displays just to set the altitude. What's worse is that I was so paralyzed by the fear of that stupid simulator, I was wound up too tight to do any thinking at all. Couple that with continued self abuse of my mind screaming, "Delia, WTF is wrong with you?? You fly!! This is what we DO! Why are you losing 200 feet in the steep turn, you moron?!?" I walked out of that box holding back tears and frustration because I felt that I didn't belong in ANY airplane, much less a jet that carries 50 trusting people. I thought I'd slipped through the cracks. I thought about quitting and going back to school to do something else.

Then I had some wine. I called my friends, vented on facebook, and wrote to my mom, and prayed. We had the next day off, so I spent the day in my room in front of my cockpit poster, chair flying and slowly going through everything mentally from the setup check to the shutdown check. It took hours.

It worked.

I got progressively better each day. I was able to finally relax in the sim. It's easier to control the thing when you're not shaking! When it came time for the check ride, I walked the long walk to the sim telling myself, "You've got this. You've already earned your ATP and type rating. You just need to step into that box and get them." The check ride itself was a piece of cake. Well, except for the stalls, which were pretty ugly. There was a tense moment after my completion of the stalls when I listened for the beeping of the simulator bridge to lower. When I didn't hear that, I knew I was home free. I kept my head about me, slowing down, doing things in a deliberate manner, planning what comes next. I finished the ride with the most beautiful visual approach to a no-flap landing I've ever done. Of course, upon landing, the entire plane caught fire (not my fault!!!), and I had to execute an emergency evacutaion. I performed the memory items and shut down the plane. There was a beat or two. I turned around to face the examiner and he said, "Congratulations Delia. You passed!"

I exited the simulator in the slow motion manner of a cheesy film. I swear I could hear Freddy Mercury singing, "Weeeeee are the champ-ions....... my fri-end...." Randy (my sim partner and upgrade partner through it all) was coming down the long walkway towards me. I gave him a thumbs up and a huge smile. He hugged me and said, "Congratulations, Captain Willes!" I responded with "Congratulations to you, Captain Crider!!" It was the best day of my life.

The last day of sim is called "LOFT." It's supposed to stand for "Line Oriented Flight Training," and is supposed to be a flight from point A to point B with just a small malfunction. Yeah, a real snoozefest! We had an instructor who knew we had already had 5 years of that already, so he let us play with the airplane a bit. Short field takeoffs, dead-stick landings, that sort of thing. It was a lot of fun, and I felt it was really beneficial, too. At the conclusion, I asked him if he had any advice for us, since he'd spent 30+ years as a captain for Ozark, TWA, and American. He said, "Four things. Take care of your passengers, take care of your crew, take care of yourself, take care of your airplane. In that order. You will never have any trouble if you do those four things."

As for IOE, I had the benefit of flying with 3 seperate check airmen during my experience and learned a lot from each one. I finished up my training with a gal who was sharp as a tack and didn't take crap from anybody! Everyone who has flown with her just loves her. She is a really good teacher and constantly had me thinking with her "what if" questions. She knows the rules, the takes care of her crews, she sticks to her guns. Everything about her exudes confidence.  In short, she's exactly the kind of captain I want to be.

Fed ride day. My Fed ride was also another potential check airman's Fed ride. This means that while I'm going for Captain, my acting first officer is a captain going for Check Airman cert. The FAA observes him as much as he observes me, and in the end gives him the FAA's blessing to go forth and teach. So, it was a big day for both of us! It was a revenue flight from Indianapolis to Chicago. A dear friend of mine, Adam, had just passed his Check Airman ride and knew he was bringing the plane for our ride. He was kind enough to leave the MEL book open so I wouldn't have to stumble around to find the deferred maintenance item. Plus, he gave me a hug and left me a good luck note to "kick ass!" It really meant a lot to me. The flight itself was nothing significant. The weather was perfect. I was nervous, but did ok. The FAA examiner was very cool. He was from Louisiana, how could he not be cool?

When it was over, I hugged the flight attendant, high-fived the newly certified Check Airman, texted Sweet Cheeks, and called my parents. I didn't stop smiling the rest of the day.

Now, I'm on reserve at my new home away from home in Columbus, OH. It appears that Scheduling doesn't need me today, but I already have a trip assigned for tomorrow for a round trip from Columbus to Boston. I'm excited about my job for the first time in years! I spend half my time not believing this has really happened, and the other half praying I don't f**k up! I don't think you're supposed to use the F word when you talk to God; looks like confession time for me again!!

I want to thank each and every one of the people I emailed, called, texted, complained to, cried with, and otherwise leaned on who really believed in me when I didn't believe in myself - especially my Mom and Dad.

Thank you for your continued support and for always being in my corner. I am so happy that now I can go on to reading things for the simple joy of reading that have nothing to do with airplanes!!!

I think I'll start with the Pilot Reserve section of our contract.

Report from training

12 days into Upgrade training, and my mind feels like it's going to explode. I have become intimately familiar with the Airplane Operator's Manual, the company's General Ops Manual, and the airplane's Pilot's Operating Handbook. I can tell you that with as much as I know about the airplane now (which still isn't a lot. It seems like the more I study, the more questions I have), I have NO IDEA how I passed the initial oral exam as a First Officer because back then, I didn't know SQUAT.

During my studies, there are occasions when the light bulb comes on. For example, I have discovered only 2 days ago that the precooler and the primary heat exchanger are not the same thing. Plus, who knew the hydraulic system had a manifold? These things were huge discoveries for me!! Years of memorizing the rote answers to questions in the study guide have finally led to a basic understanding of aircraft systems, yet there are a lot of things I still don't understand. No amount of reading the manuals is going to help, either. I was trying to explain the problem to my friend and only upgrade classmate (yep, that's right. We are a mighty upgrade class of 2) what the problem is. My mind works differently from the dudes who wrote the book. My understanding of words like "solenoid," "manifold," "torque tube," etc. are boxes from crudely drawn schematics. I understand that fluid travels from one box labeled "reservoir," through tubes into a box labeled "manifold," and into somewhere else where it actuates a cylinder-looking thingy labeled "torque tube," which does the thing that we are requesting. I've never actually seen these things, because I'm doing more interesting stuff like drinking wine, cooking, and socializing, while the boys are in the yard drinking beer and trying to take apart and rebuild the lawnmower. It's not my intent to sound sexist, it's just the truth. Yes, I know there are exceptions, and I know several awesome super-hero chicks who are exceptions. Sadly, I am not one of them.

So when the book uses these words to describe the aircraft systems, my mind is only able to generate an abstract understanding of the system they are trying to describe. By the same token, I have no problem understanding the rules and regulations governing pilots. The performance data is a piece of cake, and I'm textbook perfect with the callouts and flying profiles.  I guess everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. Let's hope my weaknesses are strong enough to pass and keep myself and everyone else safe.

So far, my classmate (Randy) and I have been through 2 weeks of ground school. Well, 1 week and 2 days of ground school in Indy. The instructors have been top-notch and I have learned a lot. Everyone I've talked to said to go in to Upgrade training ready to take the oral exam, because you won't learn anything. This isn't true. I think that due to our small class size, Randy and I were able to tailor the class to fit our needs, and we both came out of class much more knowledgeable than we went in. It could not have been a more positive experience and I feel extremely lucky that things turned out the way they did!

However, I do have a complaint. In the company's haste to get by God get a class going NOW, they left the scheduling to someone else who didn't do their job. Surprise, surprise. They had us scheduled to do doors and windows training in Louisville on Wednesday the 11th, but neglected to line up an instructor for that date. So, we were rescheduled to do Doors on Friday the 13th, but they also had us scheduled to take our oral exams on Friday the 13 in St. Louis at the same time. Then they decided that it was impossible for us to be in 2 cities at the same time, so they rescheduled the oral again for Monday the 16th. Turns out, the check airmen are all busy, so we've been rescheduled again for next weekend. Of course, no one thought about communicating these new schedules to us until a day or so before the events. I feel like Columbo trying to track down the right people just to get our freaking schedules solidified. As if studying for the damn thing wasn't stressful enough! I think we've been issued the final draft. Oral exam for me will be on Sunday the 22nd, with the Check ride on Monday the 23rd, followed by 2 days off, and a LOFT on the 26th.

I can't wait for all this to be over, so I can read far more interesting stuff that has nothing to do with airplanes and begin bitching about commuting to sit reserve in Columbus!

Back to the books.

Here Comes the Sun - or - my big weekend

Beatles fans know that song to be one of George Harrison's contributions to the world's greatest album known to man - Abbey Road - second in Harrison's awesomeness only to "Something," which, lucky for us, is on the same album. Okay, some of you will argue that it is not the world's greatest album, but you have to admit that it certainly is in the top 10. Anyhow, the story behind that song according to George (also mentioned in Clapton's autobiography), is that the year in which it was written was pretty stressful and wrought with frustrations for George - namely getting arrested for marijuana possession, having his tonsils removed, and temporarily quitting the Beatles. So one day, he decides to scrap all his responsibilities and head out to his good friend Eric Clapton's house. It was such a beautiful day, and it felt so good to be free from responsibility that day, that he walked around Clapton's garden playing one of EC's acoustic guitars, where he ended up writing "Here Comes the Sun." A classic is born.
 
I can remember hearing that song on the am radio - years ago while flying freight - after popping out the other side of a rain shower into the sunny, clear day. I was struck by not only the timing of the song but its message of hope and better things to come. Usually, I heard songs like Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire." I couldn't help but laugh at my morbid interpretation of the lyrics as I was shooting an approach into Kansas City, hearing Cash sing, "I fell in to a burnin' ring of fire... I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher...."

I heard "Here Comes the Sun" again just before Don and I left the house bound for Little Rock during my vacation. That extended weekend turned into a trifecta of Spectacular. First, we went to the Jimmy Buffett concert on March 1st - which always officially ends Winter and begins Spring. The weather in Arkansas was unseasonably warm - in the 80's, and the sun felt so good on my skin. Even on the drive along the winding highway, I could feel my winter funk melting away. There was just something so great about the warmth and listening to Radio Margaritaville. As a born and raised Parrotthead, I know every song Buffett ever wrote or performed. The acoustics at the concert stunk, or maybe it was our seats, but it was still great to watch Jimmy perform. There's a guy who truly loves what he does! He has so much fun at his job, you can't help but smile when you see or hear him play.

A few days to recover led me to the real reason for heading to Little Rock - the half marathon! I'll tell ya.... that half marathon training is what kept me from falling completely off the diet/exercise wagon. I tend to get the winter blues. Although this winter wasn't nearly as bad as last, the blues still came. First comes the desire to drink a lot more. Then, the comfort eating starts. Finally, the lack of motivation to do anything physical sets in. And STAYS. For about 3 months. If not for my obligation to the race, I probably would have become a complete slob, and undone everything I worked so hard for physically all summer.

Race day came March 4th, and I was nervous and excited! The Little Rock marathon/half marathon/10K was sold out at 12,000 runners!! I was in the back of the pack. I think the Kenyans in the front actually finished the marathon before I even made it to the starting line. I waved to my little group of cheerleaders (Dad, his friend Kelli, her daughter Sarah, and My Sweet Cheeks) just before I stepped across the mat that activates the timing device attached to my shoe. Off we go!! The first mile went by in a flash, and I thought, "Hell, this is going to be EASY!"

About mile 3, I came across a band playing "Jambalaya." I give them the rocker sign and keep on running. I passed the 5 hour marathon pace group. The streets are lined with people cheering, banging cowbells, holding signs for their favorite runner (usually someone's mom or dad). Somewhere along the way, I pass the 4:50 marathon pace group. Boy, I'm really hauling ass!! Open the box of raisins I had brought along and eat a handful of them to keep up my energy. Give a raisin-y smile to a photographer who probably thought - "That chick is chewing tobacco during her race?? Well, this is Arkansas!!"

I made sure to high-five every child who held his or her hand out to the runners. I stopped at every water stop and one porta-potty. I gave a fist-pump or a rocker symbol to every live band along the way. I thanked every volunteer. Every time I saw a photographer, I ran extra hard and put on a mean face so they could get a good picture, hoping it didn't make me look constipated. I couldn't believe how many people lined the streets of the course to cheer on the runners. I marveled at their ability to maintain their enthusiasm for hours. I thought, "well crap, they're working harder than I am!"

Mom later asked me if there was a time I wanted to quit. That time came around mile 7. I looked at my GPS watch and thought to myself, "Mile 7?!? That's ALL?!!? F@#K!!!! This was a mistake. I'm never going to make it. Oh my God, there's another hill!" Just then, I came across another band, playing a song I've never heard. I do, however, remember the lyrics they were singing, "She puts the 'HO' in 'Jose Cuervo..." That little laugh and another handful of raisins gave me the strength to keep going. About mile 10, my feet no longer felt like feet, but instead bloody, beaten, toe-less stumps being ground against the pavement. I thought, "just 3 more miles.... come on, 3 miles is just a warmup run! Come on... step step step.... breathe breathe breathe. You can do it!!!"

A lone trumpeter played a jazzy version of "When the Saints Go Marching In." I was sure it was Gabriel playing to alert St. Peter of my arrival at the Pearly Gates. I was so thankful instead to see the sign directing the marathon folks one way, and the half-marathon folks another. I laughed and waved goodbye to the 26.2 milers, "See ya!!! If you need me, I'll be downing ice cream and beer. Have fun with that extra 13 miles."

Mile 12.8 - I saw the finish line. I heard the crowd. I saw the giant clock and heard spectators shout, "keep going! You're almost there!!" For a second, my eyes went blurry, my throat closed, my breath caught, and I got incredibly emotional. I'm really going to do this!!!! I then thought, "I'll get emotional later. Now I need to breathe!" I picked up the pace and could no longer feel my legs or bloody toe-less stumps posing as feet." I crossed the finish line in 2 hours and 20 minutes - 10 minutes faster than my goal!

It was an experience like no other. The volunteers wrapped me in mylar and handed me my finisher's medal as they directed me to the bananas and crackers. I walked around in a daze trying to comprehend what I had just done. As I did my stretches I thought, "That wasn't so hard. I can even do better! Oh, how I want to do another one!!"

So.... Buffett and half-marathon. On to the third "spec" in our trifecta of spectacular.

The night before the race, my dad and his friend Kelli took Don and me out to an Italian restaurant to "Carb load." That's where runners eat a bunch of carbs to give their bodies the energy to run a good race. I don't know much about the science, but I'm always looking for an excuse to eat pasta. I turn off my phone for 2 hours. 2 hours! That's it. When I turned it back on again, my world changed! I see texts from several people - "congrats, Captain Willes!!"

WHAT?!?!? It's not even April Fool's!

Yep, the bid award was finally published. Yours truly was awarded the very last captain slot. I'm the plug. I'm the runt. I'm the absolutely most junior person to get the award. Call me whatever you want, but BY GOD, CALL ME "CAPTAIN!!!"

Today, I spoke with Crew Planning, and my class date is April 2nd. That's not set in stone; they were waiting to hear from a few guys who may or may not take the April 16th class. Given my history with this company, I won't celebrate until I am actually on the line, captaining an aircraft. But it gives me hope. I am humbled and touched by how many people have congratulated me and wished me good luck. I hope I don't let you down. There is a lot to study. No doubt, this will be difficult, but I know I can do it.

My winter blues are gone. I'm back on the diet/exercise wagon, giving running a break (hoping my black toenails on the right foot will heal and that weird shooting-pain sensation will stop in the toes of my left foot). I'm deep into my first week of P90X. We have sprung forward and can look forward to flowers, sunshine, and baseball. I feel like there may be an end to what seemed like nothing but perpetual spinning my wheels regarding my career. At least I have a shot at it, anyway.

"Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces. Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here."

I know this was a long blog entry. Thank you to the ones who made it this far. You're my cheerleaders - always there when it feels like I've come so far, I'm running out of gas, and I still have so far to run. Without my friends and family, there is no way I could make it through the marathon of life.

I hope the sun shines for all of you this Springtime.

Drinkin' Wine, spo dee oh dee, drinkin' wine

This will be my first tipsy blog. As long as it takes me to write these damn things, this very well might turn into my first drunken blog. You've been warned. HAHA!

"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here!" That is a quote from Dante's Inferno. I am going to print it out the next time I go to the simulator and place it on the simulator door.

I had my annual Proficiency Check a few days ago, abbreviated in the pilot world as "PC." A PC is simply a flight and knowledge test that pilots have to endure in order to remain employed. Here, it's a yearly event for First Officers (copilots), and every 6 months for Captains (well.... the test is every year, but they must do time in the sim every 6 months). Honestly, it's a really good idea, because you'd be surprised how much stuff a person can forget in a year's time if they don't use it. Stuff like the company mandated emergency procedures and callouts, for example. What sucks about it, however, is that it's a jeopardy event - meaning that if I screw up, I could potentially be out of a job. OR, if I "unsat" any items that need to be trained to proficiency in order to keep my job here at Chautauqua Airlines, I must then attempt to explain why I screwed up the missed approach with an engine failure to a potential employer from a REAL airline who may or may not be sympathetic.

I studied for a few weeks, going into the PC feeling like I was ready for the Captain upgrade. However, after a few questions, I realized that I could not build them an airplane like I thought I could, and my confidence was a little shaken.

Hang on......

All right, I'm back. I needed to refill my wine glass. Aaaaannnndd.... the cat was in the kitchen (not the cradle. haha). So, I needed to sing a few bars to her. Today, it was O SOLO GATO...... (instead of O solo mio). Sweet Clara the Cat gets serenaded every time we're both in the kitchen. I'm Italian, so she's Italian by association. Italians are silly.... I digress.... back to my checkride......




We moved from the briefing room to the simulator. The sim is ice cold and smells of sweat, fear, failure, and dreams that have been raped and shat upon. My sim partner goes first and I am simultaneously joyed and dismayed that I have to go last. I make a fine "checklist bitch" and we get through his checkride with no problems at all, but I am worn out. After a short break, it is my turn to be baptized by fire. Specifically, a #2 engine fire. I manage to make it through the checkride with a satisfactory performance, yet I am humbled and angry that I didn't perform as well as I know I could have.

But.... I'm good for another YEAR!!! YEAH BABY!!

I just spent 2 hours playing the piano after YEARS of letting dust collect on it. As my current Facebook status says, " Poor Beethoven will come haunt me in my dreams, Billy Joel will probably sue for property damage, and the cat probably won't come out of hiding until late evening. My right wrist hurts, but my soul feels good! I need to get my piano chops polished up again."

I remember a time, when I was a music major, before I ever THOUGHT about being a pilot....... when the piano was my best friend. I used to break into the music building in college after security closed it, wheel the piano out into the hallway for better acoustics, and hammer away Beethoven sonatas and Rachmaninoff pieces, mixed in with a little Billy Joel. There was no better therapy. The piano got me through uncertainty, heartbreaks, and the stress of not knowing what the future had in store. My soul always felt cleansed and pure after playing the piano. When my fiance dumped me, I used to place his picture on the piano and play until the keys were soaked with tears. Like a friend holding me as I cried, the piano never let me down.

Where the F did THAT memory come from?!?!? Stupid wine, haha!


When I was a tot, having temper tantrums because I hated to practice the piano, Mom used to say, "someday you'll thank me for making you play the piano." She was right!!

Anyhow. There is another captain bid out. Also, we've announced that our Grand Rapids and Milwaukee bases are closing. I swear, this company opens and closes bases like Lady Gaga opens and closes her legs. I can say in all honesty - I am at peace with whatever the results of this bid are. If I upgrade, I will lose my vacation (it's just our company's way) - which I have coming the last week of Feb and the first week of March. The half-marathon I've been training so hard for these past few months is on March 4, and I will be SUPER PISSED if I have to miss it.  But, if they call and want me in class, you'd better believe I will be shit-flippin', flyin' F##K happy to be in class!! After my PC, I was looking forward to reading things that don't concern airplanes at all.

So.... whatever fate has in store, BRING IT!! I have my piano, my Sweet Cheeks, my cat, and my WINE.

Cheers!!

Same frustrations, different day.

Well, the sunshine and roses of my last post didn't last long! haha!

I've at last come to terms with my career's most recent disappointment. We had a bid out for 70+ captain vacancies recently. I'll spare my non-airline friends the details, but the gist of it is this - once again, I didn't make the list.

Oh, but this time I swore I wasn't going to get my hopes up. Not like last time, a year ago, when I just knew I was going to get it. I was studying hard and asking my captain's opinions on everything, putting myself in his place and thinking proactively. When I didn't get that one, I was like the Tasmanian devil in my hotel room, cursing and throwing crap everywhere like a 2-year old. Or, the time before that - 4 years ago - when I actually had a captain class and our crew planning guy called me 3 days prior all apologetic, "Hey... um, I see you haven't been notified. See, we forgot to ask someone ahead of you on the seniority list if they wanted in the class and of course they do. But don't worry, we'll put you in the next one!!" Then the economy went down the crapper, we furloughed and downgraded. I was like a kicked puppy then. I guess the rosy side to that one is that I would have been downgraded a few months later anyway if I had actually made it through upgrade.

Nope, this time I wasn't going to get my hopes up. Then I heard a rumor prior to the final award that I had received a captain spot. A few days later, I heard that was no longer the case. The official memo came out and - Not my time again. I should have known.

Ugh. How many times does Charlie Brown have to fall on his ass before he tells Lucy to go F*** herself with that damned football??

I'm studying for my annual Proficiency Check that's scheduled for Feb 6th. For you non-airline people, that means I have to go through a lengthy test that consists of an oral exam over systems and regulations, followed by a few hours in the simulator training for every possible emergency. These PCs are a good idea, because you'd be surprised how much you can forget in a year! I'm an anxious test-taker as it is, but "the box" is especially hard for me to confront because my initial sim experience was so traumatic.

It was 5 years ago, and I had never flown anything bigger than a light twin engine aircraft when I got this job. I'd never flown with an autopilot, and you can forget all that fufu pretty glass-cockpit crap. I came from flying freight into every kind of weather you can imagine in a ratty Cessna held together with happy thoughts and duct tape. I could fly the hell out of that plane, sing while I did it, and flirt with every Air Traffic Controller in the Midwest!

When it came time to begin simulator training for my initial here at this job, the first thing my sim instructor did when he met me was ask me if I was a screamer.
"I'm sorry?"
"You know.... do you scream and yell during the lesson?  I hate screamers," he said with a wink, trying to be charming. He had broccoli in his teeth and his breath smelled like a troll had taken a shit and died in his mouth. While I ignored the obvious innuendo, he assured me he wasn't a screaming instructor. However, as soon as he turned the sim on, he commenced the screaming. I sat there and took it while flying like it was my first time ever behind the controls of anything because I was so overwhelmed by everything. My sim partner flew like he was sprung from the loins of Chuck Yeager and born in the tail cone of the plane, but he'd sit there and argue with the instructor. Finally, on day 3 when all of our peers were about a full lesson ahead of us in their training, it all came to a head. We were on fire, had just secured an engine, and were running through the single-engine landing checklist when sim partner and instructor got in a pissing match about setting the speeds.

Suddenly, the instructor shouted at the top of his lungs, "PUT THE F***ING LANDING GEAR DOWN!! I'M ENDING THE LESSON, AND YOU TWO ARE GOING TO GET A NEW INSTRUCTOR! YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO MAKE IT AT THIS AIRLINE, MUCH LESS IN THIS BUSINESS!!!!"

He stopped the sim, stormed off, and I saw my career swirling down a giant toilet, taking with it every dollar I had borrowed or been given to pursue it.

We eventually got a new instructor who started us off at square one and somehow between the 3 of us, we managed to get both my partner and myself through the checkride. It was really the hardest thing I had ever done.

Remembering that I fought so hard and went through so much to get where I am now helps to quiet the voice that tells me to quit, to give up, to go back to school for yet another career change. My more positive friends assure me that just the sheer mathematics of attrition at our company equal an upgrade in the near future. Aside from that, the mathematics of the geezers finally retiring from the big airlines is supposed to create a "pilot shortage." I've heard these statements so many times over the last 5 years that I find it hard to believe in the Hope and Good Times Ahead they promise. There are bad times everywhere, and if you meditate on every one of them, it'll make you bitter and hopeless. Perhaps that's why so many pilots are alcoholics? People say, "don't give up. It's gonna happen."

Isn't that what the Cubs' fans say every year? Haha!!

A good friend of mine (and I am blessed with so many good friends) said that perhaps life is waiting for you to be content with what you have before it offers you something else. I can see that. I feel guilty for wanting so much. I promise I don't take for granted that I am in fact doing something I love for a (very small) living, that I work with the best people in the world, have parents who love me and are proud of me, and come home to such a happy life with Don and the cat. Truth be told, I would have been disappointed if I was awarded a captain class that made me scrub the plans to run my very first Half Marathon (which I've spent the last 2 months training for!) and the Jimmy Buffett concert just prior to that.

So, maybe it's not time to slit my career's wrists with the crash axe and punch out. I just wanted some grain of hope that life will improve, that my career will progress, that I can stop living paycheck to paycheck. Someday, it will. In the meantime, I'll enjoy getting the prime pick of the best uncommutable 4-day trips that Cleveland has to offer. Which is kind of like getting to pick the best turd in the catbox for your crap sandwich. Oooh!! That one has some string in it from when kitty tore up the Christmas presents!! I will enjoy pushing my body to new limits as I continue to train for my Half-Marathon. I will find the hottest coconut bra and grass skirt to wear to Buffett's concert and be happy, continuing life as I've known it these past 5 years.

And, I will always look forward to the next time I pop through an overcast layer on a snowy day to feel the welcome sunshine on my skin. Keep a-goin', friends.