Construction tape

It's one of those nights when I'm washing down my birth control pill by drinking directly from the wine bottle. But, only because I'm out of water, and I don't trust the water out of the tap in my hotel room!

I'm in Cancun tonight on a routine layover doing the job that I'm still pinching myself to check whether I'm dreaming that I got. It's been nearly a year and a half since my last post, and my life has changed in so many significant ways!! For one thing, I am insanely happy. The short version of the story is: I'm more settled and confident in my career AND in myself. I know who I am, and who I cannot be - and I am comfortable with both of those things. But of utmost importance..... I have hit the lottery..... I have found a love that is genuine, unselfish, exhilarating, rewarding, incredibly satisfying.... name a positive adjective - it's that. I didn't believe this kind of thing existed. I've fallen in love with my best friend (no... not Amy.... my best GUY friend), and holy shit - he loves me just as much!!!

But it has been a tough road. Last January after my separation, I hit rock bottom emotionally. Then, I went lower. I have been through so many tears, so much guilt, dealing with my feelings of utter failure and inadequacy...... and I've tried to hide it from everyone. Don (Sweet Cheeks) was, and still is, a good, wonderful man, and I feel that I failed him in many ways. But, I've come to realize that marriage is a two way street, and the responsibility of its failure falls equally on both of our shoulders. We are just so different. Our divorce would have been so much easier if he was a womanizing, emotionally abusive, hateful, vengeful bastard like the man who preceded him. It would have been easy to be the good person in a bad relationship. It would have been easy to separate. But he is so kind. So gentle. My divorce was one of the most painful experiences I've ever had, because neither of us was the bad guy.

I will always love him, but we are two completely different souls; we're nearly polar opposites. We've tried a friendship, but as of yet, the wounds of our broken marriage are too painful for us to maintain anything but a "happy birthday" text here and there. I pray daily for his good health, and for him to finally find happiness. Sometimes, I'll hear a song or utter a phrase that he loved to sing or say, and for a moment I feel the pain of our split, accompanied by guilt and a host of other soul-cutting emotions. It lasts a few beats, and then I move on.

This is why I've been so silent on the blogosphere. I couldn't possibly put into words how much I was hurting (nor would I want to burden my readers with it).

But now? I'm grinning from ear to ear. My life has come together, at last. Love, career, fulfillment..... I feel so blessed.

My job takes me to the most wonderful places. Some, not so wonderful, yet still exotic and interesting. I'm senior enough to hold a line now (I have a schedule where I can see where I'm going a month in advance!) I can even trade trips with other pilots if I don't like where I'm going. Bill and I fly together TONS, and it's wonderful flying with your honey. He lets me fly a bunch!

I've just bought my 4th Harley. I now have a touring bike, a softail all-purpose bike, a badass-tear-up-the-roads bike, and a collector's item. All of these in the last 15 months. I know.... I'm certifiably INSANE. I *might* be through buying bikes for a while...... but you never know....

I've moved out of my apartment and into my sweetie's house. He not only shares my passion for riding, but is responsible for it! I bought my first bike from him, and I have never looked back! Bill and I are two peas in a pod - but I'm pretty sure that I'm the weirder of the two.

The Cliff's notes since my last post?
* I flew to Italy in March, rented a Harley, and spent a week touring the Italian countryside by myself.
* I rented a bike (twice) in Ecuador, and played in the mountains, where some things went wrong, and some things went right. I lived.
* I got divorced
* I fell in love
* I moved from my apartment to Bill's place and enjoy more love than I deserve to have
* My mom had a heart attack, triple bypass, and showed us both how precious life is (she's doing GREAT now, by the way!) Even more than before, she has become a shining example of strength, perseverance, hope, love, second chances, and GRABBING LIFE BY THE BALLS!!!
* I got a tattoo!!!

I'll write about some of the more positive things that have happened in the last year and a half, but for now, I wanted to get back online.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring? I just wanted to check in on the blogspot and let you know that while my soul was under construction for a while, I never gave up. I'm back and stronger than ever.

Be well, friends and family. It's good to be back.

Seasons: a bittersweet update

It's been over a year since my last post, and my life has changed in many ways. When I last posted, I was in complete euphoria over leaving my previous job and moving forward with my dream job. I can tell you that my current gig is better than I ever thought it would be. I'm flying the 737, and seeing places I've never seen. Sometimes, I even have to look at a map to see just where the hell I'm flying next! If 7th grade geography was this fun, I wouldn't have failed it! At my previous shop, I'd fly with all these young 'uns.... and I'd never felt older. Now, I'm flying with all these old fellas (totally my crowd, if you know me), and I've never felt younger. Seriously, career-wise, I feel so lucky to be where I am.

On a personal level, things haven't been as peachy. Since so much has changed in my life over the last year, my husband and I have grown apart. A lot has changed for him, too, and not much of it is positive. We decided to separate a few weeks ago. We are still friends, and still care for each other very much, but we're better off living separately. It's very sad, and there is a lot of pain to work through for both of us. Honestly, it would be easier if we didn't still care for one another.

The Universe has seen to it that I don't put off dealing with my emotions. I've been sick with an awful 1-2-3 punch of bronchitis, sinusitis, and a middle ear infection since we separated. I haven't had the energy to do anything but lay in bed or on the sofa, sorting through my emotions and what it means to be separated after 11 years, especially after going through so much together. All of my usual outlets and distractions - playing the piano, riding motorcycles, talking and hanging out with friends, going to the gym, hell - even drinking - have been unavailable because it takes an incredible amount of effort just to move my limbs. I've been forced to lay there alone night and day, thinking about this new phase - with only my thoughts, guilt, insecurities, and personal demons to keep me company (well, maybe some classic movies on TCM and all the South Park reruns I can stand.... without these distractions, I'd truly have gone insane this week). It's as if the powers that be forced me to sit in the corner, telling me, "now you sit right here, young lady, and think about what you've done!!"

It has been a very dark time for me.

But, I'm working through it. I'm crawling out of it. Things will get better; they always do. I know there is still so much out there that I want to experience and explore. I am so richly blessed with love and support from my friends and family. I finally have the financial means and career stability to do things that I've always dreamed of doing. My mother, as well as one of my best friends, both reminded me that "to everything, there is a season."

The end of one brings the beginning of another. Here's to the upcoming Spring.

The end of an era.

Well, that's it then. Three days ago, I flew my last Embraer 175 for Republic Airlines. I'd had almost 9 years to fantasize how my last day would go.

We have this atrocious boarding "music" that the flight attendants are forced to play for the people as they get on the plane. Some overzealous flight attendants even play it as we deplane at our destination - hopefully with the assumption that the people will leave more quickly to get away from it. I even learned to play it on the ukulele so I could torture my crews with it between flights. For my last day, I thought it would be hilarious if I had my own boarding music cd, comprised solely of songs from singers and musicians who'd been killed in plane crashes - and see how many people got the joke! Go ahead and think for a minute. I'll be you can come up with a good list!

However, as my last day drew nearer, I grew ever more superstitious. I chickened out. It seemed like I'd be tempting fate if I went through with that musical stunt (not to mention, a bit unprofessional) - and the joke would then be on me!

My last day was supposed to be a simple day trip, consisting of an early morning flight from Kansas City to Philadelphia, sit in the food court for 3 hours, and fly back to KC. I was looking forward to that trip because I knew one of the flight attendants and the first officer very well, and it would be a great trip to end my career at Republic. As I drove from my house to the airport in the wee hours, I thought of my time here at Republic. I grew a little sentimental, thinking about all of the fantastic people with whom I'd had the pleasure to work, and all of the fun times and shenanigans that bring a smile each time I think of them. I knew that by the end of the day, I was going to be embarrassingly emotional.

Any sentimentality I felt on the drive to work was completely wiped away when I looked at the flight status board and saw that my flight to Philadelphia had been canceled.

Ordinarily, I'd have been irritated. After all, I live 3 hours away from the KC airport, and had to leave the house at 2:30am to make it on time, only for my trip to cancel. No, this time I just shook my head, and laughed. Luckily, crew scheduling had something else in mind for me - a short flight to Chicago, then deadhead (sit in the back as a passenger) back to KC. Done.

I didn't know any of the crew on this last flight, but I've never truly met a stranger. The weather between KC and Chi-town was perfect, the flight smooth. As I approached the runway for landing, I thought this landing is going to be perfect. The passengers won't even know we've arrived. I eased the power off and flared the aircraft just above the ground with my cool, veteran, expert hands. Back, back, back, with the control column.... oh no. Too far back.

BANG - BANG, as the main wheels assaulted the runway.... followed by SLAM, as the nose wheel hit. "F--K ME!" I exclaimed, as the first officer tried unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter. "Take that, Chicago!" See what happens when you get cocky?

I slept on the flight back to Kansas City, and hugged a few people on the way to the crew room, where I was to turn in my company issued items. I opened the door to the crew room and saw Karen, a manager type whose official title I don't really know, but I've always called her the "Princess of Pretty Planes." We go back to my very first days at the company and she's always been a sweet friend. Anyway, Karen was taking down the Halloween decorations. I saw her and sang in my best Johnny Paycheck imitation, "Take this job and shove it...." She chimed in with, "I ain't workin' here no more..." 

I turned my items in to her while she checked them all. She gave me a big hug, wished me luck, and I felt the stab of 'goodbye' as I went out the door. I climbed the stairs to the airport terminal and waited for the tears to come.

They didn't. In fact, with every step, the only emotions I felt were.... joy! Relief! Excitement! A grin started at one corner of my mouth, and crept its way across my face as the weight of the world came off of my shoulders. I was almost laughing. I strutted out of that airport like a three-balled tomcat!! I crooned the song "Feelin' Good" on the drive home. Good God, it was the BEST feeling!!

I cannot believe how much support, love, and well-wishes I have received from my friends, family, and coworkers. Hundreds of you have wished me the best and recalled memories of our time together at Republic. The cards, gifts, and messages have all been so touching. I honestly had no idea that I was so loved! Leaving is bittersweet. I am so lucky to have worked with the best in the business.

My next update will be from class at United!! To say that I'm excited about it is the understatement of my career. I keep wondering when I will wake up. If this is a dream, please let me sleep!

Reaching for the Brass Ring.

 Comfy? Good, because this is going to be a long post.

I'm writing this blog post just a few weeks before I actually post it. Although I'll tell the truth when asked to put to rest any rumors that have made the rounds at work, I haven't advertised my news on social media just yet. I'll post this blog after I make it "Facebook official," since nothing is official until it's on Facebook! Once more, it's been over a year since my last post. I'd love to blame writer's block, or even a lack of anything blog worthy. Truth is, life has put a lot of blog-worthy material my way this year. I've just been lazy. However, recently I've achieved a goal that I've been working so very hard to obtain for quite a long time. This blog and all 5 of my readers (if you're still there?) need to know!

I started flying when I was in my first senior year in college 16 years ago, when I thought I wanted to be a high school band director. Henderson State's Music Education program is a 5 year program. Or, at least it was for me. I'm sure I talked about why I changed careers in a previous blog post, but here's a recap. Flying was not in my family, except for my Uncle Jerry, who was a helicopter pilot in the Vietnam War. I didn't grow up living, eating, and breathing anything that took to the sky. While I loved being a passenger and there was always a mild interest in flying, I didn't really give a thought that it was something I could do.

No, I started flying because I was trying to bang one of my music professors who had his private pilot's license, and I was pretty sure he hung the moon. He took me flying in one of our university's airplanes, passed me the controls to let me see how each one moved the airplane, and said, "Delia, you can learn how to do this. I'll put you in touch with an instructor. Hell, I'll even help you study!" He had a passion for flying, and I had a passion for him! So, slave to my lust, combined with an interest in learning something that not everyone else does, I learned how to fly. My evil scheme worked - he helped me study, all right. I even moved in with him. I know what you're thinking, but I still studied for those high grades! We were happy for a few years. Being the talk of the music department was simultaneously embarrassing and exciting.

I stayed in love with flying long after my relationship with the professor went cold. Life is funny, eh? After completing the music degree, I went right back to school the following semester to pursue an aviation degree. I practically had tenure by the time I finally left Henderson State!

I did everything I could to build flight time. I earned my instructor certificates. I was told by my superiors at the flight school where I was teaching, "get 50 hours of multi-engine time, and we'll let you teach in the twin." I bought 50 hours of multi time. They said, "Sorry. Now you need 100 hours of multi to teach our multi-engine students." I told them to piss up a rope (in the most eloquent, professional way, of course), and went to teach freelance at an airport an hour away from where I lived. I stayed busy as a freelance instructor, and the quality of student was much better. Teaching older people who had always wanted to learn to fly and could now afford it was much more rewarding than being no-showed by hungover 18 year olds whose priorities put getting drunk and getting laid ahead of getting to their 8 am flight lesson (fine priorities, but they didn't do me as much good as they did said students). Unfortunately, I still couldn't build that coveted multi-engine time that all of the regional airlines wanted. I joked that I was so multi-hungry, I should stand at the airport holding a sign offering "favors" for multi time. Well, half-joked. All of my peers seemed well-connected and were getting jobs, and I was still stuck at home with 50 hours of multi-engine time.

I got desperate. Not desperate enough to sacrifice what little virtue I had left for flight time, but close. I applied for a job flying cargo. I moved to St. Louis, lived in an aircraft hangar with some of the coolest people I've ever met, and flew Cessna 210's and Beechcraft Barons, single pilot with no automation, in some of the crappiest weather the Midwest could throw at me, during all hours of the night. I managed to survive this for 2 years! It was the MOST FUN, most educational, and most terrifying flying I've ever done!! I decided I was getting too old to fly through the weather, and it was high time I flew over the weather. I finally had that coveted multi-engine time, so resumes went out.

Chautauqua/Republic Airlines called. I spent 5 and a half years as a First Officer before I could upgrade to Captain. If you've read my blogs, you know the rest. These last several years, I've been going to job fairs and talking to airline recruiters. I've been updating my applications on a regular basis. I've done volunteer work for the American Red Cross and Women in Aviation, Intl. I've kept a clean record, and networked my charming, happy ass off. I have ZERO check ride or training failures. After 10,000 flight hours and a world of "Keep updating, but we don't need you at this time," from every door I tried - not to mention a few outright rejection letters - I finally received an email from United Airlines.

United. My first choice. My dream job! I scheduled my interview for late in the month when I had a block of days off. The interview was to consist of a flight simulator portion, during which you have to prove that you can fly their company profiles in the Boeing 737 with no automation at all, and an HR panel of interview questions. I dropped a wad of $$$ on interview prep seminars and a flight simulator prep course. I had my suit tailored. I practiced interview questions with my FO's, and talked in front of mirrors to see if I did anything goofy. I wanted to make sure that I did everything under the sun to prepare for this!

I arrived in Denver, where the interview was to take place, a day ahead of my simulator prep course. The balcony from my hotel room gave me a fine view of the United training center. I took it as a good omen. My friend, Rod, whom I've known since day 1 at Chautauqua and now flies the 737 for United, flew in and gave me a tour of the training center. Every room he took me through fueled my excitement to work there! We sat in the downright palatial break room after our tour, and he said to me, "Welcome home, Squeak." I had to blink away tears. That brass ring was so close, I could almost feel it in my hands.

The sim prep course was the best investment I've ever made. My instructor was fantastic! I knew I'd love the guy when he showed up to our lesson wearing a Hawaiian shirt. He knew exactly when to make me laugh, when to give me encouragement, and when to put his foot in my ass. He would yell at me, "Watch your altitude!! Don't forget about your airspeed! Now your heading is off-course! What the hell are you doing?!?" After the prep course, he sat me down and gave me some pointers for the interview itself, which helped immensely!

Interview day. Let me tell you this: if you ever interview with United, it will be a positive experience. Everyone there - even the security guard - made me feel welcome. Everyone was so positive, and they immediately put me at ease. I felt like I belonged there. They allowed me to relax, think, and to be myself. I thought, "win or lose, this has been a dream come true."

I won't say much about the interview itself, except this - I knocked the sim out of the park!! I flew the HELL out of that sucker! Given my horrible flying performance the night before during my sim prep session, I thought the thing was broken, or maybe the guy in the other seat was helping me! I wasn't perfect, but I surprised even myself!

As to the HR panel of questions, I knew it was either going really well or really poorly when we started talking about ukuleles and bagpipes.

A week later, my phone rang. It was the head of recruiting, congratulating me and welcoming me to United. He said, "The job is yours, if you want it." My husband was sitting next to me on the couch when I got the call. I barely squeaked out "YES!" Tears streamed down my face, and I nearly crushed my poor husband's hand, without realizing what I was doing. After I hung up the phone, I screamed triumphantly and scared the hell out of the cat. I told my parents and a few close friends. Finally! Finally, everything that I've been working so hard to achieve.... finally, it's here. I did it!

This was in late August. Do you know how hard it's been to keep quiet about something so monumental?!?

They originally told me to sit tight, and expect a call in November for a class in December. However, it looks like Christmas is coming early for me! November 10 is when training begins! I don't know which aircraft I will get to fly; I've been told it'll either be the Airbus 320 or the Boeing 737. I honestly don't care. I'll fly the frigging GOODYEAR BLIMP for them if they want me to do so!!

I've had people tell me throughout my career, "Oh. You're a woman. Airlines have quotas to fill. You'll get hired before anyone else." If this was ever true in the past, I don't believe it's true now. Let me tell ya, having ovaries has done nothing to help me get hired anywhere! If having ladybits was going to help, it would have helped me 5,000 hours and 2 jobs ago. I got hired because I worked very hard. It was like a second job trying to get this job. I had several internal recommendations, and yes - an element of luck.

People who helped me: You know who you are. I could not have made this step without you. I've always hated asking anyone for anything, even though I'd give my soul and bottom dollar to help someone achieve their goals. Thank you for all of your help! I cannot wait to pay this forward! I want everyone I love to know what it is to achieve that thing, that one goal that has kept them going when all hope seems lost. Please don't give up. It will happen for you, and please let me know what I can do to help you make it happen!!

Oh, and if by some small chance you're reading this, Dr. Etienne, thank you for changing my life. You were the catalyst and single most influential person I've met. No matter how many times I end up on your shit-list - and I'm pretty sure I'm on it as of this writing since you won't return my calls, texts, emails, smoke signals, etc - I'll always love you for putting me on this path. I truly hope you are well and happy.

My new life begins soon, and I couldn't be more excited!!

Magic Carpet Ride

I do apologize about the length of time between posts. I just couldn't come up with anything blog worthy after my previous entry. Eight months of not almost dying in Boston, while absolutely welcome, makes for pretty dull writing. Consequently, this blog post won't be nearly as exciting, but I've found myself with a bit of time this morning, and I've exhausted my internet forums and facebook. So let's see if I can get some of the cobwebs out of my writing muscle.

News for my non-airline friends: I have since changed aircraft from the EMB 145 to the ERJ 170/175. What that means to the layperson is that while I am still working for the same regional airline, I am flying a plane that is a little bit bigger than the one before it. Also, its engines are mounted just under the wings, AND it has winglets (those flippy things at the end of the wingtips, for the aviation-speak-impaired).... which makes it totally sexy. Also, most people can stand straight up as they board and find their way to their seats. In the previous airplane, people taller than 5' were forced into an uncomfortable "C" position as they shuffled to the back. Not a problem for yours truly!

So. Let's not talk about almost dying in Boston. Let's talk about life. Let's talk about something absolutely meaningless that means a lot to me.

 I've always dreamed of owning a convertible. When I was a teenager, I was very much into the 50's and 60's music - and pretty much everything about that era fascinated me. Honestly, I think I was born in the wrong time. I wanted a 1964 and 1/2 mustang convertible for as long as I can remember. To me, nothing embodied the American spirit as much as that car!

Fast forward to the early 2000's, when I was a flight instructor. One day, I decided to visit a dealership in North Little Rock. I'd driven by and ogled the mustangs for a while, but only now did I have the courage to drive my old Saturn in and ask to test drive one of their mustangs - particularly the red one with the top already pulled back. I had gussied myself up in my sharpest Wal-Mart attire in an attempt to fool the salesman and make myself look rich.

This mustang was fire-engine red. It was a GT convertible, and it was new! The salesman was in his 40's, with a goatee and a flirty manner - absolutely my specialty! I sat down in the driver's seat and felt like I was home. I breathed in the new car smell and ran my finger across the Mustang emblem on the steering wheel.  I didn't notice he'd left me until he plopped down into the passenger seat and handed me the key.

I fired it up. I pressed the gas pedal and smiled as the engine purred a little louder. We pealed outta that lot like we had just robbed a liquor store! Before I knew it, my right hand had found the oldies station just in time to hear the opening guitar licks of "Magic Carpet Ride," by Steppenwolf. I opened up the gas on a relatively empty stretch of highway (got up to a whopping 60 mph!!). The salesman and I did a little headbang as we sang the lyrics to "Magic Carpet Ride." The top was down, the sun was in our faces, and the wind in our hair made it feel like we were the only people on the planet. All too soon, we were back at the dealership, laughing like we were just wasting another summer day.

I knew I wasn't going to buy that car, and I felt a twinge of guilt when I handed the key back to the salesman and tried to make my way back to my Saturn. Somehow, I found myself inside his office, getting my credit checked. Not too much later, there was good news and bad news. The good news - my credit was excellent! Bad news - there wasn't that much of a history. Worse news - somehow the manager came around, and we got to talking about how much money I actually brought home.

The manager was furious. I stood my ground, looked him straight in the eye, and said matter of factly, "I'm a flight instructor. I made $500 last month!" It was a good month; that's more than I'd ever brought home before!

"Then your monthly payment would be your ENTIRE PAYCHECK!!" he exclaimed. "GET THE HELL OFF OF MY LOT!!"

I left there without a mustang, but I had stolen a memory to be savored and fodder for my dreams.

Years went by. Often, I dreamed about what it would feel like like to own that car - a summer's day, blasting music, waving to all the truckers, headed to an airline job I loved - only to wake up disappointed that I was stuck in the same place, with the same job and the same paycheck, living with the same man and in the same toxic relationship. My dream got me through the hardest times as a starving flight instructor when it seemed like I was never going to further my career. I could have purchased one when I left flight instruction and became a freight dawg, but I knew that before the loan ran its course, I'd take a pretty hefty paycut if I wanted to be an airline pilot. So, I continued to drive it only in my dreams.

A year after I upgraded to captain at my current airline gig, my dreams came true when I bought a 2011 Mustang GT convertible. It is Kona Blue, with a gray racing stripe down the center. Why yes, it does have a V8, 5.0 L "Coyote" engine, with over 400 horses at my command. I love the way how, when I step a little too aggressively on the gas pedal, the tires chirp, the seat belt tightens, and my back is pressed into the seat - almost like I'm being caressed. The engine begins with a roar and only gets louder, and I can feel the front end of the car lift ever so slightly as the rear tires dig in to the pavement and all of the engine instrument needles make their way clockwise. The technology in the sound system tries in vain to compensate for the noise by increasing the volume of the radio as the car accelerates. However, it's no match for the true music of that glorious engine!

Dear God!! Is anyone else horny?!?

As awesome as the car is with the top up, pulling the top down takes that awesome to an infinite power. Every song on the radio just sounds better. The problems of the day blow away when I'm barreling down the interstate, wind blown and bathed in sunlight. The currents of the warm air remind me of floating in the ocean. After a while, I notice my face hurts because I've been smiling for so long. Sometimes, I even forget to breathe. Let's face it, I'm no beauty queen. However, when that top is back, I suddenly get honks and waves, which are returned with a big smile. It is absolutely impossible to be in a pissy mood when I'm driving my mustang "topless!"

Sadly, I know that with the official arrival of Autumn, my topless days will become sparse until the top is up for good this winter. The trees are already changing, and baseball is giving way to football as the nation's pastime. The days are getting shorter, and my sun-sweetened home grown tomatoes are looking smaller and sadder. "Pumpkin Spice" is everywhere, and my friends are all excited about cooler weather. Because I tend to get those seasonal blues in the winter time, I feel like I'm hanging on to each day of summer the way I used to hang on to my father's leg when I was a child, crying and begging him not to go to work.

But today is "go-home day" (my Friday, for those not in the airline biz). The high in Kansas City is supposed to be in the low 80's - perfect "top-down" weather. Yes, I used to dream about how wonderful life would be when I could drive my mustang convertible to a job I loved, and I was right. It is wonderful. But I was wrong, too. The BEST part of life is driving that mustang convertible home.

I'm coming home topless, Sweet Cheeks!

Max Pucker Factor

It has been a long time since I have been extremely nervous in an airplane. I don't think "scared" quite describes the feeling. There wasn't time to feel scared. 

The day was scheduled to be a simple enough day. Just Cleveland to Boston, sit for 3 and a half hours, then fly back to Cleveland. After being reassigned the previous night, my crew and I woke up still grumbling about the injustices inflicted upon us. Due to a number of circumstances, fair or not, I spent the previous night in the crash pad after unsuccessfully arguing with crew scheduling on behalf of my crew to get hotel rooms in our crew base. My crew was forced to pay out of their own pockets for their hotel rooms; I felt like I'd failed them - I felt that a better captain would have taken better care of his or her crew. A better captain would have said the magic words to crew scheduling and gotten the crew some hotel rooms. Their pay is dismal enough.... add to that the fact that they've lost the money due to some flight cancellations, per diem, AND paying out of pocket for their rooms. I was angry with myself and the company, and fantasized about all three of us calling in sick, just to show them! They'd be sorry they didn't show some humanity and empathy!

In the end, our work ethic won out over our anger, and seeing that none of us was genuinely sick or fatigued, we all showed up fit for duty, if a little grumpy. We got along great as a crew, and worked together extremely well. We all knew each other well. No matter what was thrown at us, we all were able to handle it with humor and grace, because we were just good friends and gelled so beautifully. Having a great crew can make even the worst trip turn out to still be a lot of fun.

I showed up early. Sad. Pissed. In a funk. Feeling like a crappy leader. I'd gotten caught in the "Polar Vortex" at the beginning of the month, and ended up stuck in the crash pad for 4 days between trips because of the winter weather, airport closures, and massive cancellations. I thought to myself as I was walking to the crew room, "This month is half over. Cumulatively, I have spent all of 2 and a half days at home. I'm tired. I miss my husband and cat. It's Saturday, and there are no direct flights between here and there. If I'm lucky, I won't make it home until 1:30am central. If I make it at all. This trip is stupid. I should have been a nurse."  

More uncharacteristically negative thoughts went through my head as I went about printing the flight's paperwork and sipping my coffee. The Flight Attendant must have smelled my brown funk from down the hall. She showed up, gave me a smile, and tried cheering me up by telling me how wonderful I was to fly with, how people love me, and how no matter what had happened the previous day, I'd kept my smile, my sense of humor, and I kept her and the FO laughing, etc etc. I thanked her, but still wasn't ready to quit beating myself up yet. I needed to get home. But she'd worked so hard to cheer me up, so I smiled for her.

The flight to Boston was uneventful. My negativity spread to the FO, who obviously didn't want to be there, either. We had a depressing conversation over what seemed like a 5 hour flight. The sun was barely up, and I was ready for the day to be over already! 

It was cold, overcast, foggy, rainy, and every bit as gloomy in Boston as I felt inside. I landed the plane and taxied over to the gate. The flight attendant went inside the terminal, the FO went in the back to take a nap, and I pulled out my ukulele and practiced playing the chords to "Autumn Leaves." I gained enough proficiency to whistle the melody as I strummed along. Sweet melancholy overcame me as I listened to the the rain accompanying my sad concert for one. I finally went inside the airport for some lunch.

Food and the flight attendant were finally able to cheer me. I looked outside. To my surprise, it was snowing! Big, fat snowflakes were coming down. It was time to warm up the aircraft, fly back to Cleveland, and get home! Caffeine from Dunkin' Donuts' coffee and the sugar from a Boston Creme doughnut were coursing through my bloodstream, and the prospect of going home made me feel like myself again! We loaded up the plane and pushed off the gate. Because snow had accumulated on the aircraft, we had to go through the de-icing, and anti-icing process. For those of you unfamiliar with this, the deice trucks squirt a fluid on the plane that takes away snow and ice, then follow that with a fluid that prevents ice and snow from sticking to the aircraft. Usually, this process takes all of 5 - 15 minutes, depending on the skill and resources of the deice crew. I told the passengers that Boston was very good at this process, because they are so practiced at it.

45 painful minutes later, we were finally deiced/anti-iced and ready to taxi. We listened to the latest weather/field condition report on our taxi, double-checked our numbers, and taxied to the runway for departure. Lucky for us, we were number 1 in line. The runway itself was shorter than I liked, but still plenty long enough according to our weight, company provided takeoff data, field conditions, and all of the information available to us.

Cleared for takeoff, I passed the controls to the First Officer. He brought up the power. The runway was dusted with a slight amount of snow, but we could see the runway markings and lights through it, and the field condition report gave no mention to any runway contamination. The first 1,000 feet of pavement went by. 

As you gain experience, you gain a feel for the amount of time things should take. Silent alarms go off in your head when things take longer than they should - like, oh, say, accelerating down a runway, for instance.

As we made our way down the runway, the contamination got progressively worse. It wasn't the hard-packed snow we'd been used to all winter. It was thick, heavy, slushy snow that prevented us from accelerating normally. By the time we got to 80 knots, it was clear to me that we were either going flying - or we were going swimming (beyond the 7000 foot runway we were using was the Atlantic Ocean). Aborting the takeoff was not an option. If we'd attempted an aborted takeoff in those conditions, we would have slid off the end of the runway and into the ocean. Luckily, the man at the controls next to me was a seasoned veteran with a great deal of experience, and he knew this, too.

My eyes went from the airspeed indicator, to the runway, to the engine instruments - high oil pressure on engine #2 - in the amber and climbing - to the runway, and nervously back to the airspeed indicator again. I saw the "2,000' distance remaining" sign fly by, and we were only at 117 knots, about 15 knots too slow to get airborne. I knew if we lost an engine, we'd be screwed. I wondered if we were screwed anyway! 

Then, we began skidding to the right. This isn't working! We've got to get off this damned runway, I thought. I shouted, "V1, ROTATE!" even though we were no where near takeoff speed. My thought was that if we could just get airborne enough to get off the slush and into ground effect, we could accelerate enough to fly. He yanked back the control column..... nothing happened at first..... then - POP! Right up into the air! It took what seemed like an eternity to climb, but we did. Finally! The outside world disappeared as we were immediately sucked up into the clouds and all I could see was gray. 

Tower handed us off to Boston departure. The FO had neglected to program in the proper frequency, so I had to look it up. Before I switched frequencies, I managed a warning to the plane behind us for departure. Thank God, as I fumbled to find the proper frequency, I heard the aircraft behind us say, "we're not going to take the runway until it's been plowed."

We still had to fly the plane. Once all of our tasks were complete and we had time to discuss what happened, the FO broke the silence and said, "That one wins. That's the most nervous I've ever been in an airplane."

I said, "Yeah.... when we get to Cleveland, I'm going to call maintenance and have them pry the seat out of my ass."

We discussed what happened at length. Why was Boston so piss poor at plowing their runways? Why weren't they using any of their longer runways for departure? What would have happened if we HAD called in sick, and 2 less experienced/skilled pilots were at the controls? 

We were full. 50 passengers, 2 of them children. We were lucky - beyond that runway was ocean. If we departed that same strip of pavement in the opposite direction, we would be faced with downtown Boston and skyscrapers. We never would have made it. Our accident would have been dissected in every ground school at every airline, and on every message board the internet has to offer. 

I reflected on my day. How horrible would it have been if I'd spent my last day on Earth feeling sorry for myself? I thought about the last people I corresponded with. I thought about my husband and parents, and how hearing "experts" drone on about the mistakes I'd made as they grieved my loss would affect them. I thought about the headlines and the NTSB investigation. I thought about the arguments that might transpire between my colleagues about what I did and what I should have done. 

I thought about my last Facebook post - eerily referring to crossing off an item from my bucket list (if you must know, it was eating a Boston Creme doughnut in Boston..... I need to put more exciting items on my list). I thought about my last texts and message board postings. I thought about the people in the back, and how the loss of their lives would affect the people who loved them. I thought about the flight attendant, who is a dear friend of mine, and the plans she had for the near future. 

I thought about witnessing my own funeral. I hoped my friends would trade stories about how funny I was, and the awesome or crazy crap I did. I made plans to haunt the crew room. Well, ours, and the other 2 regional carrier's crew rooms, too! I thought about how fun it would be to roam the halls at night, playing "Autumn Leaves" on the ukulele and whistling eerily. I wondered if being dead would make me a better player, because all I had was soul. Ha! 

I didn't make it home that night. Yes, I was bummed, but I was so thankful I was alive to come home. I hugged my crew goodbye and made my way to my Jeep, parked in the employee parking lot.

Finally, in the privacy of the dark, the cold, and the quiet...... I put my face to my hands.... and sobbed my thanks to the Lord above. It was as if the tensions, emotions, and events of the day had taken the shape of tears. As each tear fell, I felt better - until I could cry no more. I drove away reborn, cleansed, a new person. And I did what any self-respecting woman would do - I picked up a pizza on the way to the crash pad, opened up a bottle of wine, and enjoyed the rest of my evening in peace.

O What tangled webs we weave!

Recently, I ran into a good friend and fellow captain, Kristin, in the crew room during a multi-hour sit between flights at the airport. Somehow, we got on the subject of bars and bar conversation. She asked what my cover was. I didn't know what she was talking about.

"Well, what do you tell people you do for a living when they ask?" She asked.
"Um.... the truth?" I said.
"Nooooo..." she said, shaking her head. "Let's face it: what we do is fascinating to people outside of our profession. You tell them the truth, and you'll be stuck talking to them for a long time, faced with the same questions you get all day, when all you want to do is enjoy your evening. 'Wow! A pilot! What do you fly? What airline do you fly for? Were you in the military? Do you have a specific route? How long are you in town? Why do I have to turn off my iPad? How fast/high/far do you fly?  How long did it take you to become a pilot?' Blah blah blah blah blah!"

She was right. The list goes on and on and on. Not that I mind questions; even the same questions over and over. I love talking about what I do, because I love what I do. I enjoy educating people and explaining the "why's" of things. However, I don't want to draw attention to the fact that I am a pilot, or that we are a flight crew, when out at a bar. It's not that we get wild (though, on the long overnights - with certain people whose names have been changed to protect the crazy, sometimes that happens!); it's just that I hate facing an endless barrage of questions, when all we want to do is unwind. Plus, the obvious - pilot reputations are bad enough and I just don't want to add to the stereotype. Also, there are some people out there who might want to make something out of nothing... people who would call up the powers that be and make trouble - even though we're following the rules regarding alcohol and time between "bottle to throttle."

"Well, what would you suggest?" I asked.
Kristin's eyes brightened, her voice got hushed, she leaned forward, and I could tell I was about to receive some sage advice. "Well, when I go out with the crew, I pick something boring. Usually, I'm Maria, the paralegal. Sometimes, I'm Maria, the accountant. I used to get the whole crew to say that we were underwater welders.... but then we actually met some underwater welders!"
"No one would believe me." I said. "I don't know the first thing about any of those jobs. I don't think I could make up anything believable should they ask. "
"It doesn't matter. When you pick something insanely boring, it's a total conversation killer. They never ask any follow up questions! Try it!"

She was right again. My father is a C.P.A. I have no idea what the man does during the period of time that is not between January 1 and April 15 - and I've known him for 36 years. I'm sure his job is fascinating to other people who love numbers and taxes, but I doubt anyone at the bar would listen with baited breath to any wild tax stories.

A week later, opportunity knocked.

It was a Saturday night in Albany, NY. As I set the brake after the last flight of the day, I was already thinking about how good the taste of Scotch was going to be on my lips. I wanted a nice, quiet evening, and so did the crew. The Flight Attendant didn't drink, so she ran off to Walgreens in search of food that wasn't tuna. Austin (my First Officer) and I waded through an elevator and lobby full of noisy teenagers and found ourselves in the tiny, quiet sanctuary of the hotel bar. We had our choice of barstools, and the tv was playing an old movie on the Family Channel.

The bartender-ess walked over and I asked, "What the hell is 'Dirty Dancing' doing on the Family Channel?" She answered my question with a question.
"What'll it be?"
"Glenlivet. Neat. And a water." Austin had Maker's Mark and coke. We clinked our glasses and sat in silence. The night was off to a perfect start! She gave us menus and we ordered some food that was awful for us. Bartender-ess left us alone, and I looked up and admired the view of Patrick Swayze dancing with his shirt off.

Then, like a lightning bolt from the clear blue sky..... they come in. I don't remember their names; we'll call them Mickey and Sylvia, since Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Gray were lip syncing to "Love is Strange" when these two people sidled up to the bar. They were a married couple, probably in their 50's. Sylvia with long black hair, and Mickey with short brown hair and a mustache. I wanted to ask him if he was growing it for No-shave Movember, like my buddy Austin next to me, or if his face always looked like that..... but I decided I didn't want to insult him and I didn't really care anyway.

The bartender became friendly. "You again!" she cried. They made small talk, and something Mickey said made Austin and I laugh. We were pretty sure this wasn't Mickey's first drink of the night. Our laughter caught his attention. "Heeeeeyyy!!! What's goin' on, you two? What brings you in town?"

I heard Kristin's words echo in my mind. I had to think fast. We're tourists? No. It's cold, rainy, and gross here. It's November, for God's sake. Who tours ALBANY after the leaves change? Visiting friends? No, because we'd certainly be with our friends at this hour on a Saturday night. "Oh, just business," said Austin.
"What kind of business you in?"
Austin didn't answer. I'm a blimp folder for the US Army, I thought. "I'm a CPA," I heard myself say. It was almost a question. God, I'm a bad liar!
"Oh." Pause. You could see the wheels in Mickey's head trying to come up with something else to say or ask that would further the conversation. The best he could do was, "Number cruncher, eh?"
"Yep. That's me. I love numbers." I shrugged. "It's boring, but...."
"But somebody's gotta do it, right?" from his wife, Sylvia, so kind and supportive of a complete stranger. I felt a little guilty. There was another long pause. I nodded and sipped my Scotch. More silence. Haha! It worked! Kristin, you are awesome! Thanks!!
He glanced at my wedding ring. "So, what about your husband over there?" I guess they couldn't possibly fathom what my being a CPA had to do with a business trip to New York State. Oh, he's retired. He's at home with our cat...
"I'm an industrial welder," from Austin. Oh... right.... THAT husband! Austin and I are married now! To each other! Not quite the underwater welder, but at least this is believable. This was getting fun. Unfortunately, next to my choice of careers, Austin became the most interesting person in the world to Mickey and Sylvia.
"Hey! You don't say! Where are you working?"
Austin looked a little perplexed. No one had asked follow up questions before. "Oh. Just, ah... downtown."
"We're locals. I'm downtown all the time. Maybe I've seen you! What street? What company? How long will you be in town?"
I had to take another sip of Scotch to hide the smile I just couldn't keep off my face. My lie was better than Austin's lie, I thought smugly. Patting myself on the back, I started to giggle a little and tried to act like I was coughing. "Um.... Sweetie...." Austin turned to me, his eyes wide in a can you believe this shit? expression, "do you remember the name of the street?"
I was going to say something like "Main street," but I was too busy trying to hide my giggles. I choked! Austin whipped out his phone to desperately search the streets of downtown Albany - without bothering to even try hiding what he was doing from these two very nice people. "Pearl Street!! I work on Pearl Street." Satisfied that he had provided a believable answer, he finished the rest of his drink.
"I'd like to buy you two your next drink!!" Well hell.... who were we to deny someone the pleasure of buying us booze? Austin felt just as bad for lying to these nice people as I did, and neither of us would have him pay for something as expensive as what we had been drinking. We each ordered a Sam Adams on draft, and thanked him. Unfortunately, that meant we were stuck talking to them a little while longer.

I tried to change the subject. After all, people love talking about themselves! "What about you two? What do you do, locally, here in Albany?"
Mickey was retired. Sylvia was a special ed teacher. A special ed teacher! Finally, a background I can talk about! I called upon my short experience in the classroom when I was a high school band director and was ready to talk shop with Sylvia. I tried asking her about her job, but Mickey wouldn't have it.

"So... Austin.... where did you go to school to learn the art of welding?"
Shit. By this time, the bartender decided we were interesting, too. We must have been hilarious to watch. "Akron, OH" He said, uncomfortably.
"Oh!!! I have a buddy in that area!!" Of course you do, I thought. Is this really happening? "What's the name of the school?"
Austin stammered. He cleared his throat. He looked at me for help, but I was useless. I've never been to Akron, and the only part of Ohio I'm familiar with is the Cleveland airport. He picked up his phone.
"Gee. You'd think you'd remember the name of the college you graduated from," said Sylvia with a wry grin, totally busting our lie wide open.
"Well.... we've actually had a lot to drink tonight," I said, never sounding more sober in my life. She didn't buy it. "We started drinking in our room before we came down," as if that explained everything.
Google to the rescue again. "Akron Testing Laboratory and Welding School!" Austin exclaimed triumphantly. "Sorry... it's just been a long day, and like my wife said, we've had a lot to drink."

The subject turned to kids. They didn't believe us when we said we had a four-year-old. I wonder why? Austin showed them the sweetest little picture of them playing dress-up on Halloween. His son dressed up as a pilot, complete with hat and mustache, and Austin was wearing his pilot uniform. The picture is absolutely adorable. "Wow, GREAT costume man! How did you find matching pilot costumes? Yours looks so real!"

The questions kept coming. "How long have you been married?"
I felt bad that Austin had to keep answering the questions, so I chimed in, "Six years."
"Where did you meet?"
Jesus Christ, what the hell is with these people?? "On the internet," I said before Austin could answer. The lies were coming easier now. I wondered how hard it would be to remember all of our lies if I kept drinking. I had caught a good buzz by now, and I asked the bartender for another beer. I was ready to tell them that we'd met in a sex chat room, hooked up, and fell in love after he knocked me up. Alas, I didn't get the chance.

Their food came, thank GOD. The bartender showed us pictures of her kids. We asked for our checks. Just when I thought I was getting away unscathed, she mentioned that her husband was also a CPA!! He was working on his doctorate so he could teach at the local university, and create more CPAs.

I got nervous. My head was foggy from the booze. I tried to add in the tip and heard myself say, "What's 8 plus 6?"
From Sylvia..... "You'd think a number cruncher would be an expert at simple math." SHIT!
Then Mickey started saying things like, "it's all a lie. He's really an undercover cop. Or CIA. Don't shoot me Mr. Uncercover cop!! Hahaha!"
Sylvia did her best to shut him up, as Austin and I practically sprinted out of there!! That's us, the married couple. Each holding our own hotel room key and paying separate checks with our own credit cards.

We laughed so hard in the elevator on the way up to our rooms!!!

I suppose we got what we deserved. Austin says, "They were nice people. I hate lying to nice people." I guess we both need to work on our cover stories a little more. The questions about flying were so much easier to answer!!