Flying

Flying, Not Enough Flying, and Not Being a Teenager

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How on earth did it get to be mid-August?  The wall-to-wall flight and duty schedule my husband’s been on might have something to do with it.  At least he’s not hurting for flight hours this month.  We would, no doubt, both be a little more sanguine about the whole thing if fewer of those hours ate up our weekends, but such is life when there are aircraft carriers at sea who demand their COD hits with the clamorous fervor of a infant seeking a pacifier.  “Want it now!  Want it RIGHT NOW!”

My current level of flight time leaves much to be desired, although attempts were made to rectify my sad ground-bound state last week.  Alas, Mother Nature foiled my first bid for a Mission Observer proficiency hop with a grumbling sky and a worrisome number of lightning strikes in the vicinity.  The weather at the airport was such that we probably could have taken off safely, but returning at the end of our flight would have been iffy.  Our Mission Pilot decided that he didn’t fancy explaining to our superiors precisely why we thought it was a good idea to take off only to divert for weather and get ourselves stranded at another airport, so we stayed firmly planted on the ground.

No problem, we just rescheduled for a couple days hence… only to be stymied by another group signing the plane out from under us.  Here’s hoping for better luck this week.  I would dearly love to take advantage of the funding CAP always seems to have available for flying as the end of the fiscal year draws closer, especially consider how long it has been since I stretched my MO muscles.  Those skills are perishable; I hope I haven’t completely forgotten my G1000 tricks.

I have not made much progress in transitioning from the right seat to the left (translation: I have not yet begun working towards my private pilot certificate).  A while back, though, my husband and I visited a few local flight schools to get a feel for the various operations and instructors.  At one of the schools, we were chatting with an older gentleman about the process, how many hours would be needed, the rates for aircraft rental and instruction, and so on and so forth.  When he reached the part of the spiel about solo flight, though, he looked at me kind of funny.

“You know, you have to be at least sixteen years old to solo.”

I was a little taken aback — after all, I was there with my husband, wedding rings clearly visible.  Boy, I thought, this guy must think my husband is one hell of a cradle robber! I assured the gentleman that I was, in fact, a full decade safely past that particular minimum.

I’ve often been told I look young for my age, but to have someone wonder if maybe — just maybe — I might be fifteen? Everyone says I’ll appreciate it later, but I’m not quite convinced that I have reached the point at which it is flattering to have one’s age underestimated by ten or more years.

MilSpouse Friday Fill-In #4

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What food reminds you of your spouse?

Thai food holds a special place in our hearts.  We went to A Little Place Called Siam (no longer extant, sadly, though I believe there is still a Thai restaurant in that location) for dinner on our first date before heading to our high school cafeteria for Spring Formal.  Since then, different Thai restaurants have become “ours” in just about every town in which we have spent significant time together.  We judge most places by their drunken noodles, which is what my husband orders nine times out of ten.

Who would you rather sit next to in a cross-country plane ride: an irritating non-stop talker, or a quiet stare-er?

The quiet one, definitely.  I’m usually looking out the window and cheerfully oblivious to anyone else around, an attitude much more difficult to maintain when some full-of-himself lawyer is droning on about how he had to fly to this place and that place to get statements and subpoenas and all kinds of things that were a lot more impressive to him than they were to a girl who just wanted to visit her fiancé.

What are your best tips on how to save money?

If you don’t need it, don’t buy it.  This seems to be a slippery concept for some people.

What is your favorite summer memory?

My extended family’s yearly trips to the beach were a fixture in my life up through college.  All of us — parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins — would rent units on the ocean and spend a week playing on the beach by day and partying by night.  Each family would take one night to cook dinner for all the rest, so we got a variety of fun dishes.  I loved getting to spend so much time with my cousins, and I cannot even estimate how many hours upon hours we spent boogie-boarding in the surf.  We barely got out of the water except to go chow down on sandwiches for lunch, our fingers still pruney and salty from the sea.  Adult beverages flowed freely for those of age; one of the perks of growing up was finally being able to partake of my grandfather’s killer Bloody Marys at about ten in the morning while digging my toes in the sand.

Time has a way of marching on, though, and “The Beeeeeeach” no longer exists as a week-long family reunion.  As we kids got older and started pairing off (and even contributing to the next generation), it became unfeasible for all of us to coordinate our schedules.  I miss it, though, and it makes me a little sad to think that any children we might be blessed to have are unlikely to have that same kind of yearly vacation.  I might go so far as to describe The Beach as the anchor of my year throughout my childhood.

Do you believe in ghosts?

I’ve never had one walk up and introduce itself.  Maybe I smell funny.

When I was about eleven years old, though, I absolutely believed in ghosts.  A few friends and I kept a notebook and interviewed our classmates at recess about their brushes with the paranormal (including alien encounters; one friend was a confessing X-phile and quite firm in her assertions that “the truth [was] out there”).  We occasionally frightened ourselves with Ouija boards, but most of the time, it seemed that the “spirits” we called with our Parker Brothers-brokered séances had a perplexing fascination with farts and cuss words.  Go figure.

Are you a military spouse/fiancée/fiancé/girlfriend/boyfriend? Hie thee to ENS Wifey’s blog, snag the questions, and add yourself to the Mr. Linky for this week’s MilSpouse Friday Fill-In!

Late to the Fill-In Party

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My buddy over at Wife of a Sailor has concocted a new meme called the MilSpouse Friday Fill-In.  She’ll ask us some questions, we’ll dash off some answers, and then we add the link to our post to her blog via Mr. Linky.  Fun, right?

Observant readers might notice that today is Tuesday, not Friday.  My husband and I were out of town this weekend, riding roller coasters (not the metaphorical ones on which another of my blogging buddies so eloquently expounds) and visiting family, so my online time suffered.  Please pardon my tardiness.

How did you and your spouse/significant other meet?

I was sixteen years old, a high school junior, and he was a senior.  We got to know each other during our school’s production of Romeo and Juliet.  He was a Capulet, I was a Montague.  We fought onstage and everything.  After the show closed, we continued flirting for a few months until he finally asked me to his senior prom.  He was more nervous about asking me to the dance than he was about proposing marriage a little over four and a half years later.

What is the best thing about being a MilSpouse?

Figures--the first picture of myself I post on the blog and I'm in oversized flight gear and a too-small helmet.

I have had the opportunity to meet some wonderful people, servicemembers and spouses both, and do some pretty cool things.  For instance, the highlight of my time in Kingsville, Texas was getting to don all of my husband’s flight gear (which is pretty heavy, mind you) and strap into the back of a T-45A Goshawk for a “Taxi FAM.”  There was an instructor in the front telling me what to do, but I got to steer the jet around on the ground.  Flying the simulator was equally fun, even though my husband’s class adviser made me go first.  I’m proud of myself for not crashing the darn thing; not all the other wives could claim the same.

What is the hardest thing about being a MilSpouse?

The thing that makes me wail and gnash my teeth the most is abdicating control over basic decisions like where to live, how long to live there, and what to do on a day-to-day basis.  It rankles that the Navy decides for us things that would, under other circumstances, be matters for discussion and mutual agreement between my husband and myself.  Separations are difficult, too, but they fall under the umbrella of that lack of basic control: my husband doesn’t have a choice about where he goes and when he has to go there.  It’s tough not having input.

What is your favorite dish?

Like a lot of people, I’m sure I’d give different answers to this question over the course of even one day.  Some recurring favorites of mine include sushi, rib-eye steak, and my decadent macaroni and goat cheese.

If you could change one thing in this world, what would it be?

I suspect many problems both major and minor would be alleviated if human nature made it easier for us to realize that there is more than one approach to almost anything, and that while my way might be best for me, it’s not necessarily the best for every other person on the planet.  Your religion might be great for you, but mine works swimmingly for me.  I like cats, you prefer dogs.  Except in cases where one person’s or group’s pursuit of happiness is harming others, I think it would be just dandy if we could break the assumption that different is another word for wrong.

Can We Trade Places?

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I’ve been mentally composing a letter that will never find its way to its intended recipient:

Dear Vandal(s),

While I would hesitate to advocate violence in response to your crime, I must admit that I would find it difficult to be unhappy if someone were to smash in your teeth the way you smashed in my car window.  The poetic justice of that particular revenge fantasy appeals to me on a deep and somewhat disturbing level.

Regards,
The owner of a glass-strewn and extremely well-ventilated vehicle

So, remember that relaxing Shabbat I was planning to enjoy?  The one where I was going to unplug from the world for a time and enjoy a little spiritual renewal?  It was not to be.

My day had been going quite well until my doorbell rang; I answered it to find my neighbor on my porch asking me if I’d seen my car.  Thinking she was referring to the flat tire we hadn’t yet gotten around to fixing, I said yes, thank you for pointing it out, we’re planning on getting all new tires anyway.

“No, not that!  Your window, did you see your window?”

I had not.  Nor was I, apparently, destined ever to see it in one piece again, for the glass on the driver’s side had been transformed from a functional car window into a sparkly collection of glass shards, a swath of glitter bestowed liberally on the street in front of my house and the interior of my poor car.

Most of you reading this are probably familiar with the Military Spouse Corollary to Murphy’s Law: “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong while your other half is out of town.” My husband had already been away for most of the week, and at the moment my day of rest was so rudely interrupted, was living it up at an airshow and having all manner of amazing aerial experiences of which I would have been extremely envious at the best of times.

Get this: while I was making a police report and trying to sweep up a million shards of broken glass without cutting myself and taping a garbage bag over the gaping hole  in my car, that lucky so-and-so I married was getting to ride in “Fat Albert.”  You know, the C-130 in the Blue Angels?

Fat Albert

The Blue freakin’ Angels, y’all.

I’m so jealous I could just spit.

I love sharing so many interests with my husband, especially a fascination with aviation.  Sometimes, though — if I’m being totally honest — it is hard to see him get to do things that I would love to do and experience things about which I can only dream.  And when I hear about something like that when I am stuck at home having a horrendous day… well.

Please don’t misunderstand: I truly am excited for him when he is presented with these incredible opportunities, and I would never want him not to take advantage of such a chance just because I would envy him.  I love hearing the joy in his voice when he shares this or that story with me.

Yesterday, though?  You’re damn right I would have traded places with him.  When I told him as much, he understood (of course he did; he’s a pretty wonderful guy like that).  We agreed that it would be only fair if next time, I went gallivanting off to the air show and he stayed home to deal with any crap that might arise.

You don’t think his squadron will mind when I show up in his place for the next cross-country, do you?

MilSpouse Blog Hoppin’ to the Nth Degree

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Wife on the Roller Coaster over at Riding the Roller Coaster is hosting a military spouse blog hop, so I figured I’d dust off my own personal lily pad for new visitors as they bounce from one milspouse blog to the next.  Welcome!

The Short Version: I’m a geeky Jewish Navy wife with two cats and no kids.  I like to cook, fly, read science fiction and fantasy, and drink martinis (provided that there are no pilots playing dice games involved).

My world is defined in large part by two big N’s.  N the First is the Navy: I’ve been married to my Naval Aviator for three years and change, but the Navy has been a part of our lives for much longer.  We started dating when I was sixteen (I know, I know…), and we liked each other enough that we kept at it through his four years at the Naval Academy while I completed my studies at a school other than that quaint little engineering college in Annapolis.

The subject of my studies leads nicely into N the Second: Nerdiness.  I am a great, big, proud, unabashed geek, and no one can talk to me for more than five minutes before they figure out that I was probably never one of the cool kids.  That didn’t bother me too much, as I had Star Trek, Dune, text-based online Dragonriders of Pern roleplaying games, LEGO, C.J. Cherryh, Terry Pratchett, computer programming, and Harry Potter to keep me company.  In college, I couldn’t decide which of my academic geekdoms meant more to me, so I wound up with a distinctly odd double major in Computer Science and Religion.

These days I’m involved in the Civil Air Patrol, in which I have trained to conduct search and rescue missions as a member of the aircrew.  I am hoping to begin flight training towards my own private pilot certificate this summer, so there will be a whole lot of aviation going on in this family.  Later on, some of my husband’s part of the flying equation will take place somewhere far away as we muddle through our first deployment.

If, by the end of that, you’re interested enough to stroll along with me for a while, I look forward to getting to know you.  Once again, welcome!