By lex, on March 27th, 2010
Busy with actual life and all. With Eldest Daughter home from Portland for a bit, work and, you know: Life.
Won’t bore you with yesterday’s flight from Gillespie in the tattered Citabria 7KCAB.
Poor thing dragged banners up and down the beach for most of its existence, hanging there on the prop at maybe 80 MPH or so less the windstream tear the banner to shreds. Now it flies with novices like your humble, tolerating our learning curves. Five landings in toto, two each three point and wheelie at Ramona, and a final stall landing at KSEE upon return.
I built airplane models as a kid, but battleships and submarines too. Upon going to service selection at the Naval Academy, the flying option seemed to offer the most opportunity for fun, and I never once looked back in regret. But I probably would never have taken to the air had it not been for the Navy. Now my eyes turn ever thither and I search for reasons to leave the earth behind betimes. It doesn’t really matter that I no longer push through the number in max grunt while the radar picture builds before me, or that I approach a target using all systems available in eager anticipation of shack hit. That was good while it lasted, and I had a better run than most.
These days I extract measured satisfaction upon relatively simple things done well. A good landing in the Citabria takes as much as my attention now as did a day carrier landing back in the day. Nothing, I think, will every wholly absorb me so much as a night carrier landing did way back in the way back when.
I think I’m OK with that.
Today! Was a non-flying day at the Barnstormers, and the Hobbit remarked that it had been a while since I had struck a golf ball in anger. Torrey Pines being so very close, and all. Was at the starter’s shack by 0645, the first tee by 0730 and back in again just before noon, 48 going out, 41 coming in. Was a time that I’d have been right vexed with a 48 going out. These days, not so much. You’ve got to play a lot to care, and I’m playing just enough to have fun.
But, this getting older gig is not for sissies, and my back informs me that the swing of a 22-year old will not last me very much longer. I now factor in a stop at the spa for to be unwound after a round of golf. Which makes the whole affair nearly as expensive as flying.
Factor in lost balls.
This afternoon I’m taking it easy, not bothering to worry what the ascendancy of Iyad Allawi’s bloc means in Iraq. I am pleased to learn that Jeff Goldberg Goldstein (feh) is back at his place on at least a semi-permanent basis, and that – as ever – he’s in fine fettle. I do not even want to think what it means when the CBO says that public debt will rise to 90% of GDP over the next ten years, nor do I have the breath to deal with Paul Krugman’s case of the vapors.
I’m going sinker.