I’m the trim queen. One of my instrument instructors was constantly nagging me to quit fiddling with the trim. One night flight we were out shooting approaches, so I was doubly unable to see anything but the instruments. I lean over to adjust the trim and his cold, clammy hand was there, covering the wheel. Ahhhhh. It freaked me out and was an experience I’ll never forget. haha, there’s, my trim story.
I hate those dive bomber birds. When I first moved to Alaska, I lived and worked on a moth-balled Air Force base. It was a short walk between the dorms and the composite building that housed the chow hall. Those birds really liked to torment this one cook we had. She was an older German lady who was a scream. I just loved her. She had to walk between the buildings under an umbrella.
Within days of moving to Alaska (I moved straight from the lower 48 out to Naknek in the middle of winter) I saw a ptarmigan. I came in the house and said, “I just saw a big fat white bird outside. What is it?”
Elijah, the son of the family I was staying with didn’t say anything, just ran for his jacket and rifle and ran outside. He fired off a couple of shots, but wasn’t lucky that time.
There was a guy out there who took photographs everyday and posted one of those shots on a website he had. My favorite had Winter Ptarmigan in the foreground and a herd of migrating Caribou in the background. Pretty Alaska-y. I was standing next to him for that shot.
My flight instructor/boyfriend Mike was second cousin to Jackie Gleason. Mike’s mom was a Gleason and the sweetest, funniest lady I ever knew. The last time I saw her she was going into dementia.
Mike was always, always, always flying trying to build hours to get to the airlines. So, his big Catholic family included me in a lot of family get togethers. She taught me to love a rare steak. I was sitting with them at their family cabin waiting, as usual for Mike to appear and I planned on eating with him. His mom, with a twinkle in her eye just kept feeding me steak.
Two degrees of separation from Jackie Gleason.
I love the Allman Brothers. They performed at the Target Center in Minneapolis once. I don’t know why, but when people are toking up at a concert, I always indulge. So, someone in front of us was smoking and I demanded a hit and got stoned out of my mind.
My youngest brother and several other friends were all together at this concert. When they started to play some of their “new stuff”. I stood up and here my brother loves to mock me, he holds his hands in the shouting formation on either side of the mouth, bends slightly at the waist and then sways back and forth yelling, “bewwwwwwwwwwwwww”. I booed Greg Allman while stoned. This is why I can’t have nice things. My brother was not pleased.
This is a day for tears. No more Dennis Miller Radio Show, Greg Gutfeld suddenly leaving Redeye, Leonard Nimoy’s passing. I was an adult (sort of) when I first became aware of Mister Rogers and always found him to be very comforting.
The worst job I ever had was as a receptionist/secretary in a law firm. It was a darkened room with only lighting above my desk (the firm was so mixed, we had criminal defense lawyers, labor law lawyers, one guy just defended prostitutes, another was a sports agent) so they felt it was best to keep the room dim and the walls were grey and they never got around to even hanging any art in there. It was a boring job. I was the sports agent’s main secretary and did overflow work for all of the other secretaries plus answered 200+ calls a day. I hated that job. If there was nothing to do, I wasn’t allowed to read or amuse myself in anyway.
My next door neighbor was a stay at home mom and when the show came on in the afternoon, she’d call the office, wait for me to answer and then would not say anything but hold the phone up to her television’s speaker while Mister Rogers sang his theme song. I was truly saddened when he passed and still miss him.
All time favorite clients. I always called them Mr. and Mrs. Jester. One favorite memory I have of them: Mrs. Jester was gone one day and I had a team of three that day. Toward the end, there were two vacuums going. I was in the kitchen doing something and Mr. Jester walked in with his coat and hat on and said, “I’m getting out of the vale of tears.” hahaha. He was so funny. If he’s still alive, which wouldn’t surprise me, he’d be close to 95-100 by now. They moved to No. Cal. in their later years.