I learned today that some of the stuff we’ve been stockpiling to keep our kids “entertained” (read: to get them tired enough to sleep for part of the night) might actually be useful for adults, too.
Like so many parents right now, I’m with my son for the majority of the hours of the day...and the night at this point. Hello, COVID-19 sleep disruption! In order to make the long days of mostly just the two of us more manageable, I have stockpiled numerous learning materials, books, toys, apps, and outdoor toys. I was fortunate enough to acquire a trampoline about an hour before the world turned off in March. I thought it would be a great thing to help my son with his sensory issues and hyperactivity for the few weeks we might be home until this whole virus thing got sorted out. Feel free to laugh at me for just the first time in this post now.
Cut to four months and two days later, my son rarely uses the trampoline except as a place to lounge and spill juice boxes. Tonight I realized that this toy was only ever meant for me.
When I was a young girl, I would spend hours in my room making up dances. Accompanied by 80s pop, classic rock, and Motown music on my cassette deck, I would make use of every corner of my Laura Ashley-wallpapered, pink-carpeted “studio.” I spun around, I shimmied, I jumped, I crawled on the floor like a cat, I pretended I was leaning back against a chainlink fence, and pretty much fantasized that I was Madonna, Janet Jackson, Prince, Laura Brannigan, Donna Summer, and Duran Duran. When I was feeling truly inspired I was all of them at once!
An early ballet school dropout, I feel pretty confident that those dances were probably terrible. I have no idea since I didn’t have a full-length mirror and the point wasn’t to watch myself. If anything, the point was to escape my awkward self and my suburban, middle school reality. I was sweaty and transported and in the flow.
This evening, around 30 years later, I was finally able to recapture that feeling. On my way home from that walk we all take now, “Rock and Roll” by Velvet Underground sprang through my headphones and I was obligated to dance up my driveway. Then I spotted the trampoline in the yard and I was obligated to kick off my sneakers, climb in, and jump and dance like crazy. I kept going for close to an hour, reaching sublime physical and emotional heights. I sang “I Can See Clearly Now” at the top of my lungs (obviously the Jimmy Cliff version). I jumped to songs former students of mine recommended ("Lost in the Light" by Bahamas). I got in my feelings about Sia’s “Elastic Heart.” I made up a jump/dance to Lower Dens’ “Ondine” (download it, you won’t regret it). My sweaty shirt flew up and my quarantine pooch bounced over my elastic pants (yep still wearing those) during Wang Chung's "Everybody Have Fun Tonight" and the Rolling Stones' "Heartbreaker." I used every inch of that trampoline like it was my old room with the thick pink carpet I begged my mom to get me. I was red and sweaty and far from graceful. It didn’t matter because no one could see me.
I have felt invisible lately. Most of my time is spent trying to keep my son regulated and happy and healthy. I’m a food deliverer, playmate, iPad-provider, swim instructor, online-orderer, game-inventor, toy-fixer, amateur occupational therapist and physical therapist, failed potty-trainer and occasional punching bag when he loses control. Like everyone else, I’m also an amateur plumber and carpenter (thank you, YouTube and my late father’s giant toolbox). Sometimes I feel less than invisible - only visible for doing or providing things. I danced and jumped like no one was watching, because these days it feels like they aren’t. And that isn’t always a bad thing.
I try not to give unsolicited advice, but I will just say that if you have a trampoline, get yourself to it and do your own safety dance, so you, too, can dance when everything is out of control (courtesy of Men Without Hats).
Friday, July 17, 2020
Monday, May 4, 2020
Hot for Teacher - Quarantine Edition
It’s day 50 of the COVID-19 pandemic for our household. It’s important for me to begin by saying that we have been incredibly lucky and blessed to be healthy and safe and staying put in our suburban house with a yard and cars we can take for rides. We also have a swingset, a trampoline, and the beginnings of a tent village on our lawn would have rivaled Occupy Wall Street.
This manic Monday morning found me at 5:08am with the remote control in one hand trying to find the correct episode of “Max and Ruby” for my three-and-a-half-year-old son. The keyboard of my laptop was under the other hand, attempting to fix mistakes made in my online college course posting for Blackboard in time for it to be meaningful to my students, who have their online final exam tomorrow. This kind of multi-tasking has resulted in things like apple juice in my coffee cup and coffee creamer in an OXO straw cup (love those things, but we were finally having some luck graduating from them to open cups before this whole thing hit. We had also moved up from Paw Patrol, but have regressed back to that, so I’m the one yelping for help. If you don’t get that joke, congrats! I don’t know how to play Animal Crossing and you probably do.) I don’t want to disappoint my students anymore than I already have by trying to move an in-person advanced college seminar onto Zoom and Blackboard, with the computer angled away from the messy parts of my bedroom and the sweatpants I’m wearing, so I’m feeling the pressure to respond to them even more quickly than usual and to catch any mistakes made online as efficiently as possible, so fewer of them notice.
The Mondays are even Monday-er than usual during quarantine. Perhaps this was the case this morning for happy reasons: We had a glorious weekend enjoying the beautiful weather here in suburban New York State. We were also treated to a social distancing visit from my son’s wonderfully supportive preschool teacher. Even though my son is invited to more Zoom meetings than I am, he has informed me when he is calm that he really only wants to see people in person in the places he’s accustomed to seeing them (i.e., school) and when he is less calm by crying and screaming and pounding the floor with his extremities. So, we’re taking a break. His teacher wants to make sure that they still have time together, so she’s been stopping by for outdoor social distance visits. I was already keenly aware of how special she is, but that she’s taking time out of her own day and whatever ups and downs she may be facing to personally visit and check in, and stay for so long, demonstrates even further what an extraordinary gem of an educator and human she is.
As if visiting weren’t fantastic enough, my son’s teacher made sure to take pictures of us playing outside. She snapped several of my husband, son, and me, and we remarked on all the families engaging in front porch portraits from a distance with local photographers. I have seen many families’ finish products, including close friends, and they look fantastic. Their hair looks beautiful and coiffed, they’re wearing pants that don’t stay up with the help of elastic, they look fit and healthy, and their faces look relaxed and stress-free. I have even had the privilege of having one of the wonderful well-known photographers who is taking these photos snap pics of my own family during normal times.
Yesterday’s social distancing portrait was a little different: My hair was twisted into a wet bun, my stretched out t-shirt did nothing to hide the minimum of 10 extra pounds I’ve gained since staying at home started, and my overgrown eyebrows and red, winded face definitely didn’t look so healthy. But at least I had on my “outside” pajama pants! The bigger win was that despite my misgivings about my physical appearance, the end result was a beautiful, happy picture full of love of the three of us. My son even looked directly at the camera and smiled, undoubtedly because his beloved teacher was smiling back as she snapped the image. Because I’ve pledged to be honest here, I need to say that I sent the photo to a friend with accompanying text that she should look at how fat I’ve become. She immediately responded that I should look at how happy we all looked.
This manic Monday morning found me at 5:08am with the remote control in one hand trying to find the correct episode of “Max and Ruby” for my three-and-a-half-year-old son. The keyboard of my laptop was under the other hand, attempting to fix mistakes made in my online college course posting for Blackboard in time for it to be meaningful to my students, who have their online final exam tomorrow. This kind of multi-tasking has resulted in things like apple juice in my coffee cup and coffee creamer in an OXO straw cup (love those things, but we were finally having some luck graduating from them to open cups before this whole thing hit. We had also moved up from Paw Patrol, but have regressed back to that, so I’m the one yelping for help. If you don’t get that joke, congrats! I don’t know how to play Animal Crossing and you probably do.) I don’t want to disappoint my students anymore than I already have by trying to move an in-person advanced college seminar onto Zoom and Blackboard, with the computer angled away from the messy parts of my bedroom and the sweatpants I’m wearing, so I’m feeling the pressure to respond to them even more quickly than usual and to catch any mistakes made online as efficiently as possible, so fewer of them notice.
The Mondays are even Monday-er than usual during quarantine. Perhaps this was the case this morning for happy reasons: We had a glorious weekend enjoying the beautiful weather here in suburban New York State. We were also treated to a social distancing visit from my son’s wonderfully supportive preschool teacher. Even though my son is invited to more Zoom meetings than I am, he has informed me when he is calm that he really only wants to see people in person in the places he’s accustomed to seeing them (i.e., school) and when he is less calm by crying and screaming and pounding the floor with his extremities. So, we’re taking a break. His teacher wants to make sure that they still have time together, so she’s been stopping by for outdoor social distance visits. I was already keenly aware of how special she is, but that she’s taking time out of her own day and whatever ups and downs she may be facing to personally visit and check in, and stay for so long, demonstrates even further what an extraordinary gem of an educator and human she is.
As if visiting weren’t fantastic enough, my son’s teacher made sure to take pictures of us playing outside. She snapped several of my husband, son, and me, and we remarked on all the families engaging in front porch portraits from a distance with local photographers. I have seen many families’ finish products, including close friends, and they look fantastic. Their hair looks beautiful and coiffed, they’re wearing pants that don’t stay up with the help of elastic, they look fit and healthy, and their faces look relaxed and stress-free. I have even had the privilege of having one of the wonderful well-known photographers who is taking these photos snap pics of my own family during normal times.
Yesterday’s social distancing portrait was a little different: My hair was twisted into a wet bun, my stretched out t-shirt did nothing to hide the minimum of 10 extra pounds I’ve gained since staying at home started, and my overgrown eyebrows and red, winded face definitely didn’t look so healthy. But at least I had on my “outside” pajama pants! The bigger win was that despite my misgivings about my physical appearance, the end result was a beautiful, happy picture full of love of the three of us. My son even looked directly at the camera and smiled, undoubtedly because his beloved teacher was smiling back as she snapped the image. Because I’ve pledged to be honest here, I need to say that I sent the photo to a friend with accompanying text that she should look at how fat I’ve become. She immediately responded that I should look at how happy we all looked.
Tuesday, April 28, 2020
Outside the Frame - Quarantine Edition
It’s day 44 of the COVID-19 pandemic for our household. It’s important for me to begin by saying that we have been incredibly lucky and blessed to be healthy and safe and staying put in our suburban house with a yard and cars we can take for rides.
My three and a half year old son and I spend the bulk of each day together. We also spend a good portion of each night together, since he began transitioning from his crib to a bed just before this whole thing started and has not been sleeping well. Thankfully we’re at the point that we’re averaging one 3am wakeup that requires me to go into his room and help him get back to sleep. It’s a good morning if he sleeps past 5:30am. This morning counted as a good morning, even if my alarm clock was him accidentally kicking me square in the nose (this is the third time my nose has been injured during quarantine, so my first stop when things reopen will likely be a plastic surgeon).
In the beginning, as worksheets and videos began to ping my email inbox and my FaceBook feed surged with educational ideas and color-coded schedules, I felt overwhelmed. I felt a lot of pressure to emulate what others were doing – something I thought I had let go around the time that my son was being evaluated for all of his differences and I had to accept that it would be a while – maybe never – before we would be doing what everyone else was doing. That was back when going to a simple birthday party was something to seriously consider and probably forego because he would become overstimulated and try to leave or get upset by a sound or sight and lash out. Thankfully, birthday parties have become something he mostly likes now (except when “Happy Birthday” is sung, although I know adults who don’t like that, either).
But this new challenge, this being at home with no school, no afternoon gym or science classes, and no in-person therapies (no SEIT, no Occupational Therapist, no Physical Therapist, no _T of any kind), was going to be difficult in an entirely new way. So why did I think that I should just jump on the homeschooling bandwagon? I’m happy for others for whom that has worked. But after a few days I realized it wasn’t going to work for us and I significantly lowered the bar for what counted as a good day.
What’s working is a goal of one eight-minute quasi-educational activity every day. What counts as a quasi-educational activity? Anything we do while awake that doesn’t involve an ipad…unless that ipad has a teacher on Zoom or a letter or number activity, then that totally counts!
I’m here to be honest about what this looks like. If you need an antidote to all those curated FaceBook highlights of preschoolers baking neat loaves of banana bread, making sidewalk chalk “thank you” signs that double as letter-tracing work, or basically anything anyone is doing from the Busy Toddler website, you’ve come to the right place.
Earlier this week, I convinced my son to engage in a rare sustained pretend play session. This was sparked by my giving him an electronic cash register with a scanner. We set up the aisles with toy food that has been laying untouched around our house for months. We grabbed a toy shopping cart that he inexplicably had only used to load down with random items and cover with a blanket (creating his own heavywork?). We took turns being the shopper and the cashier. When he was the cashier, he helped me find items I needed and even asked if I would like “big broccoli” or “small broccoli”? I definitely wanted small, or none, but he insisted I take the big one. Maybe he knew of a sale that day? He scanned and bagged my items, loaded them into my shopping cart, and even carted them all the way home to my play kitchen. We both laughed when we realized the supermarket cashier had left his post and had somehow ended up in my kitchen, as if that would be so funny if it happened in real life and not creepy at all. Then we switched roles and he shopped and I checked out and bagged his items.
But for every half-hour supermarket play session there are 33 refusals to make seed balls out of recycled paper for Earth Day and a baker’s dozen refusals to make cupcakes, ice them ourselves and top them off with ample rainbow sprinkles. Who doesn’t want to make cupcakes?? I mean, I shouldn’t want to since my sweatpants are fitting like a second skin... For every supermarket play session, there are also failed introductions of new Play Doh sets where I extrude, mold, and model shapes, and he takes the remaining Play Doh, smushes it all together into a ball, smears it like a new finish all over the table, then wants me to extricate it back to separate colors, and lays on the floor having a tantrum when I can’t.
I think we need an Instagram post about which stand is best for your child to be on your iPad all day while you make your seventh cup of coffee. I think we need an Instagram post about how to make a homemade pooch patch for your leggings so you can let them out and keep eating. How about an Instagram post about how okay it is if you want to put your maternity leggings back on during this time? Or one suggesting the best flavor ice cream to let your child have for breakfast?
Daily I also try to have my picture-perfect moments. A recent high for me: My son building LEGO with me and actually completing something. A recent low for me: Just as the last little brick is going in, a little Godzilla stomping all over it before the first pretend scene even began. If that’s not a good metaphor for these days, I have others...and they’re not metaphors, they’re things that have actually happened. Like the joy of seeing my son rediscover puzzles and start putting the pieces together on his own, only to misplace one piece, scream “It’s ruined!” as he chucked the whole thing to the side of the room followed by his body onto the floor. No biggie, not like I haven’t done this in my attempts to cook dinner.
My three and a half year old son and I spend the bulk of each day together. We also spend a good portion of each night together, since he began transitioning from his crib to a bed just before this whole thing started and has not been sleeping well. Thankfully we’re at the point that we’re averaging one 3am wakeup that requires me to go into his room and help him get back to sleep. It’s a good morning if he sleeps past 5:30am. This morning counted as a good morning, even if my alarm clock was him accidentally kicking me square in the nose (this is the third time my nose has been injured during quarantine, so my first stop when things reopen will likely be a plastic surgeon).
In the beginning, as worksheets and videos began to ping my email inbox and my FaceBook feed surged with educational ideas and color-coded schedules, I felt overwhelmed. I felt a lot of pressure to emulate what others were doing – something I thought I had let go around the time that my son was being evaluated for all of his differences and I had to accept that it would be a while – maybe never – before we would be doing what everyone else was doing. That was back when going to a simple birthday party was something to seriously consider and probably forego because he would become overstimulated and try to leave or get upset by a sound or sight and lash out. Thankfully, birthday parties have become something he mostly likes now (except when “Happy Birthday” is sung, although I know adults who don’t like that, either).
But this new challenge, this being at home with no school, no afternoon gym or science classes, and no in-person therapies (no SEIT, no Occupational Therapist, no Physical Therapist, no _T of any kind), was going to be difficult in an entirely new way. So why did I think that I should just jump on the homeschooling bandwagon? I’m happy for others for whom that has worked. But after a few days I realized it wasn’t going to work for us and I significantly lowered the bar for what counted as a good day.
What’s working is a goal of one eight-minute quasi-educational activity every day. What counts as a quasi-educational activity? Anything we do while awake that doesn’t involve an ipad…unless that ipad has a teacher on Zoom or a letter or number activity, then that totally counts!
I’m here to be honest about what this looks like. If you need an antidote to all those curated FaceBook highlights of preschoolers baking neat loaves of banana bread, making sidewalk chalk “thank you” signs that double as letter-tracing work, or basically anything anyone is doing from the Busy Toddler website, you’ve come to the right place.
Earlier this week, I convinced my son to engage in a rare sustained pretend play session. This was sparked by my giving him an electronic cash register with a scanner. We set up the aisles with toy food that has been laying untouched around our house for months. We grabbed a toy shopping cart that he inexplicably had only used to load down with random items and cover with a blanket (creating his own heavywork?). We took turns being the shopper and the cashier. When he was the cashier, he helped me find items I needed and even asked if I would like “big broccoli” or “small broccoli”? I definitely wanted small, or none, but he insisted I take the big one. Maybe he knew of a sale that day? He scanned and bagged my items, loaded them into my shopping cart, and even carted them all the way home to my play kitchen. We both laughed when we realized the supermarket cashier had left his post and had somehow ended up in my kitchen, as if that would be so funny if it happened in real life and not creepy at all. Then we switched roles and he shopped and I checked out and bagged his items.
But for every half-hour supermarket play session there are 33 refusals to make seed balls out of recycled paper for Earth Day and a baker’s dozen refusals to make cupcakes, ice them ourselves and top them off with ample rainbow sprinkles. Who doesn’t want to make cupcakes?? I mean, I shouldn’t want to since my sweatpants are fitting like a second skin... For every supermarket play session, there are also failed introductions of new Play Doh sets where I extrude, mold, and model shapes, and he takes the remaining Play Doh, smushes it all together into a ball, smears it like a new finish all over the table, then wants me to extricate it back to separate colors, and lays on the floor having a tantrum when I can’t.
I think we need an Instagram post about which stand is best for your child to be on your iPad all day while you make your seventh cup of coffee. I think we need an Instagram post about how to make a homemade pooch patch for your leggings so you can let them out and keep eating. How about an Instagram post about how okay it is if you want to put your maternity leggings back on during this time? Or one suggesting the best flavor ice cream to let your child have for breakfast?
Daily I also try to have my picture-perfect moments. A recent high for me: My son building LEGO with me and actually completing something. A recent low for me: Just as the last little brick is going in, a little Godzilla stomping all over it before the first pretend scene even began. If that’s not a good metaphor for these days, I have others...and they’re not metaphors, they’re things that have actually happened. Like the joy of seeing my son rediscover puzzles and start putting the pieces together on his own, only to misplace one piece, scream “It’s ruined!” as he chucked the whole thing to the side of the room followed by his body onto the floor. No biggie, not like I haven’t done this in my attempts to cook dinner.
Sunday, February 28, 2016
No Joy
In aviation, when air traffic control (ATC) alerts you that there is traffic (other aircraft in the vicinity of your flight), your radio response should include whether you have spotted that traffic, whether it is in your way or not, whether you need to move to avoid it, or whether you do not see it. For the last option, you can tell the controller, "We do not have the traffic in sight," or something similarly wordy, but another option for conveying that you do not see the other aircraft is to say, "No joy," which is an old expression indicating that you do not have your target in sight.
I would argue that the expression "No joy" could also be used during flight training, when trying to capture a new certification or endorsement and not quite getting it, or better yet trying to capture the happiness and excitement about flying in the first place. I'm bringing all of this up because, although I turned in consistently good tailwheel landings today, I was not able to capture that feeling of joy from flying that I usually get when I do it. When I popped up in the air in the Super Cub today, the thrill was gone and it felt more like work, like an unattainable goal, like a Sisyphean task, except instead of pushing a boulder up a hill and having it repeatedly roll back down, I bounced those bush tires down on the grass strip just to take off and bounce them down again. Maybe I'm being punished for thinking this was something I could be great at?
Things that could have contributed to my continued but ultimately futile search for my target, joy:
- Hassles encountered upon getting my car out of the parking garage and driving it from the city out to rural New Jersey: Before I even had the opportunity to enter the fray that is the traffic heading towards the Lincoln Tunnel on 9th Avenue, one of the parking attendants yelled at me for politely asking for my car. For once I yelled back (kind of; he was meaner).
- Gusty winds making me work harder for good flying: The winds scared me a bit as my wings got bumped up and down, but that just made the consistently good landings that much more rewarding. But it wasn't fun. I wasn't enjoying anticipating when to put in more aileron for crosswind correction on takeoff, when to crab, or anticipating shear as I came in past a cluster of tall trees. Okay, I did start to enjoy the crosswind correction on takeoff, especially when the Cub leaned on the right tire.
- Negativity from other pilots: Someone I have seen hanging around the airport but not actually flying was intent on criticizing my home airport, Lincoln Park (N07). I myself have written on this blog about feeling intimidated by the tiny strip, but have always been focused on feeling confident to land there (which I finally do), and I don't think negativity or scare tactics help. This pilot continually brought up crashes there, even warning me not to stand too close to the woods near our airplane hangar because I might get hit by a crashing plane. The only upside to this conversation was that for once I said exactly what I would have wished to have said later when ruminating about it, simply responding: "You're intense about Lincoln Park, aren't you? I think we should all be proud of our home airports and we should all try to fly safely."
- Wishing I had the sign-off in my logbook already. I know, I know: "You can't hurry Cub, noooo you'll just have to wait..." [sung to the tune of "You Can't Hurry Love"]
I sure hope the thrill isn't gone away for good for me and the Super Cub, and that in the coming weeks instead of saying, "No joy" about the elusive thrill I can say "Tally ho!" (meaning I have my target in sight).
I would argue that the expression "No joy" could also be used during flight training, when trying to capture a new certification or endorsement and not quite getting it, or better yet trying to capture the happiness and excitement about flying in the first place. I'm bringing all of this up because, although I turned in consistently good tailwheel landings today, I was not able to capture that feeling of joy from flying that I usually get when I do it. When I popped up in the air in the Super Cub today, the thrill was gone and it felt more like work, like an unattainable goal, like a Sisyphean task, except instead of pushing a boulder up a hill and having it repeatedly roll back down, I bounced those bush tires down on the grass strip just to take off and bounce them down again. Maybe I'm being punished for thinking this was something I could be great at?
Things that could have contributed to my continued but ultimately futile search for my target, joy:
- Hassles encountered upon getting my car out of the parking garage and driving it from the city out to rural New Jersey: Before I even had the opportunity to enter the fray that is the traffic heading towards the Lincoln Tunnel on 9th Avenue, one of the parking attendants yelled at me for politely asking for my car. For once I yelled back (kind of; he was meaner).
- Gusty winds making me work harder for good flying: The winds scared me a bit as my wings got bumped up and down, but that just made the consistently good landings that much more rewarding. But it wasn't fun. I wasn't enjoying anticipating when to put in more aileron for crosswind correction on takeoff, when to crab, or anticipating shear as I came in past a cluster of tall trees. Okay, I did start to enjoy the crosswind correction on takeoff, especially when the Cub leaned on the right tire.
- Negativity from other pilots: Someone I have seen hanging around the airport but not actually flying was intent on criticizing my home airport, Lincoln Park (N07). I myself have written on this blog about feeling intimidated by the tiny strip, but have always been focused on feeling confident to land there (which I finally do), and I don't think negativity or scare tactics help. This pilot continually brought up crashes there, even warning me not to stand too close to the woods near our airplane hangar because I might get hit by a crashing plane. The only upside to this conversation was that for once I said exactly what I would have wished to have said later when ruminating about it, simply responding: "You're intense about Lincoln Park, aren't you? I think we should all be proud of our home airports and we should all try to fly safely."
- Wishing I had the sign-off in my logbook already. I know, I know: "You can't hurry Cub, noooo you'll just have to wait..." [sung to the tune of "You Can't Hurry Love"]
I sure hope the thrill isn't gone away for good for me and the Super Cub, and that in the coming weeks instead of saying, "No joy" about the elusive thrill I can say "Tally ho!" (meaning I have my target in sight).
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Current Events
As I was thinking about what to write about flying earlier today, I remarked to Mr. Aviatrix that there wasn't much to say because today's flight was uneventful. What I realized almost as soon as I said that is that that is a good thing. I also think I am feeling that way because flying is becoming more of a regular thing for me, and I am feeling less and less like a 'wannabe' and more and more like a plain old aviatrix. And yet it was eventful because it was a beautiful day of once again seeing things I would only get to see from our small aircraft flying over the snow-dusted hills and ridges and thawing rivers and lakes of the states of New Jersey and New York.
Even the fact that we can talk on the radio to other aircraft in the pattern with us at untowered airports still leaves me with a sense of wonder. For example, today we were in the pattern at Sullivan County Airport (KMSV) in Bethel, New York with a Piper Comanche ahead of us. Nothing eventful happened, and yet I still think it is very cool that as we were calling out our positions to each other, we could watch our aircraft carrying out our plans; when he said he was turning left base, watching his single-enging, low-wing plane square off to the left from our vantage still amazed me, even though I've seen my share of aircraft in the pattern.
After we turned in some landings at KMSV, we headed back to Lincoln Park (N07). It was a nice little 'currency' flight, making sure we got up for about an hour and a half and got some flying in. I even dialed in a nice landing at N07 with a little welcome guidance from Mr. Aviatrix. I am extremely grateful for another non-eventful and yet very eventful flight.
Even the fact that we can talk on the radio to other aircraft in the pattern with us at untowered airports still leaves me with a sense of wonder. For example, today we were in the pattern at Sullivan County Airport (KMSV) in Bethel, New York with a Piper Comanche ahead of us. Nothing eventful happened, and yet I still think it is very cool that as we were calling out our positions to each other, we could watch our aircraft carrying out our plans; when he said he was turning left base, watching his single-enging, low-wing plane square off to the left from our vantage still amazed me, even though I've seen my share of aircraft in the pattern.
After we turned in some landings at KMSV, we headed back to Lincoln Park (N07). It was a nice little 'currency' flight, making sure we got up for about an hour and a half and got some flying in. I even dialed in a nice landing at N07 with a little welcome guidance from Mr. Aviatrix. I am extremely grateful for another non-eventful and yet very eventful flight.
Monday, January 18, 2016
Sunshine State Survey
I'm feeling a little less like a "wannabe" and a slightly more like a regular "aviatrix" as I write this. Mr. Aviatrix, our dog whose head is shaped like an airplane with giant delta wing ears, and our C182 have all been in Florida for a couple of weeks for some immersive flying. My goals have been to increase my comfort with our plane and with being PIC, to prepare for the instrument rating written exam, and to build PIC cross-country hours for the instrument rating (the FAA requires 50). Mr. Aviatrix also did some training: He obtained his multi-engine seaplane rating in a Grumman Widgeon! He is now in possession of every possible airplane rating.
We based our plane and ourselves in Vero Beach (KVRB). I flew a lot of hours with a terrific CFI and IFR guru. Although I thought my KLAL training had me flying all over Florida, this time I really took a survey of the Sunshine State. The IFR guru and I took a couple of trips down memory lane and visited Lakeland (KLAL), where I completed my private pilot training. We flew to Space Coast Regional, which itself provides long runways (5,000 and 7000 ft) but is also so-named due to its proximity to the NASA Shuttle Landing Facility, which has a 15,000 foot runway that can be viewed from your plane and approached low, but definitely not landed upon. I practiced some landings at small, untowered fields like Pahokee (KPHK), La Belle (X14), and Sebastian (X26). We even visited a fly-in community, Spruce Creek (7FL6), which is where Mr. Aviatrix did his Grumman Widgeon-ing.
Today we flew to Venice Beach (KVNC) to meet friends of ours for lunch. I was PIC and Mr. Aviatrix handled the radios and also helped me out with flight planning. Our dog was PAX. Flying us all there and back, I finally felt like a real pilot, rather than some imposter who is living (and flying) in fear that the FAA is going to send me a letter saying that signing off on my check ride was a mistake and could I please return that little seafoam green card with Orville and Wilbur on the back?
We based our plane and ourselves in Vero Beach (KVRB). I flew a lot of hours with a terrific CFI and IFR guru. Although I thought my KLAL training had me flying all over Florida, this time I really took a survey of the Sunshine State. The IFR guru and I took a couple of trips down memory lane and visited Lakeland (KLAL), where I completed my private pilot training. We flew to Space Coast Regional, which itself provides long runways (5,000 and 7000 ft) but is also so-named due to its proximity to the NASA Shuttle Landing Facility, which has a 15,000 foot runway that can be viewed from your plane and approached low, but definitely not landed upon. I practiced some landings at small, untowered fields like Pahokee (KPHK), La Belle (X14), and Sebastian (X26). We even visited a fly-in community, Spruce Creek (7FL6), which is where Mr. Aviatrix did his Grumman Widgeon-ing.
Today we flew to Venice Beach (KVNC) to meet friends of ours for lunch. I was PIC and Mr. Aviatrix handled the radios and also helped me out with flight planning. Our dog was PAX. Flying us all there and back, I finally felt like a real pilot, rather than some imposter who is living (and flying) in fear that the FAA is going to send me a letter saying that signing off on my check ride was a mistake and could I please return that little seafoam green card with Orville and Wilbur on the back?
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Flying Meditation
“When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.” — Leonardo da Vinci
Leonardo da Vinci was probably not talking about flying an airplane when he said or wrote these words but they applied to whatever his version of the freedom of flight might have been and for most of us who fly aircraft, the words likely ring true.
I returned to flying our Cessna Skylane today after a 4+ month hiatus during which I was cheating on it with an aforementioned (in other posts) Super Cub. Admittedly, I was not looking forward to flying the Skylane, despite its greater speed and G1000 glass cockpit. One reason I was not so enthusiastic is that winter has finally arrived in the northeast and temperatures the past couple of days have been in the 20s. I did not relish pre-flighting in the frigid hangar, feeling my fingertips go numb as I fumbled with my checklist and my fuel sump. I was not looking forward to getting into so much plane after flying a more stripped down aircraft that felt like I had strapped on my own pair of wings every time I flew it.
And yet, this apprehension about flying the Skylane was the very reason that I needed to fly it, kind of like feeling like you are too stressed to meditate or don't have time is the very time that you need to do it most. I needed to get back in the sky in this plane and remind myself that I knew how to fly it...and that is pretty much what I started doing.
For those following routes of flight on this blog, we began at N07 of course and headed to MGJ for a few landings. I quickly learned that all of my tailwheel landings would do me no favors, as I had to readjust my sight picture, my use of airspeed, flaps, and trim, and my flare. Thankfully it didn't take too long. Then in a bit of symmetry, we flew the Skylane to 12N where I've been doing my tailwheel endorsement. I managed to do some nice landings on a runway that is similarly short and narrow compared to N07, waved to my wonderful tailwheel instructor, and headed back to N07, where I was finally able to dial in some nice landings after feeling so challenged last year. I think I might be a real pilot after all!
I had a wonderful time and was reminded again of how time flies when I am PIC (and how it's a bit slower when someone else is in the left seat). Not only does time fly, it stops - I forget everything on the ground that is bothering me and automatically place my focus on the plane. I don't even have to try not to think about stressors, rather they just magically recede and evaporate. And now I am back on the ground, looking out the window at the blue, cloudless sky and thinking about when I will be up there again (which will be tomorrow).
Leonardo da Vinci was probably not talking about flying an airplane when he said or wrote these words but they applied to whatever his version of the freedom of flight might have been and for most of us who fly aircraft, the words likely ring true.
I returned to flying our Cessna Skylane today after a 4+ month hiatus during which I was cheating on it with an aforementioned (in other posts) Super Cub. Admittedly, I was not looking forward to flying the Skylane, despite its greater speed and G1000 glass cockpit. One reason I was not so enthusiastic is that winter has finally arrived in the northeast and temperatures the past couple of days have been in the 20s. I did not relish pre-flighting in the frigid hangar, feeling my fingertips go numb as I fumbled with my checklist and my fuel sump. I was not looking forward to getting into so much plane after flying a more stripped down aircraft that felt like I had strapped on my own pair of wings every time I flew it.
And yet, this apprehension about flying the Skylane was the very reason that I needed to fly it, kind of like feeling like you are too stressed to meditate or don't have time is the very time that you need to do it most. I needed to get back in the sky in this plane and remind myself that I knew how to fly it...and that is pretty much what I started doing.
For those following routes of flight on this blog, we began at N07 of course and headed to MGJ for a few landings. I quickly learned that all of my tailwheel landings would do me no favors, as I had to readjust my sight picture, my use of airspeed, flaps, and trim, and my flare. Thankfully it didn't take too long. Then in a bit of symmetry, we flew the Skylane to 12N where I've been doing my tailwheel endorsement. I managed to do some nice landings on a runway that is similarly short and narrow compared to N07, waved to my wonderful tailwheel instructor, and headed back to N07, where I was finally able to dial in some nice landings after feeling so challenged last year. I think I might be a real pilot after all!
I had a wonderful time and was reminded again of how time flies when I am PIC (and how it's a bit slower when someone else is in the left seat). Not only does time fly, it stops - I forget everything on the ground that is bothering me and automatically place my focus on the plane. I don't even have to try not to think about stressors, rather they just magically recede and evaporate. And now I am back on the ground, looking out the window at the blue, cloudless sky and thinking about when I will be up there again (which will be tomorrow).
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