It's time to sell the Tripacer.

I've accomplished everything I wanted to accomplish. I have 1200 hours of flight time, 250 hours of it in a twin (comparison: Continental Express hires copilots for their regional jets at about 800 hours, 100 of that in a twin). I've flown into and out of NYC a dozen times, including a few trips down the Hudson (both pre- and post-911). I've flown from Houston to San Francisco . I've been to Oshkosh, Sun and Fun, and Meigs Field (before they tore it down). I flew into Dallas-Fort Worth at peak time. On the other end of the spectrum, I've flown into more little grass strips then I can count, including one ultralight strip in Georgia where I cleared the trees at the end of the runway by less then 5 feet. I've done formation flying. I've flown IFR in a twin, and I've gone scud running in the mountains. I crossed the Rockies in an airplane with 150 horsepower - twice. I've made it through two partial engine failures and one landing gear collapse. I've done aerobatics in a Pitts, and flown United's 737 simulator (nearly crashed it, but that's another story). I've dodged thunderstorms over the Gulf, with no real radio contact and no radar, and I've flown over the water in the Florida Keys at 50 ft at 175 miles an hour. I (mostly) taught one person to fly, and a different person to fly instruments. I flew Angel Flight patients. I towed gliders for years, in aircraft that were sometimes less then airworthy. I'm rated in gliders, singles, and multi-engine aircraft. I have 200 hours of tailwheel time. I've disassembled an engine, changed a cylinder, and helped re-fabric two airplanes. I rebuilt the brake system on the Tripacer on the ramp at Van Nuys in an afternoon.

When I go to the airport now, I don't have a list of things I want to achieve anymore. I see a list of things I've accomplished, and things I have to do, but nothing I want to do anymore. So it's time to move on to something new that I do want to accomplish. It is not a moral failing to lose interest in something.

Gonna hurt like hell to sell her, though.

Tags: flying, introspection
Current Mood: working

Sunday, I came home from grocery shopping and cleaned out the fridge. This always results in the inevitable stack of expired leftovers to go down the garbage disposal, and Sunday was no exception.

Halfway through the expired chili, water started shooting out the other side of the sink.

This has happened before, and the last time it resulted in a $150 plumber's bill. I was determined to fix it myself this time. Plunging didn't work. I initially thought the 2 bottles of Drano improved things to the point of water draining very slowly, until I realized it was just draining backwards into the dishwasher. Somewhere in there I badly sprained my ankle carrying bowls of water from the sink to the bathroom across the wood floor.

I mentioned this to a coworker of mine yesterday, telling her I was going to go buy a snake. She kindly offered to loan me hers, and she brought it in today. Never having done this before, I dropped "using plumbing snake" into google, read the first half-dozen results, and emerged with a pretty good idea of how this was going to work.

An aside: 50 years ago, if you had to unplug a drain, you didn't have many options for information. You could ask your friends, you could ask the guy at the hardware store, or you could go get a book from the library. Google really has changed the way we get information. Yes, sometimes it's wrong, but sometimes so was the guy at the hardware store.

Anyway, I came home, I took out the p-trap, and fed in the snake until it stopped, then twisted it, and repeated until the entire length of the snake was in the pipe. I put things back together, and while it didn't initially appear to have fixed the problem, a quick cycle of the garbage disposal (recommended by one of those websites) cleared the blockage.

I was proud of myself. It wasn't a huge accomplishment, but it was one of those things that I now know I can do myself.

I suspect the large number of these experiences lately have something to do with my lack of a need to fly. I thrive on learning things, and trying things, and pushing the boundaries of my envelopes. Until the last year or so, I was mostly in a rut - I was doing the same thing at work, I was in the same unchallenging relationship, and the only envelopes I were pushing were related to flying and airplane maintenance. Then I bought the Buell, bought the house, left Michael, and moved in with Mike, all in the last 18 months. Each one of those things involved at least a few new skills (well, maybe not leaving Michael), and I've tackled most of them with a reasonable amount of success (except for the ceiling fan, but that's a post for another day). Maybe I'm being challenged enough in the rest of my life that I don't feel the need to push my flying limits, and if I'm not pushing my limits, what's the point?

Tags: introspection, townhouse
Current Mood: contemplative

Few things depress me more then not being able to get things done. I quickly get overwhelmed when I have too many thing started, which makes me not work on any of them, which makes it worse because nothing is getting accomplished. The only way out is to get something little done, and then another little thing. They don't even have to be things that were on the list, just things that I can say I've finished.

This shows up most notably with house projects. I was grumpy for most of the 3 weeks it took me to get the kitchen painted. I masked off too much area, and then it seemed like too much to tackle in an evening, so I kept putting it off and getting annoyed with myself about it.

It made me realize something interesting, though: I think the problem with house projects is that I don't break them down into small enough chunks. I fixed this problem at work by using Outlook task lists to break down everything into half-day-or-less sized pieces, so at the end of the day I can check off at least one or two.

This means re-thinking how I define a task. Why didn't I think "masking off the trim" was a task by itself? Or "painting the pantry door", instead of "paint all the doors and trim in the kitchen"? I suspect I'm going to start doing the same thing I do at work with my to-do list at home - splitting it into small, discrete tasks, and doing one at a time.

Anyway: New windows are in. I finally ordered my new blinds, they're putting the alarm system in on Friday, they're coming to fix my fridge on Friday, and the next project is replacing the door inserts. I'm hoping to get a deal on that - the guy who's going to put them in needs a web page, and I think we're going to just swap services.

It's getting done. I never thought it would get done, but I see the light at the end of the tunnel. :)

Tags: introspection, townhouse
Current Mood: chipper

From this post:

It’s interesting to me that, with my last ’summer’ staring me in the face, I feel like I haven’t had a real ’summer’ since I graduated highschool. I haven’t had that flexibility, that utter freedom to do whatever I want. It’s kind of sad. I guess that’s what happens when you grow up. Then again, I think it’s pretty much universally agreed that growing up sucks.

It's funny, because I've been thinking about this a lot lately. There's nothing like getting your first mortgage to make you think about what it means to grow up.

The way I see it, growing up has three parts: increased freedom, increased responsibility, and control over the ratio between them. Some increased freedom is automatic with age - you can drive at 16, you can drink at 21, you can't move into your own place until 18, and so on. Other freedom comes only by taking on increased levels of responsibility - it's very nice that you can get an apartment at 18, but if you don't have a job, that's not really going to do you any good.

I bet you didn't really have the freedom to do what you wanted that summer. For example, you probably couldn't have taken off to the beach for 2 weeks without telling anyone. When you live at home, you trade freedom for a lack of responsibility. Someone else worries about paying the electric bill, and in return you have to call before you stay out all night. You usually can't control the ratio here, because it's set by your parents.

College is the next step. You have more responsibilities, but more freedom. You can control the ratio a little bit at this point - you can get a job so you can go on the Christmas ski trip, or talk your parents into paying for it if you get straight A's, but mostly they still have control. You have the choice of opting-out and paying your own way entirely, but it's not a choice most people make.

Then you get out of school. You're really on your own now, and the whole thing is under your control. You can get married, have 3 kids, and be a housewife. You can move to a commune in California and be an artist. You can take the high-paying corporate job, and work 80-hour weeks and have no life. You can have as much freedom as you can take responsibility for.

And that is what makes "growing up" worth it - without it, you don't really have control over your life, and without that control, you can't really have the freedom to do whatever you want.

Tags: introspection
Current Mood: thoughtful

One of our new benefits with Symantec is a $23 a month credit for joining a gym. The closest one to my apartment is a 24-hour fitness, so I figured I'd join. The $23 doesn't quite cover the costs, but I've been wanting to join a gym for a while.

I went in a week ago and discovered I had to fill out a form to even talk to someone about joining. I grumbled, but filled it out anyway. The guy who I talked to was annoying and pushy. I finally got him to give me prices, then I left. Since the whole deal closed on Monday, I went back in yesterday morning to pay the 'initiation fee' and such and join.

While I was there, they said they'd throw in a free session with a personal trainer. Well, okay, what the heck. We make an appointment for 9am this morning.

I got there at 8:45, and wandered around a bit looking at machines. I was waiting for her at the front desk at 9. I was still waiting there when she finally showed up at 9:15. Then she wants me to fill in another form. Well, okay, I don't mind giving them my name and address and such _again_, I guess. Then I got to the section about my goals.

"I'd rather skip this."
"But it's important to have goals!"
"My goal is to get here, 3 mornings a week, for the next 6 months."
"But you need to have specific goals!"

She dragged me, kicking and complaining, through the goals section. Things like how long have you been working out, how does it make you feel, what made you show up now (and she wasn't going to take, "Because my company is paying for it" as an answer).

I survived that part. Then she flips the form over. Height, weight, resting pulse, measurements, with lots of columns to update it. I gritted my teeth and let her take my pulse. I tried to tell her my weight - but, no, we had to go to the scale. Then she gets out the tape measure.

"I'd rather skip this."
"But it's confidential!"
"It doesn't matter. I'm not interested."
"But it's important!"
"You know, I didn't ask for this. I'm perfectly capable of setting, scheduling, and measuring my own goals."
"We can reschedule."
"No."

And I walked out.

Maybe I was too hard on her. Okay, most likely I was too hard on her. All I wanted was a quick tour and an introduction to a handful of machines, maybe a quick discussion of the classes they offer - not a discussion of my Feelings and my Goals.

*sigh* I am really terrible at this "being a human" thing.

Tags: gym, introspection
Current Mood: annoyed
Current Music: Drifting - 4 Non Blondes

I went flying with a friend today in his Tiger. When we turned downwind to land at Weiser, I noticed a plane which looked an awful lot like the Duchess stuck in the mud next to the runway.

When we landed, I discovered that it was, in fact, the Duchess, and it was very, very stuck. The entire right main wheel was sunk in the mud, at least a foot or so down.

See, Weiser doesn't have paved taxiways. And it's been raining for weeks - it's spring in Houston. When it's dry, we taxi down the grass along the runway, but when it's wet, you wait until there isn't anyone landing or taking off, and you taxi back down the runway, then turn around and takeoff.

I don't know the name of the woman flying the Duchess. She's about 19 or 20. Daddy bought her a block of 50 hours of Duchess rental (at $152 a hour), and she just got her first airline interview. She's tall, blond, and attractive. She was taking her tall, cute, blond boyfriend flying.

Except that she hadn't wanted to wait to back-taxi, and she'd tried to taxi down the grass to the end of the runway. And it really, really hadn't gone well. The Duchess is a 3900 lb airplane. The grass next to the runway was too wet to walk on. In many places, there was standing water.

So she'd made it about 750 ft down the grass, and then gotten stuck. She'd kept going for a while, judging from the amount of mud kicked up on top of the wing by the right prop, but eventually she came to a stop.

When I got there, there were 3 flight instructors, the owner of the flight school, and the boyfriend milling around next to the airplane. She was sitting in the airplane, because, "I don't want to get my shoes wet!" (gee, perhaps you should have thought about this before trying to put 3900 lbs of airplane here!).

After some mulling around, and some experimental tugs, it was decided that the plan was this: One flight instructor in his pickup truck pulling it backwards by the tail tie-down, and the other two instructors and I were going to push up on the wing to lift it out of the mud. I was standing by the wingtip, sinking up to my ankles in cold mud, waiting for the tail to be tied up, and she was just sitting there, giving me a look of total disdain.

Every woman has seen that look. It said, "You don't deserve to call yourself a woman." And I responded in the same way I've responded since I was in third grade - I was ashamed.

I was ashamed of my hair, full of airplane grease because I'd spent the morning working on Michael's airplane. I was ashamed of my big breasts, and my big belly, and my big butt. I was ashamed of my baggy jeans, muddy to the knees. And my soggy, muddy tennis shoes. I turned red, and turned away.

And then the tail was hooked up, and we lifted, and the strap broke. And it was tied up again with heavier rope, and this time we lifted, and he pulled, and it came free. She didn't even thank us - just loaded the boyfriend (who had just stood around watching the whole time), and headed out again, without ever getting her shoes wet.

It was hours later before I thought about it or her again. And when I did, I was angry - at her, for having the nerve to look down on the people helping her out of the mess she'd put herself in, but more at myself for allowing her to make me feel that way.

You'd think that at 32, I'd be past this.

Obviously, I'm not.

Tags: duchess, introspection
Current Mood: annoyed
Current Music: Emeril