A stroll down memory lane
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| With Halloween upon us, we flashed back to when the kids were young and the years we would decorate our dome (home) by turning it into a 33 foot high (11M) pumpkin, complete with the 3 foot (1M) stem on the top. The figure by the front door is a witch riding her broom, having crashed into the wall face first and embedded herself there. We are nothing if not subtle. |
FIRE!!
Several people have written asking us if we are affected by the fires in the state. We are not. They are happening north of San Francisco so they are hundreds of miles away. Still, it is the season so you never know. As I write this, there are 11,000 fire fighters on scene from several states, 40 dead, hundreds missing, over 5,600 structures have burned and 100,000 people have evacuated. Containment comes and goes depending on if the winds kick up.
The vineyards, we are told, are not as badly hurt as one might think as they act as a natural fire break between areas being burned. The good news being that you can keep buying that best-in-the-world California wine.
It never rains in California
Well hardly, anyway.
Sure is nice to smell that salt air and walk the beaches again. When we first arrive, we do a big clean up. Our property manager does a great job of turning the place over for the guests we have had, but since we rent our home out for short term vacation rentals while we are gone, we realize that we have had over 350 people go through in the past 8 months.
That being the case, when we arrive Janice washes every pot, pan, dish and utensil in the kitchen and sanitizes every sheet and blanket in the house including duplicates, followed by trimming all the landscaping. I wash every window in and out (the sunken living room skylight is 22 feet off the floor), shampoo the carpets and sofas, mow the 3 acres, repair parts of the 1/3 mile of 3 bar fence surrounding the property and complete minor repairs and other minor maintenance items.
Once done, it's time to tackle new projects that you-know-who will dream up.
So, what is there to do in California?
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Well, sip champagne at the beach, for one...
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| Read a good book... |
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| Do a little landscaping... |
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| Visit my favorite mother in law and her friends... |
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| Seal the stone wall.... |
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| Take a time out for date night... |
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| Eat some BBQ at the farmers market... |
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| and go for walks by the pier at the end of the day.... It is not an easy life we lead. |
The man cave revisited
Last month, I wrote about this workshop of sorts that I was putting the finishing touches on before we pulled out for the season. This was the last stage in an ongoing saga that finally came to a close. For the first years here, I stored my tools in bins in out-of-the-way storage areas wherever I could.
How it used to be.
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| Now I ask you: Is this any way for a grown man to get at his tools? |
Then, about 8 years ago I decided to build storage spaces under the cabin so I could slide my bins in and out after removing the hanging lattice doors. While a real improvement it was still a major pain.
Last month, I showed you my poor mans workshop under construction.
I was mercilessly teased by some of my kids (names withheld to protect the guilty) for having hired a crew to roof the house, with inappropriate comments about age and inability to do the work myself. For their benefit, and to protect their inheritance, I roofed the shop myself. I was thinking of doing it one handed while doing push ups with the other, but I figured they would think I was just showing off. The picture below is for them.
Note to the guilty; I am not getting older, I am just warming up!
In any case, this is the latest rendition of how to access my tools and supplies and get a little work done. Larger power tools are in one area while smaller power and hand tools are within reach. All 4 walls are like this so It's simple. If I can' t see it, I don' t have it.
OK, so it is a poor substitute for what I have at home but that's why it's called a poor mans workshop.
California...ahh, that's more like it!
From the flight deck
Yea, yea. I know.
Last month I wrote that you would not be subjected to more aviation news for 8 months. The thing is, the six weeks I was told that it would take for the contusion on my rib to heal, took 10 days. I'm bullet proof, baby!
Last month I wrote that you would not be subjected to more aviation news for 8 months. The thing is, the six weeks I was told that it would take for the contusion on my rib to heal, took 10 days. I'm bullet proof, baby!
That being the case I was able to get a little more air time before pulling the plug. As I put my baby to bed for the season I mused that although going anywhere without flying is no fun, having just flown from the East Coast back to home in California, commercial airplanes with security
right out of Stalinist Russia, food unfit for raccoons, and seating designed
for pygmy prisoners, ain’t always great either.
We fly so
easily these days that we tend to forget that we are boarding a load of metal
and fuel and catapulting ourselves into the sky. While physics says it is
possible when we see departure after departure take to the sky, our common
sense stubbornly insists that it is just plain dumb.
Let’s face it.
There are a lot of good reasons to feel terror: Police shootings and the
resulting protests that follow, hurricanes, ISIS, the dysfunction
in Washington, Ebola, even attending a concert in Las Vegas. It’s just
that I have come to realize that flying in a small plane is just not one of
them.
Airbus or
Boeing jets are serious airplanes, but I know that my Challenger appears more
like the distant cousin of your lawnmower. To many, it looks like you could
upgrade the motor on their lawn rider, remove a wheel, enclose your seat and
add one for a buddy, bolt on a pair of wings and presto! Your grass eater would
be ready for takeoff. At first, even I wondered if a thing of such a small
size, subject to such wear and tear, could break apart, invariably with me in
it.
Besides,
private aviation (I avoid the term amateur) is still a very tentative, DYI
thing, almost like a bunch of guys taking their winged go-karts up for a spin. Charlie-India-Juliet-Quebec-Papa
(my plane’s call sign), is loaded with instruments but has no autopilot, no
computer, no updates, no inputs, no hitting enter, no digital communication
between myself as the pilot and the controls, just me and the real world. I am
calm but attentive; I listen for minor changes in engine noise, sensitive to
every minor jolt of rough air.
The stick,
which controls both the pitch and bank of my airplane moves in and out and left
and right just like the controls of an old arcade game. Affixed to the ceiling
is a trim tab control that resembles the hand crank similar as that found on a
window. A throttle handle resembling one found on a go cart provides more or
less power. The pedals at my feet do not brake, engage a clutch or ‘give it
more gas’. Rather they allow me to turn right or left. At critical moments,
like landing for instance, I can resemble a one-man band simultaneously
strumming the guitar, playing the harmonica and tapping a foot drum.
As much as it would be amusing to me, I know
it would be in very poor taste to power down, drop the nose and suddenly yell
“Oh S**t!” as a joke with a passenger on board. Now, I depart
the earth multiple times a day. Flying is a lot of fun, but it is not a game. Gravity hath no fury like loss of respect. I didn’t know
any of this the first time I rolled on runway two four.
Being back in California, I don' t really miss flying. Heck, I only have 238 days and 6 hours till I'm back in the air :(
Being back in California, I don' t really miss flying. Heck, I only have 238 days and 6 hours till I'm back in the air :(
Aviation tip of the month
If you don't live on the edge, you can't see the view. Besides, if you're not living on the very edge, you're taking way too much room.
