Second Grade

“Stephen is a very good student. The problem we discussed seems to have worked itself out, and Stephen seems to be more relaxed and have more confidence in himself.” - Mrs. Ford, Second Grade Teacher, on Stephen’s report card.

I recall three things from second grade: (1) I did not like Mrs. Ford; (2) One day I had an accident, out of fear for asking Mrs. Ford permission to go to the bathroom, and (3) I had repeatedly cheated, and finally got caught, on a self-directed reading program called SRA. I’m guessing she was talking about #2 in her comments, as I don’t think she tipped Mom off about #3; although had she known the extent of my cheating, and that I had near-zero reading comprehension on the level I had cheated myself to, she might have done otherwise.

In both incidents I remember being profoundly ashamed, and possibly worse I remember neither having any closure. I also remember attempting a coverup for both, most assuredly dim-witted ones at that age, but no exchange with Mrs. Ford about what had happened, what I had done wrong, and how I could move on from it. And the details of both have stuck in my memory for almost 50 years.

Flora And Fauna

Hiking in the local tropical forest, while quarantining a few weeks ago. Lost the trail several times coming down the mountain, and then ran out of water because 2020. But saw some interesting flora like this tree, covered in a thin layer of moss and outfitted with hardened spikes. Whatever fauna used to climb it back in the day, they aren’t now.

This Life

“For the question of how I should lead my life to be intelligible as a question, I have to believe that I will die. If I believed that my life would last forever, I could never take my life to be at stake and I would never be seized by the need to do anything with my time.””

— Martin Hägglund

Hangar

The helicopter hangar, last week. A bit packed in.

A Christmas Carol

“They are Man’s and they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance and this girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased.”

— Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

esoteric Helicopter Maintenance note #1

Last weekend I was flying in support of a thousand-mile offroad truck and motorbike race in Baja California, in a type of helicopter known in America as an A-Star (in Europe it goes by the French word for squirrel.) In my headset I hear the communication with air traffic control from one radio; the air-to-air communication between helicopters on a second radio; the chatter of the race team on the third. And I also hear the muted, ambient buzz of both the air conditioner and the engine oil cooling fan motors.

Several hours into the day as we’re following our race truck through a canyon I hear a soft, quick pop!/clank! The loudness of the buzz lessens almost imperceptibly, but its tone noticeably shifts. Several minutes later the oil temperature begins to rise.

I landed and shut down at the next fueling stop—an orchard field tucked into a remote hillside—and called the mechanic. He directed me to turn the battery back on, lick my fingers, and then reach in behind the oil cooler reservoir and touch the two exposed wire leads of the oil temperature sensor.

I licked, and touched, and was not electrocuted. An old A-Star trick to test the oil cooler I hadn’t known about.

KFC Christmas

There is a small Japanese home goods shop in Little Italy that I frequent; so much so that the owner knows me quite well. This afternoon we were chatting as he rang up my purchases and he remarked that the Japanese love to celebrate Christmas. And in particular they celebrate by ordering buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken, so much so that you have to place an order—a month in advance—with the fast food chain to ensure you are eating fried chicken on the big day. I asked if it was just fried chicken in general but he said no, it’s specifically Kentucky Fried Chicken.

He also said KFC tastes considerably better in Japan, for some reason. And that the Japanese knew little of Christmas’ origin stories, in particular the religious ones that the American holiday so often gets freighted with.

On a related note, in 2014 Stewart, my parents and I went to Colonel Sanders’ gravesite in Louisville, with a bucket of KFC in his honor:

Grapes

Refueling at Ensenada this past weekend. The fuelers wear purple vests, as they do in the U.S. Navy and elsewhere. Back in the day we affectionately called them grapes, although I didn’t attempt to translate that sentiment to these two.

The rest of the day we refueled out in the field, in the middle of a literal field next to an orchard, from 55 gallon drums in the back of a truck.

Sleeping 2020

So I keep a few peculiar statistics of my life, one of them being where I wind up laying my head at night. It’s a rough proxy of my travels and work schedule, but I find it interesting in and of itself. In 2019 I slept at home 46% of the time; this year’s corresponding 67% is a sign of the times, without a doubt. Should the U.S. continue to run off the proverbial pandemic rails, it may wind up being a few points higher by the end of the year.

This year I broke out hotels and Airbnb, as the latter has become the arrangement of choice with my employer, due to the pandemic, in addition to being our personal choice on vacations. Thankfully I have not had to sleep much on planes, a practice I don’t believe I will ever get accustomed to.

Mexico

“Poor Mexico, so far from God and so close to the United States.”

— Porfirio Diaz, former president of Mexico

Flight 592

On May 11, 1996, ValuJet Flight 592 nose-dived into the Everglades just west of Miami International Airport, 10 minutes after departure. All 110 persons on board perished, with the sheer violence of the final impact sequence making identification of their remains nearly impossible. A fire caused by expired oxygen generators had swept through the cargo hold, eventually breaching into the cabin and cockpit, and then finally damaging flight control rigging such that the pilots lost control in the final moments.

The causes of the fire were the usual, banal suspects: criminally sloppy procedures by subcontractors, poor managerial and regulatory oversight, and outdated governmental safety regulations. All made even more tragic as the fire had actually started while the doomed aircraft was on the ground, taxiing to the runway. There was no requirement for the cargo hold to have either a smoke detector or active fire suppression systems, so the crew remained unaware until their fate had nearly been sealed.

There is a memorial just inside the Everglades National Park, a short drive from Miami. 110 stark concrete pillars, arranged in a triangle pointing to the impact site. My mechanic Marcos and I stopped by on our way to the National Park.

Europe, Farewell

I have often been asked why we are ending our European adventure and returning to San Diego. It’s a fair question, and one I have not articulated very well up to this point, in part because it’s complicated and not very clear cut.

We love Europe; the density and depth of cultural and historical experiences; the gradations of people and societies as you cross borders; the breadth of the landscape’s natural beauty. It’s not perfect of course; yet even so, and even after acknowledging the reflexive proclivity most Americans have to romanticise it, Europe is an incredible place to experience.

So a definite nod to the continent, its blemishes and Brexit and coin-operated shopping carts included. That said, long term residency in a foreign country takes a sustained mental transition, which is probably no surprise. Day to day living is different, the innumerable menial tasks one has to accomplish every day take longer, and outside of the Ireland and the UK, not fluently speaking the native language will begin to eventually sour the experience. And some measure homesickness sets in for many.

Layered on top of that, my job had run its course, in terms of the experience I gained and the skills and qualifications I wanted to pursue. I consider myself unbelievably fortunate for having the opportunity to fly for this particular company, and with this particular client. Yet to remain would have diminished that good fortune in my mind, for another set of complicated reasons, and so I felt an obligation to myself and to my employer to move on.

It was painful for me, personally, to leave our home in Dublin. More than any other place we’ve been, Ireland seemed most like home to us. Stewart’s relatives in County Donegal, my own ancestral lineage leading back to the Emerald Isle, and the easy connection we seemed to make with the Irish. So while it was the right decision to make, it was not an easy one, and not obvious, and one that left me emotionally fraught.

We might return to Europe, and if so most likely Ireland. So the door is not entirely closed. We will wait a little while, and think about it, and remember our time there.