Goodbye Again in General

Goodbye Again

It’s in your mind
It’s in your eyes
So it’s goodbye again
It’s way past time
For one last try
So it’s goodbye again

Ouch. Evel has a way of picking them. Vertical Horizon’s “Go” was my second divorce album. The bent prop and the title “Go” was not lost on me.

The snow was unremarkable. I only had to clear twice. By the time I went out to do cleanup this morning the sun had already melted everything that fell over night.

I did my semi-daily check-in with the folks. They were heading out the door for a “viewing.” The neighbor who had brain cancer passed a few days ago.

I don’t completely get the idea of a “viewing.” It seems very morbid to me. He’s not there any more. But he has a very Italian last name, so he was most likely Roman Catholic. And that is a group of people I don’t completely understand. I have known plenty of Catholics in my lifetime, but the chasm between what they claim to believe and the way they act confuses the shit out of me. My friends and I are all non-practicing protestants, agnostics or atheists.

In AOCS and flight school my best friend was an Italian/Polish guy with a very Italian last name. He was hard core Catholic. He talked me into going to Mass while we were in AOCS. Figuring anyone who didn’t go to church got to scrub the grout in the head, I went along with it.

I was never baptized. My dad was southern Baptist, and my mother was Congregationalist. They are both non-practicing. Their theory of operation was being baptized was my choice. It just never happened.

It was awkward series of events when it came time to take communion. I wasn’t really sure how that works. And we had a whispery conversation about the fact that in my understanding someone who hadn’t been baptized couldn’t take communion. He said “shut up and just do what I do.” So I did.

Funny, my son was baptized, mostly at his mother’s urging. He never took it seriously. But now his left arm from shoulder to elbow has a crucifix tattoo.

My AOCS/Flight School bud was the biggest horn dog on the planet. Every weekend he had another Hooter’s waitress at his apartment. I was married. And very envious. Ironically he is now the father of three gorgeous teenage girls. What goes around comes around I suppose.

X1 and I were on the outs. It was more stress than I actually needed. But maybe the structure of family life allowed me to make it through flight school. Hard to know. Maybe not having to fight with the mother of my child every time I walked through the door would have given me some clarity. Or it would have freed me up to find other kinds of distractions, because damn in 1989 Pensacola there were a lot of distractions to be had.

Two Seven Foxtrot is going around the pattern behind my left shoulder. I can hear him making calls on the Unicom.

I get to go flying Saturday morning.

I’m have to get a little more directive in this process. So I’ve made a list of what I want to accomplish: Vectors and altitude changes. Slow flight. Steep turns. Stalls. Pattern work. And maybe go down and fly over my beach. Whether that is at the beginning or the end of the flight depends on the winds.

We’ve got a week of decent weather coming up. Gotta make the best of it.

My fantasy women are always blonde. 5‘6” plus. Usually 36C-24-36. Hair that cascades past her nipples. Must be an Audrey thing.

But this ass could make me sell my soul. No joy on reverse lookup. Maybe that is for the best.

I’m on the outside looking down
What do I see?
So much of this cold in the ground
Where would I be?
Out on the outside looking down
Cover me before you go.

Last updated January 19, 2018