Sarah Morgan
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Please file that line under “Things I don’t like to be asked by a pilot.”
The flight school of the brother had an open house this weekend, which was really cool. We got to take a ride with one of his instructors, and below is the one picture I got before my camera batteries – of course – died. It was gorgeous.
Also, this was the second and final weekend of the debut into community theater of the boy. He was marvelous, the director was splendid and resplendant, and the play was jarringly thought-provoking on many levels. It, certainly, was not a casserole.
I continue to be astounded by the abilities of those around me.
And I continue to enjoy a wee bit of vacation, reveling in the ability to spend time with my own self.
On one of my first lessons, we hit a pocket of air causing a large but not massive bump but resulted in the aircraft making a very lound noise, to which my instructor asked me, “What the hell was that?”
Now that is something you don’t want to hear.
“What the hell was that?” is pretty much never a comforting thing to hear, regardless of the circumstances.