A downside of the job that C has is that he starts at 0500hrs, which means he gets up at 0300hrs, which also means, by 2100hrs Morpheus (the Greek god of Dreams, not the guy from "The Matrix") is calling.
I decided that it only made sense that I get up when he does, so that we could have the same sleep schedule. This doesn’t always work, some nights I want to go to bed early, other nights C heads to bed early.
... like last night.
C had gone to bed early and I stayed up to read for a bit, only to fall asleep on the couch while reading. Having woken up around 2130hrs, I brushed my teeth and headed to bed.
As I crawled into bed I was greeted by the cheery, and oddly, seemingly awake voice of C saying hello, followed by a line of inquiry I really didn’t understand.
"What are you doing here?"
"I sleep here."
"But aren't you getting up?"
"NO, I'm coming to bed!"
"What time is it?"
"Nine-forty."
"Oh. I guess I hung up on S or something. I thought it was the alarm."
Apparently, S had called my cell phone at about 2130hrs, C had been asleep for about an hour (the phone sitting next to him since it acts as our alarm clock) so when he answered he thought it was the morning alarm. C’s sleep addled brain heard a loud noise coming from the “alarm clock” next to the bed, so he merely pressed a few buttons to “snooze” the alarm and then set the phone back on the bedside table.
He passed me my phone and I saw a text message from S.
I sent her a text and then got out of bed to go downstairs and phone her.
I guess that's the down-side of using your cell phone as an alarm clock; when it actually rings, you get confused.
Sometimes multi-function technology has a downside.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Phoney Hope
I hate making phone calls [to strangers]. I would rather give a talk in front of a room full of strangers. I would rather have dental surgery without an anesthetic. I would rather...
It is an irrational dislike, I'll admit that. Still, I will put off making phone calls for as long as possible.
One call I had been putting off since late November. I needed to register my new treadmill.
Now, I really like my treadmill - and unlike some people who buy treadmills, C and I use ours, daily. I want to have my treadmill registered, I want it to be under warranty support, it matters to me. The only catch, was, since I don't live in the USA and the company is based in the USA, the online registration doesn't work for Canadian customers. So a phone call was required in order to register our new treadmill.
So I finally bit the bullet and called the 1-800 number - and waited and waited...
and waited and waited...
and waited and waited...
75 minutes later, I FINALLY got to talk to someone and said I wanted to register my treadmill. He asked me what State I was in. I said I’m calling from Canada, his response was "I will give you the number of a sales rep up there".
Um, no?
To which I replied, "I don’t want to BUY a treadmill I want to REGISTER the one I have recently bought."
"'Register'?" He asked as if it was a foreign word. [Was my Canadian accent throwing him off??]
"What to you mean?" he asked.
"You know," [how do I explain] "...for warranty purposes, so YOU know I own the thing?"
[I have to admit, the one nice thing about being on a phone at this point is I am happy that he can't see me rolling my eyes]
To which he said, “Oh. Ok. Hang on...” And off I went on hold again….
and waited and waited...
10 minutes later I was talking to a guy with the personality of a trout and the perceived energy of a slug.
[Sigh….]
After a few minutes on the phone with him I realized this guy was not hired for his personality, skill or speed.
I gave him my name, slowly, I gave him my name again, even MORE slowly. "Sorry", he said, between my first and second recitations of my name, "I can't write that fast."
[Write? Shouldn't you be typing this into a computer somewhere?]
"Do you have an account with us?" "No," I replied. "Can I have your postal code?" I gave him my postal code and waited....
and waited...
This was slowly turning into the MOST painful phone call I have ever had to endure!!!!
I was beginning to think his computer system must be run by crippled hamsters (in broken hamster wheels).
[Why do I feel like it is his first day on the job!?!]
I kept trying to stifle deep sighs while I roll my eyes and stop myself from saying; "Why is this taking so DAMN LONG!!!" At least I wasn't paying for the call, now over 90 minutes in duration...
[...and I wonder why I don't like making phone calls...]
"All right," he drawled, "I'm gonna have to put you on hold for a minute. I just gotta check on something..."
"Ok," I said, no bothering to ask what the problem is...I was almost afraid of the answer.
And once again, I was on hold...
It’s really too bad that the Treadmill Company doesn’t have more than three 30 second commercials. Variety would be welcome. I resisted the urge to either memorize or heckle the ads, though I feared I would have them running through my head for the remainder of the day.
[Sigh… I should have just stayed in bed today.]
"Al-right," he returned, sounding almost animated, "Can I git yurr address?" I give him my address, beginning to feel hopeful, but remembering to speak slowly.
My optimism was not rewarded.
Silence descended...
I could hear the occasional computer key tap and mouse click.
Deep sigh, from the other end of the phone line. [No kidding, that's what I've been trying NOT to do.]
“Aw, why is this not working?” he complains. [Good question, should you not know the answer?]
More sighing, more complaining... [His externally, mine internally]
"Ok, I'm having problems sittin' up yurr account. It don't work well for Canadian accounts." I resist the urge to mention that I can't do it Online either and that was why I was stuck talking to him in the first place and why, in this day and age of global shopping are US and Canadian customers treated differently?
"Okay...", I prompt.
"I'm gonna have to git the system guys to do something before I can complete the account." [Is that their technical designation?] "Can I git yurr phone number and I can call you back?"
My heart sinks a bit... "Well, actually, I'm calling from work and I don't know if you can call me at this number. Can I call you back?"
"Uh, ok, just call the 1-800 number and ask for Jawn." [It is probably spelled "John"]
Grumpily I asked him for a direct line because I had already spent 90 minutes on the phone trying to register the darn thing and I refused to be on hold again.
Armed with the CORRECT 1-800 number (the one I called first that morning, the one I sat on hold for over 75 minutes was apparently the WRONG 1-800 number) AND "Jawn's" extension, I hung up, my heart filled with trepidation.
One hour later...
He had suggested I call back in an hour and so I did. “Jawn” couldn’t get the treadmill swapped over to my name – again blaming it on the fact that I'm Canadian. [Yes, how dare I help the US economy by purchasing an American treadmill.] "It'll take the Systems Guys a couple of hours for them to fix it." [Do you have to go through this for EVERY Canadian customer?!?] "Could you call back later?"
"How much later?" I ask through clenched teeth.
"Call back at two-thurdee," Jawn replies. "And what time is it with you now?" I ask, trying to remain civil and once again being happy that he can't see my facial expressions.
"Twelve-thurdee." [Ok, two more hours.] "Ok, I'll call back..." [SCREAM!!!!!!!!!!]
[I am SOOOOO looking forward to that call.]
[Sigh.]
Two hours later...
TIME CHECK:
Having started this lovely task at the fresh & hopeful hour of 08:30hrs, been on hold and on the phone with TWO separate and yet equally unhelpful service reps for almost TWO hours, followed by an hour's hiatus waiting for "Jawn & the Systems Guys" to do their thing, only to discover at 11:30hrs that they need two more hours to do their thing. I have now had my two-hour hiatus and I am making yet one more call to the Treadmill Company Service Department. Throughout this ORDEAL BY PHONE I have been working, cursing and being glad that on one else was at work today and in earshot of my colourful venting.
I dial the number - it rings, the voicemail comes on: "Press 1 for.." I press 5, I press 5 again, (having learnt the last time that pressing 5 once was not enough). I type in Jawn's extension, it rings. He answers. I identify myself...
"I couldn't complete yurr registration, 'cause you didn't give me the date you bought yurr treadmill." [YOU NEVER ASKED FOR IT!!] I calmly gave him the date I bought it AND the date it was delivered.
"Al-rightee, yurr all done!" He almost sounded animated again. "So the treadmill is all registered now?" I ask cautiously."
"Yup." "Thanks"
"Is there anything else I can do for you today?"
[Can you give me the last five hours back? Can you take away the painful process I just had to endure? Can you restore my sanity?]
"No," I say. [You have done ENOUGH!]
... and you wonder why I hate making phone calls to strangers?!?
It is an irrational dislike, I'll admit that. Still, I will put off making phone calls for as long as possible.
One call I had been putting off since late November. I needed to register my new treadmill.
Now, I really like my treadmill - and unlike some people who buy treadmills, C and I use ours, daily. I want to have my treadmill registered, I want it to be under warranty support, it matters to me. The only catch, was, since I don't live in the USA and the company is based in the USA, the online registration doesn't work for Canadian customers. So a phone call was required in order to register our new treadmill.
So I finally bit the bullet and called the 1-800 number - and waited and waited...
and waited and waited...
and waited and waited...
75 minutes later, I FINALLY got to talk to someone and said I wanted to register my treadmill. He asked me what State I was in. I said I’m calling from Canada, his response was "I will give you the number of a sales rep up there".
Um, no?
To which I replied, "I don’t want to BUY a treadmill I want to REGISTER the one I have recently bought."
"'Register'?" He asked as if it was a foreign word. [Was my Canadian accent throwing him off??]
"What to you mean?" he asked.
"You know," [how do I explain] "...for warranty purposes, so YOU know I own the thing?"
[I have to admit, the one nice thing about being on a phone at this point is I am happy that he can't see me rolling my eyes]
To which he said, “Oh. Ok. Hang on...” And off I went on hold again….
and waited and waited...
10 minutes later I was talking to a guy with the personality of a trout and the perceived energy of a slug.
[Sigh….]
After a few minutes on the phone with him I realized this guy was not hired for his personality, skill or speed.
I gave him my name, slowly, I gave him my name again, even MORE slowly. "Sorry", he said, between my first and second recitations of my name, "I can't write that fast."
[Write? Shouldn't you be typing this into a computer somewhere?]
"Do you have an account with us?" "No," I replied. "Can I have your postal code?" I gave him my postal code and waited....
and waited...
This was slowly turning into the MOST painful phone call I have ever had to endure!!!!
I was beginning to think his computer system must be run by crippled hamsters (in broken hamster wheels).
[Why do I feel like it is his first day on the job!?!]
I kept trying to stifle deep sighs while I roll my eyes and stop myself from saying; "Why is this taking so DAMN LONG!!!" At least I wasn't paying for the call, now over 90 minutes in duration...
[...and I wonder why I don't like making phone calls...]
"All right," he drawled, "I'm gonna have to put you on hold for a minute. I just gotta check on something..."
"Ok," I said, no bothering to ask what the problem is...I was almost afraid of the answer.
And once again, I was on hold...
It’s really too bad that the Treadmill Company doesn’t have more than three 30 second commercials. Variety would be welcome. I resisted the urge to either memorize or heckle the ads, though I feared I would have them running through my head for the remainder of the day.
[Sigh… I should have just stayed in bed today.]
"Al-right," he returned, sounding almost animated, "Can I git yurr address?" I give him my address, beginning to feel hopeful, but remembering to speak slowly.
My optimism was not rewarded.
Silence descended...
I could hear the occasional computer key tap and mouse click.
Deep sigh, from the other end of the phone line. [No kidding, that's what I've been trying NOT to do.]
“Aw, why is this not working?” he complains. [Good question, should you not know the answer?]
More sighing, more complaining... [His externally, mine internally]
"Ok, I'm having problems sittin' up yurr account. It don't work well for Canadian accounts." I resist the urge to mention that I can't do it Online either and that was why I was stuck talking to him in the first place and why, in this day and age of global shopping are US and Canadian customers treated differently?
"Okay...", I prompt.
"I'm gonna have to git the system guys to do something before I can complete the account." [Is that their technical designation?] "Can I git yurr phone number and I can call you back?"
My heart sinks a bit... "Well, actually, I'm calling from work and I don't know if you can call me at this number. Can I call you back?"
"Uh, ok, just call the 1-800 number and ask for Jawn." [It is probably spelled "John"]
Grumpily I asked him for a direct line because I had already spent 90 minutes on the phone trying to register the darn thing and I refused to be on hold again.
Armed with the CORRECT 1-800 number (the one I called first that morning, the one I sat on hold for over 75 minutes was apparently the WRONG 1-800 number) AND "Jawn's" extension, I hung up, my heart filled with trepidation.
One hour later...
He had suggested I call back in an hour and so I did. “Jawn” couldn’t get the treadmill swapped over to my name – again blaming it on the fact that I'm Canadian. [Yes, how dare I help the US economy by purchasing an American treadmill.] "It'll take the Systems Guys a couple of hours for them to fix it." [Do you have to go through this for EVERY Canadian customer?!?] "Could you call back later?"
"How much later?" I ask through clenched teeth.
"Call back at two-thurdee," Jawn replies. "And what time is it with you now?" I ask, trying to remain civil and once again being happy that he can't see my facial expressions.
"Twelve-thurdee." [Ok, two more hours.] "Ok, I'll call back..." [SCREAM!!!!!!!!!!]
[I am SOOOOO looking forward to that call.]
[Sigh.]
Two hours later...
TIME CHECK:
Having started this lovely task at the fresh & hopeful hour of 08:30hrs, been on hold and on the phone with TWO separate and yet equally unhelpful service reps for almost TWO hours, followed by an hour's hiatus waiting for "Jawn & the Systems Guys" to do their thing, only to discover at 11:30hrs that they need two more hours to do their thing. I have now had my two-hour hiatus and I am making yet one more call to the Treadmill Company Service Department. Throughout this ORDEAL BY PHONE I have been working, cursing and being glad that on one else was at work today and in earshot of my colourful venting.
I dial the number - it rings, the voicemail comes on: "Press 1 for.." I press 5, I press 5 again, (having learnt the last time that pressing 5 once was not enough). I type in Jawn's extension, it rings. He answers. I identify myself...
"I couldn't complete yurr registration, 'cause you didn't give me the date you bought yurr treadmill." [YOU NEVER ASKED FOR IT!!] I calmly gave him the date I bought it AND the date it was delivered.
"Al-rightee, yurr all done!" He almost sounded animated again. "So the treadmill is all registered now?" I ask cautiously."
"Yup." "Thanks"
"Is there anything else I can do for you today?"
[Can you give me the last five hours back? Can you take away the painful process I just had to endure? Can you restore my sanity?]
"No," I say. [You have done ENOUGH!]
... and you wonder why I hate making phone calls to strangers?!?
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Night Terrors
He dreamt his German Shepherd was in the room, he felt its presence.
He commanded it to leave the room, he got up to forcibly remove the dog from the room.
He woke up.
He was sitting up in bed.
Looking over at the bedroom door he saw it was firmly closed. Looking around the room and under the bed, he determined the dog was not in the room at all.
Just a dream.
He lay back down. He closed his eyes. He calmed down his breathing. He heard a voice.
Was he dreaming? No, he was awake.
Was his sleep addled brain playing tricks on him? No, there was the voice again.
It sounded muffled, like it was over a radio.
Were there cops on the street?
He got up, walked over to the window, pulled back the curtain and looked out. No, nothing on the street. Empty.
He heard the voice again. He tried to pinpoint the source.
The bedroom door? The closet?
He crept across the room.
He put his ear to the bedroom door. He heard the voice again. The closet.
He crept to the closet. With hands on knees he put his ear to the closet door.
“Hunny, are you asleep?”
He stood up and looked towards the bed. “No, I hear voices. I’m trying to find out where they’re coming from.” He turned back to the closet door.
“Bruce, are you sure you didn’t just dream it?”
“I’m awake, I heard the voice.” Silence.
They both listened.
The voice spoke.
“Oh, that’s my cell phone.” She stated. “The battery is low.”
He commanded it to leave the room, he got up to forcibly remove the dog from the room.
He woke up.
He was sitting up in bed.
Looking over at the bedroom door he saw it was firmly closed. Looking around the room and under the bed, he determined the dog was not in the room at all.
Just a dream.
He lay back down. He closed his eyes. He calmed down his breathing. He heard a voice.
Was he dreaming? No, he was awake.
Was his sleep addled brain playing tricks on him? No, there was the voice again.
It sounded muffled, like it was over a radio.
Were there cops on the street?
He got up, walked over to the window, pulled back the curtain and looked out. No, nothing on the street. Empty.
He heard the voice again. He tried to pinpoint the source.
The bedroom door? The closet?
He crept across the room.
He put his ear to the bedroom door. He heard the voice again. The closet.
He crept to the closet. With hands on knees he put his ear to the closet door.
“Hunny, are you asleep?”
He stood up and looked towards the bed. “No, I hear voices. I’m trying to find out where they’re coming from.” He turned back to the closet door.
“Bruce, are you sure you didn’t just dream it?”
“I’m awake, I heard the voice.” Silence.
They both listened.
The voice spoke.
“Oh, that’s my cell phone.” She stated. “The battery is low.”
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
My Brain
The following is an excerpt from my internal monologue:
“...
I should write that query. [I want chocolate]
Those are interesting results; I wonder why I got that number. [I want chocolate]
I’d better refine the query. [I STILL want chocolate]
[It wouldn’t take long to go get chocolate]
I’d have to put on my boots and jacket and wander over to another building.
[Ok, works for me because, I want chocolate]
But I shouldn’t eat chocolate; I’m trying to lose weight.
[I STILL want chocolate]
Oh, my query is done, I should check the results.
[Nope, you should go get some chocolate]
I have work to do.
[You would focus better if you had chocolate]
Ok, still not good. Oh, I'm missing a filter.
[You are missing chocolate]
Now to run this new query
[THEN you can go get chocolate]
Hey, I think my numbers match.
[Good, NOW you can go get chocolate]
But I shouldn’t eat chocolate; I’m trying to lose weight.
[You're starting your cleanse next week. This week you can eat chocolate]
I can't concentrate
[Beacuse I want chocolate]
...
”
This has been an excerpt from my chocolate, I mean brain.
“Please send help.”
[Please bring chocolate]
“...
I should write that query. [I want chocolate]
Those are interesting results; I wonder why I got that number. [I want chocolate]
I’d better refine the query. [I STILL want chocolate]
[It wouldn’t take long to go get chocolate]
I’d have to put on my boots and jacket and wander over to another building.
[Ok, works for me because, I want chocolate]
But I shouldn’t eat chocolate; I’m trying to lose weight.
[I STILL want chocolate]
Oh, my query is done, I should check the results.
[Nope, you should go get some chocolate]
I have work to do.
[You would focus better if you had chocolate]
Ok, still not good. Oh, I'm missing a filter.
[You are missing chocolate]
Now to run this new query
[THEN you can go get chocolate]
Hey, I think my numbers match.
[Good, NOW you can go get chocolate]
But I shouldn’t eat chocolate; I’m trying to lose weight.
[You're starting your cleanse next week. This week you can eat chocolate]
I can't concentrate
[Beacuse I want chocolate]
...
”
This has been an excerpt from my chocolate, I mean brain.
“Please send help.”
[Please bring chocolate]
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Why I Ride
I can't imagine what it is like.
Being trapped in your body.
Going from being a free and agile person to slowly losing the use of your legs, hands... entire body.
I can't imagine what it is like.
I can't imagine what people with Multiple Sclerosis have to live with every day.
After a long race I feel like I can't get my legs to move properly, that, no matter how hard I think, my legs just don't function the way they should. It is a strange sensation, it is a bit frustrating, but it is completely temporary.
The MS Bike Tour helps raise money for MS research and other efforts undertaken by the MS Society of Canada. The Tour is a two-day, 180km ride that is undertaken by many people of all fitness levels and for a myriad of reasons.
I know two people who have MS - an uncle of C and the father of S, a good friend of mine. I also know a woman, R, whose mother had MS her symptoms began to show when she was in her 40's. In a way, she was lucky; her symptoms would worsen and abate a bit, then worsen, then abate over and over for 30 years. As R put it; eventually she was trapped in her body, her mind still as sharp as ever but unable to move, her body having had betrayed her.
You may think these people are the reason why I ride, but that's only part of the reason.
The rest of the reason is simple - I ride because I can.
I ride because my friends and family will pledge me to do so. I ride because my small efforts help raise money for a good cause.
I ride because I don't have any other skills that could help find a cure.
I ride because I can't afford to fund the research on my own.
I ride because there are people who cannot afford for me not to ride.
I ride because I can.
I ride for all of those who can no longer ride.
It is that simple, I ride because it is the least that I can do.
If you'd like to support me on the ride, and help people like C's uncle or S's father, then click on the link and pledge my pedals.
It is that simple.
Being trapped in your body.
Going from being a free and agile person to slowly losing the use of your legs, hands... entire body.
I can't imagine what it is like.
I can't imagine what people with Multiple Sclerosis have to live with every day.
After a long race I feel like I can't get my legs to move properly, that, no matter how hard I think, my legs just don't function the way they should. It is a strange sensation, it is a bit frustrating, but it is completely temporary.
The MS Bike Tour helps raise money for MS research and other efforts undertaken by the MS Society of Canada. The Tour is a two-day, 180km ride that is undertaken by many people of all fitness levels and for a myriad of reasons.
I know two people who have MS - an uncle of C and the father of S, a good friend of mine. I also know a woman, R, whose mother had MS her symptoms began to show when she was in her 40's. In a way, she was lucky; her symptoms would worsen and abate a bit, then worsen, then abate over and over for 30 years. As R put it; eventually she was trapped in her body, her mind still as sharp as ever but unable to move, her body having had betrayed her.
You may think these people are the reason why I ride, but that's only part of the reason.
The rest of the reason is simple - I ride because I can.
I ride because my friends and family will pledge me to do so. I ride because my small efforts help raise money for a good cause.
I ride because I don't have any other skills that could help find a cure.
I ride because I can't afford to fund the research on my own.
I ride because there are people who cannot afford for me not to ride.
I ride because I can.
I ride for all of those who can no longer ride.
It is that simple, I ride because it is the least that I can do.
If you'd like to support me on the ride, and help people like C's uncle or S's father, then click on the link and pledge my pedals.
It is that simple.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Only Two Green Lights
The call came in from C's sister Cf - "Are you two free on the 20th?"
C replied - "No." Which spawned a negotiated series of suggested-dates and counter-dates before Thursday the Fifth was decided upon. This, of course, after first ascertaining why a date needed to be settled on in the first place – Cf and her husband, J, had bought, at silent auction, a trip in a private plane and wanted to take C & me to a neighbouring town, called Edson, for dinner.
So it was arranged, Cf & J – along with the pilot R – would fly from their town to our city and then land and pick up C & me and then we’d head off to points beyond for dinner.
What is it that they say about best laid plans?
C & I arrived early and waited in the Passenger Lounge, an interesting cross between a Bus Station and a dilapidated waiting room in a doctor’s office. We sat and waited, both eager, both prepared; C with his camera and a spare set of batteries, me with my camera and a couple of sturdy plastic bags in my purse.
I saw a small red and white plane taxing towards the “Lounge” and said – “That’s probably ours.” And it was! After hand-shakes, introductions and group photos (accompanied with jokes about taking pictures first, before we look green) we were settled into the plane and on our way!
The plane was a small, six-seater “Piper Lance”. J was seated next to the pilot, I was behind the pilot and C was next to me with Cf behind him, alone in the back row. All of us, with the exception of Cf had headsets with voice-activated microphones that allowed us to keep in touch over the sound of the engine. I donned my ill-fitting head-gear just as we began to take off.
We were all smiles and snaps as our heads swivelled around and camera buttons were pressed. R even let J fly for a while and we peppered R with questions about how long he had been flying for
Everything was fun and fine until we got to Edson.
We were flying over the airport and R was pointing out suggestions for dinner.
R started circling around for runway approach and then his voice crackled in my headset: "Oh, don't do this to me now". My focus turned from the scenery to the scene in the cockpit and watched as he began pressing buttons and checking switches.
His focus seemed to be on a triangular set of small green squares and on closer inspection (done discreetly over his shoulder) I saw they read (from left to right, & from bottom to top): “Rear Left”, “Rear Right” and “Front” – two of these buttons were lit, the third – “Front” was still dark.
“Hmm, Edson, I think we have a problem,” my brain announced.
The front landing gear wouldn't go down. Or at least the indicator in the cockpit that is meant to light up when the landing gear was successfully locked in “wheels down” position wouldn't light up.
Which left us all wondering, is the landing gear engaged or isn’t it?
R swapped the buttons around to make sure it wasn’t the indicator that was malfunctioning, nope – top indicator still dark.
R decided it was time to address his passengers and told us what I had already surmised – there was no guarantee that we had front landing gear. He explained that he could attempt to land in Edson, but what he’d prefer to do is head back to City Centre and attempt the landing there as it was closer to his home airfield and there was emergency crews on standby.
“Emergency Crews!?!” My brain yelped as I silently gave C a worried glance. He smiled in response.
As if on queue, an alarm started to sound and a red orange indicator lit up in on the centre of the console “Warn. Gear Unsafe”
Gee, thanks, we hadn’t noticed.
C took of his headset and turned to Cf to tell her what was going on – for Cf, without a headset, was blissfully, or rather confused but not alarmed by our actions.
R got on the radio with Flight Control and told them his intension.
R then said to us that he’d prefer to land on grass, “no sparks”, he said.
“Sparks?!?” my brain yelped and an even more worried expression crossed my face. C was blithely taking pictures out the window.
A minute later FC came back on the radio and explained that City Centre no longer had emergency crews on standby and would we prefer to divert to the International Airport where they do have emergency crews. R replied that that might be better and we made our course correction bearing slightly more to the South.
R dug into his pockets and pulled out his cellphone and began making a call. He stuck the phone under the right ear of his headset. “T, it’s R, I’m having an issue with the front landing gear, don’t know if it is just the light or the landing gear. Give me a call when you get this, thanks.” He hung up and handed the phone to J – “here, if it rings, answer it.”
R metioned to FC his desire to land on the grass and asked if FC knew if there was enough contiguous grass at the International to allow us to land. FC said they’d check and came back a couple of minutes later and said no.
By this time, the air traffic control tower at the International had been informed of our intension and had started to talk to R. Peppering him with questions he seemed a little overwhelmed by.
R and the International Tower agreed that R would fly low along the runway and get the Tower to inspect the front gear to see if they looked down and locked.
C looked at me an grinned, taking off his headset and covering his mic he said to me; “how often do you get to buzz the Tower of the International Airport?”
In a false state of bravado and with was probably my last fleeting bit of humour I replied; “Why do I have the Top Gun theme running through my head?”
An air traffic controller hailed R on the radio and began arranging for us to pass low over runway two and that all traffic would be held for our pass. We could overhear the ATC talking to a plane on the taxiway – asking him to hold his position as we did our fly-by.
And would the pilot mind, ATC asked, having a good look at our front gear and see if it looked down properly.
We all listened as we passed along the runway.
Pilot: “It doesn’t look down, it looks dog-legged and pointing backwards. I don’t think that’s right.”
ATC: “I agree, it doesn’t look down. please advise as to what you’d like to do.”
R said he’d get back to them shortly and pulled away from the airport and climbed in altitude as instructed by the ATC.
By now, R had thought he might like to just take us back to his airport of origin, which had, as he pointed out, several advantages: 1. we could land on the grass, 2. his mechanic could be right on the runway to examine the gear as we did a low fly by of yet another airport. 3. he wouldn’t have to worry about getting the plane towed anywhere and 4. since R, Cf and J all lived there, C and I could get a ride home easily enough.
R asked, what would we like to do.
“Land without blowing up” my wholly unhelpful brain replied.
We all agreed, that heading back to Camrose Airport was the best plan.
R radioed our plan to ATC and FC, they wished us good luck and the helpful voices at FC asked if we needed to have emergency services alerted, as they didn’t have anyone on standby there either. R said he’d call emergency services himself if need be.
C removed his headset, handed it to Cf and asked R to explain again, what his plan was.
“We’ll head to Camrose, T will be there to examine the landing gear, we can fly lower and T can have a good look. If they don’t look down, we will fly around for about an hour or so to use up some fuel, so there isn’t that much in the tanks when we land.
“I’ll try to land the plan holding the nose up for as long as possible and I’ll cut the engines just before touchdown in the hopes that the propeller stops rotating in case the nose gear doesn’t hold.”
“..thereby having us do a face plant in the grass sending shards of propellor through the windscreen and into me.” My wholly unhelpful brain added. “before we burst into flames.”
Cf handed C back the headset. C grinned at me, put his headset on and went back to taking pictures.
R put the plane on Autopilot and pulled out a binder from the pocket beside his seat, “Maybe there’s something I haven’t tried,” he said to J. “Keep an eye out for other planes for me, thanks.” He said and then opened the binder and began flipping though the pages.
It took us about 30 minutes to get to Camrose Airport, in that time, T did call back and arranged to be at the runway for our fly-by.
C had silently examined the plane for emergency exits and had planned his safe exit from the plane in all scenarios.
My brain and I had discussed the shortsightedness of having C be the only person to know where my Will is; how inconvenient it would be to be injured a week before I was to run a half marathon and how unfortunate it was that we never got to switch seats.
Cf wondered how long it would be before she could get to a toilet.
J vowed silently to never again get on a small plane.
As we approached the airport we could see two small collections of people awaiting our arrival. We were in radio contact with T by this time and he instructed us to fly about 150 ft above the ground and he’d have a good look at the gear.
We flew past and T got on the radio “Yeah, your nose gear is definitely not down, have you tried pumping the lever?” (referring to the emergency lever that looks like a hand break (possibly due to the fact that is it identical to a car’s hand break in both appearance and location – between the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats)).
R replied he’d pulled on it a couple of times but not pumped it. He’d climb to a safe altitude, slow the plane down as much as possible and give it a try.
C, Cf, and I took pictures of the setting sun over the waterlogged farmland.
Climbing to a reasonable altitude, R slowed the plane and began pumping the lever. After about half a dozen pumps the green “Front” light popped on and R cheerfully reported this to T.
T and R agreed that the prudent thing would be to do another fly-by to have a look at the gear again before we attempted to land.
We headed back to the airport and performed another fly-by, in front of a bigger crowd of on-lookers.
T reported that the gear looked down and suggested we attempt to land.
R circled around for a final approach.
C took pictures.
I braced for impact and kept telling myself not to put the pilot’s seat in a death grip (which I did manage not to do, just grabbing it slightly as the front gear touched down and a split second before I knew it wasn’t going to collapse under the weight of the plane).
R had cut the engine before we landed, thought the prop. was still turning when all three wheels touched ground and bounced us along the runway. After a couple of attempts, he got the plane restarted and we taxied to the hangars.
As we headed towards R’s hangar, he apologized for not being able to fly us back to City Centre as his other plane was being worked on and wasn’t flight-ready.
My brain said there was no way in heck it would get on a plane again tonight, and I silently and wholeheartedly agreed with it.
We came to a stop, the doors opened and we all piled out.
Cf was the last to exit and she when down on her knees and kissed the ground. T, who was waiting at the hangar laughed and said he was waiting for someone to do that.
Cf and I made a bee-line for the bathrooms and left the men to examine the plane.
Upon our return we all agreed on dinner at a local restaurant before Cf and J drove us back to the city.
Happily sitting around the table in restaurant; T and R regailed us with storied of mechanical difficulties and near misses and safely on terra-firma, we could laugh and enjoy the stories.
R apologised again for not being able to fly us back to the city and I told him that’s ok, “because there is no way in Heck you’d get me back on a plane tonight.” Everyone laughed and R asked if I had been scared and I admitted I had been a bit, yes.
As Cf and J drove us back to the city, C tried to sleep and I tried to relax. C held my hand and I began to smile.
I smiled, partially because I was safe on solid ground but mostly because I was holding hands with C who, when faced with a stressful situation (while I worried about where my Will was), looked for the exits and the practical way out.
I could not be in better hands.
C replied - "No." Which spawned a negotiated series of suggested-dates and counter-dates before Thursday the Fifth was decided upon. This, of course, after first ascertaining why a date needed to be settled on in the first place – Cf and her husband, J, had bought, at silent auction, a trip in a private plane and wanted to take C & me to a neighbouring town, called Edson, for dinner.
So it was arranged, Cf & J – along with the pilot R – would fly from their town to our city and then land and pick up C & me and then we’d head off to points beyond for dinner.
What is it that they say about best laid plans?
C & I arrived early and waited in the Passenger Lounge, an interesting cross between a Bus Station and a dilapidated waiting room in a doctor’s office. We sat and waited, both eager, both prepared; C with his camera and a spare set of batteries, me with my camera and a couple of sturdy plastic bags in my purse.
I saw a small red and white plane taxing towards the “Lounge” and said – “That’s probably ours.” And it was! After hand-shakes, introductions and group photos (accompanied with jokes about taking pictures first, before we look green) we were settled into the plane and on our way!
The plane was a small, six-seater “Piper Lance”. J was seated next to the pilot, I was behind the pilot and C was next to me with Cf behind him, alone in the back row. All of us, with the exception of Cf had headsets with voice-activated microphones that allowed us to keep in touch over the sound of the engine. I donned my ill-fitting head-gear just as we began to take off.
We were all smiles and snaps as our heads swivelled around and camera buttons were pressed. R even let J fly for a while and we peppered R with questions about how long he had been flying for
Everything was fun and fine until we got to Edson.
We were flying over the airport and R was pointing out suggestions for dinner.
R started circling around for runway approach and then his voice crackled in my headset: "Oh, don't do this to me now". My focus turned from the scenery to the scene in the cockpit and watched as he began pressing buttons and checking switches.
His focus seemed to be on a triangular set of small green squares and on closer inspection (done discreetly over his shoulder) I saw they read (from left to right, & from bottom to top): “Rear Left”, “Rear Right” and “Front” – two of these buttons were lit, the third – “Front” was still dark.
“Hmm, Edson, I think we have a problem,” my brain announced.
The front landing gear wouldn't go down. Or at least the indicator in the cockpit that is meant to light up when the landing gear was successfully locked in “wheels down” position wouldn't light up.
Which left us all wondering, is the landing gear engaged or isn’t it?
R swapped the buttons around to make sure it wasn’t the indicator that was malfunctioning, nope – top indicator still dark.
R decided it was time to address his passengers and told us what I had already surmised – there was no guarantee that we had front landing gear. He explained that he could attempt to land in Edson, but what he’d prefer to do is head back to City Centre and attempt the landing there as it was closer to his home airfield and there was emergency crews on standby.
“Emergency Crews!?!” My brain yelped as I silently gave C a worried glance. He smiled in response.
As if on queue, an alarm started to sound and a red orange indicator lit up in on the centre of the console “Warn. Gear Unsafe”
Gee, thanks, we hadn’t noticed.
C took of his headset and turned to Cf to tell her what was going on – for Cf, without a headset, was blissfully, or rather confused but not alarmed by our actions.
R got on the radio with Flight Control and told them his intension.
R then said to us that he’d prefer to land on grass, “no sparks”, he said.
“Sparks?!?” my brain yelped and an even more worried expression crossed my face. C was blithely taking pictures out the window.
A minute later FC came back on the radio and explained that City Centre no longer had emergency crews on standby and would we prefer to divert to the International Airport where they do have emergency crews. R replied that that might be better and we made our course correction bearing slightly more to the South.
R dug into his pockets and pulled out his cellphone and began making a call. He stuck the phone under the right ear of his headset. “T, it’s R, I’m having an issue with the front landing gear, don’t know if it is just the light or the landing gear. Give me a call when you get this, thanks.” He hung up and handed the phone to J – “here, if it rings, answer it.”
R metioned to FC his desire to land on the grass and asked if FC knew if there was enough contiguous grass at the International to allow us to land. FC said they’d check and came back a couple of minutes later and said no.
By this time, the air traffic control tower at the International had been informed of our intension and had started to talk to R. Peppering him with questions he seemed a little overwhelmed by.
R and the International Tower agreed that R would fly low along the runway and get the Tower to inspect the front gear to see if they looked down and locked.
C looked at me an grinned, taking off his headset and covering his mic he said to me; “how often do you get to buzz the Tower of the International Airport?”
In a false state of bravado and with was probably my last fleeting bit of humour I replied; “Why do I have the Top Gun theme running through my head?”
An air traffic controller hailed R on the radio and began arranging for us to pass low over runway two and that all traffic would be held for our pass. We could overhear the ATC talking to a plane on the taxiway – asking him to hold his position as we did our fly-by.
And would the pilot mind, ATC asked, having a good look at our front gear and see if it looked down properly.
We all listened as we passed along the runway.
Pilot: “It doesn’t look down, it looks dog-legged and pointing backwards. I don’t think that’s right.”
ATC: “I agree, it doesn’t look down.
R said he’d get back to them shortly and pulled away from the airport and climbed in altitude as instructed by the ATC.
By now, R had thought he might like to just take us back to his airport of origin, which had, as he pointed out, several advantages: 1. we could land on the grass, 2. his mechanic could be right on the runway to examine the gear as we did a low fly by of yet another airport. 3. he wouldn’t have to worry about getting the plane towed anywhere and 4. since R, Cf and J all lived there, C and I could get a ride home easily enough.
R asked, what would we like to do.
“Land without blowing up” my wholly unhelpful brain replied.
We all agreed, that heading back to Camrose Airport was the best plan.
R radioed our plan to ATC and FC, they wished us good luck and the helpful voices at FC asked if we needed to have emergency services alerted, as they didn’t have anyone on standby there either. R said he’d call emergency services himself if need be.
C removed his headset, handed it to Cf and asked R to explain again, what his plan was.
“We’ll head to Camrose, T will be there to examine the landing gear, we can fly lower and T can have a good look. If they don’t look down, we will fly around for about an hour or so to use up some fuel, so there isn’t that much in the tanks when we land.
“I’ll try to land the plan holding the nose up for as long as possible and I’ll cut the engines just before touchdown in the hopes that the propeller stops rotating in case the nose gear doesn’t hold.”
“..thereby having us do a face plant in the grass sending shards of propellor through the windscreen and into me.” My wholly unhelpful brain added. “before we burst into flames.”
Cf handed C back the headset. C grinned at me, put his headset on and went back to taking pictures.
R put the plane on Autopilot and pulled out a binder from the pocket beside his seat, “Maybe there’s something I haven’t tried,” he said to J. “Keep an eye out for other planes for me, thanks.” He said and then opened the binder and began flipping though the pages.
It took us about 30 minutes to get to Camrose Airport, in that time, T did call back and arranged to be at the runway for our fly-by.
C had silently examined the plane for emergency exits and had planned his safe exit from the plane in all scenarios.
My brain and I had discussed the shortsightedness of having C be the only person to know where my Will is; how inconvenient it would be to be injured a week before I was to run a half marathon and how unfortunate it was that we never got to switch seats.
Cf wondered how long it would be before she could get to a toilet.
J vowed silently to never again get on a small plane.
As we approached the airport we could see two small collections of people awaiting our arrival. We were in radio contact with T by this time and he instructed us to fly about 150 ft above the ground and he’d have a good look at the gear.
We flew past and T got on the radio “Yeah, your nose gear is definitely not down, have you tried pumping the lever?” (referring to the emergency lever that looks like a hand break (possibly due to the fact that is it identical to a car’s hand break in both appearance and location – between the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats)).
R replied he’d pulled on it a couple of times but not pumped it. He’d climb to a safe altitude, slow the plane down as much as possible and give it a try.
C, Cf, and I took pictures of the setting sun over the waterlogged farmland.
Climbing to a reasonable altitude, R slowed the plane and began pumping the lever. After about half a dozen pumps the green “Front” light popped on and R cheerfully reported this to T.
T and R agreed that the prudent thing would be to do another fly-by to have a look at the gear again before we attempted to land.
We headed back to the airport and performed another fly-by, in front of a bigger crowd of on-lookers.
T reported that the gear looked down and suggested we attempt to land.
R circled around for a final approach.
C took pictures.
I braced for impact and kept telling myself not to put the pilot’s seat in a death grip (which I did manage not to do, just grabbing it slightly as the front gear touched down and a split second before I knew it wasn’t going to collapse under the weight of the plane).
R had cut the engine before we landed, thought the prop. was still turning when all three wheels touched ground and bounced us along the runway. After a couple of attempts, he got the plane restarted and we taxied to the hangars.
As we headed towards R’s hangar, he apologized for not being able to fly us back to City Centre as his other plane was being worked on and wasn’t flight-ready.
My brain said there was no way in heck it would get on a plane again tonight, and I silently and wholeheartedly agreed with it.
We came to a stop, the doors opened and we all piled out.
Cf was the last to exit and she when down on her knees and kissed the ground. T, who was waiting at the hangar laughed and said he was waiting for someone to do that.
Cf and I made a bee-line for the bathrooms and left the men to examine the plane.
Upon our return we all agreed on dinner at a local restaurant before Cf and J drove us back to the city.
Happily sitting around the table in restaurant; T and R regailed us with storied of mechanical difficulties and near misses and safely on terra-firma, we could laugh and enjoy the stories.
R apologised again for not being able to fly us back to the city and I told him that’s ok, “because there is no way in Heck you’d get me back on a plane tonight.” Everyone laughed and R asked if I had been scared and I admitted I had been a bit, yes.
As Cf and J drove us back to the city, C tried to sleep and I tried to relax. C held my hand and I began to smile.
I smiled, partially because I was safe on solid ground but mostly because I was holding hands with C who, when faced with a stressful situation (while I worried about where my Will was), looked for the exits and the practical way out.
I could not be in better hands.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Happy Birthday to Who?
To me, birthdays matter.
Although I downplay my own, I do appreciate people recognizing my birthday without making too much of a fuss about it.
This year's was just about perfect. I got cards from family and a few close friends. I got my birthday muffin. I arrived home from work and was pleasantly surprised by an apartment full of balloons and streamers (yes, C, I was "pleasantly" surprised - despite my balloon phobia - it was a wonderful gesture). I got a wonderful dinner out with C (we don't go out for dinner much, so it's a nice treat for me) and we went to a movie as well.
Yes, pretty close to perfect - low-key but memorable.
On the flip-side; every so often I like to make a fuss about other people's birthdays! Unfortunately, more often than not, my plans and the Birthday-person’s reality are two very different events.
Several years ago I wanted very much to celebrate a close friend’s birthday with them. I thought Birthday-person (BP, for short) and I could go out for a nice dinner, or we’d order in and I could make a cake or pie for them or do something of their choosing, movie, theatre – just something fun, up to them. BP’s reality (and mine) was that a bunch of BP’s friends (which I don’t know) decided to throw BP a party and, since they didn’t know me, I wasn’t invited. So, instead I grumbled and sulked and felt completely gutted that I wasn’t able to help BP celebrate their big day.
I haven’t had any luck with special celebrations for C’s birthday in past years either. Last year I had to share him with Easter weekend and the year before that I only managed to eek out an afternoon meeting in a coffee shop.
This year, following the balloon and steamer grand gesture (for which C had to leave work early after discovering that since it was my birthday I had decided to only work a half-day) I really wanted to do something special for C’s birthday.
Since I was already cheated out of being the first to wish him a happy birthday (since he is to be out of town until the afternoon of his birthday) and also not able to make him a wonderful birthday brunch, complete with fresh homemade scones and special coffee. I thought; I’ll make him a wonderful dinner – complete with tablecloth and candles – a romantic homemade dinner for two, followed by a delectable dessert (also homemade, of course). Followed by – well, you never mind what I had planned for after dinner. The point is, it was to be special, intimate, and it was to show C just how much he means to me.
That was my plan.
C’s reality (and mine) is something I should have thought of; something, in fact, that I did think of a couple of months ago but had forgotten that I had thought of it. C and I are spending a wonderful evening with his family (his kids, his sister and his mum). I say wonderful and mean it; C has three great kids, a very sweet mum and a really cool sister and I would happily hang out with them whenever asked.
It’s just that I wanted to make C’s birthday special (emphasis on the “I” in that sentence).
And that’s what I realised about my disappointment about C’s birthday – it wasn’t about him, it was about me. Two things in particular about me – 1. I wished I had family close enough (geographically) to spend my birthday with and 2. my grand gesture of “See how much you mean to me” had a silent mirrored message “See how wonderful I am for thinking you are so wonderful”.
Were my plans for C’s big day as much for me as they were for him? By saying “you mean a great deal to me” am I also silently asking “Do I mean the same to you?”
I’d like to think not, but I’m honestly not sure.
Regardless, I have begun making some new plans, for a day that I will ask C to reserve just for me. I will hold the inaugural "C Appreciation Day" and fill it full of all of the things I had thought to do for his birthday.
Because at the root of it – C – you are very special to me and I am really glad you are part of my life and that you welcome me as part of yours.
Happy Birthday!
Although I downplay my own, I do appreciate people recognizing my birthday without making too much of a fuss about it.
This year's was just about perfect. I got cards from family and a few close friends. I got my birthday muffin. I arrived home from work and was pleasantly surprised by an apartment full of balloons and streamers (yes, C, I was "pleasantly" surprised - despite my balloon phobia - it was a wonderful gesture). I got a wonderful dinner out with C (we don't go out for dinner much, so it's a nice treat for me) and we went to a movie as well.
Yes, pretty close to perfect - low-key but memorable.
On the flip-side; every so often I like to make a fuss about other people's birthdays! Unfortunately, more often than not, my plans and the Birthday-person’s reality are two very different events.
Several years ago I wanted very much to celebrate a close friend’s birthday with them. I thought Birthday-person (BP, for short) and I could go out for a nice dinner, or we’d order in and I could make a cake or pie for them or do something of their choosing, movie, theatre – just something fun, up to them. BP’s reality (and mine) was that a bunch of BP’s friends (which I don’t know) decided to throw BP a party and, since they didn’t know me, I wasn’t invited. So, instead I grumbled and sulked and felt completely gutted that I wasn’t able to help BP celebrate their big day.
I haven’t had any luck with special celebrations for C’s birthday in past years either. Last year I had to share him with Easter weekend and the year before that I only managed to eek out an afternoon meeting in a coffee shop.
This year, following the balloon and steamer grand gesture (for which C had to leave work early after discovering that since it was my birthday I had decided to only work a half-day) I really wanted to do something special for C’s birthday.
Since I was already cheated out of being the first to wish him a happy birthday (since he is to be out of town until the afternoon of his birthday) and also not able to make him a wonderful birthday brunch, complete with fresh homemade scones and special coffee. I thought; I’ll make him a wonderful dinner – complete with tablecloth and candles – a romantic homemade dinner for two, followed by a delectable dessert (also homemade, of course). Followed by – well, you never mind what I had planned for after dinner. The point is, it was to be special, intimate, and it was to show C just how much he means to me.
That was my plan.
C’s reality (and mine) is something I should have thought of; something, in fact, that I did think of a couple of months ago but had forgotten that I had thought of it. C and I are spending a wonderful evening with his family (his kids, his sister and his mum). I say wonderful and mean it; C has three great kids, a very sweet mum and a really cool sister and I would happily hang out with them whenever asked.
It’s just that I wanted to make C’s birthday special (emphasis on the “I” in that sentence).
And that’s what I realised about my disappointment about C’s birthday – it wasn’t about him, it was about me. Two things in particular about me – 1. I wished I had family close enough (geographically) to spend my birthday with and 2. my grand gesture of “See how much you mean to me” had a silent mirrored message “See how wonderful I am for thinking you are so wonderful”.
Were my plans for C’s big day as much for me as they were for him? By saying “you mean a great deal to me” am I also silently asking “Do I mean the same to you?”
I’d like to think not, but I’m honestly not sure.
Regardless, I have begun making some new plans, for a day that I will ask C to reserve just for me. I will hold the inaugural "C Appreciation Day" and fill it full of all of the things I had thought to do for his birthday.
Because at the root of it – C – you are very special to me and I am really glad you are part of my life and that you welcome me as part of yours.
Happy Birthday!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
