There are days when I wish I were my husband. When I could just hop in an airplane, take in the views and stay in a hotel room all by myself. Then I remember I really don't like to fly anymore (unless it is Dramamine assisted) or recall my mother's warning to never actually USE the hotel comforter, and I'm just fine staying home. But, after a long week of sick girls and a feeling a little "off" myself , the thought had some appeal.
Generally, I just don't think I could do what the Captain does (besides the obvious fact that I can't fly a plane). Most things about flying in general really sort of bug me. I don't like the waits, don't like the turbulance, don't like being in that small space with all those other people, and don't like the weird stomach flipping on take off and landing - dramamine assisted or not.
See what I mean? How would you like to be at the end of that conga line? No thanks. Give me a sick child anyday.
But then, you get a little of this, and I start to reconsider...
Quick! Name that View! (above: Finger Lake region in New York, below, BHO-land.)
And the fact is you don't have to be looking at anything in particular to appreciate the view...
"Watch out, Honey....that's a big one!" Can't seem to control that back seat driver impulse.
"Go West, young Captain, there's a plane in them thar clouds!" Somebody stop me.
Yes, if there is anything I envy the Captain, it's his office views. For a boy who drew pictures of himself waving out of the cockpit window from the Captain's seat of a big jet, it's a dream come true.
My dream is doing pretty well too.
Now, put down that camera and fly the plane, would ya? Please?