Saturday, July 12, 2008
I'm a nervous flyer. I'll do it, because it's the fastest way to get to where I'm going, but I don't like it. You'd never know it to look at me though, because I don't make a scene. What good would it do?
Everytime we fly, I say the same thing to my husband: "I don't know how this thing stays in the air." At which point, he begins an explanation of the mechanics of flight; air speed, flaps, wings, etc. and to which I reply, "It makes no sense to me. I just hope it stays in the air until it's time to land." Thinking he's just not explaining it well enough, he approaches with something I'll understand; submarines. "It's like the bow planes and stern planes on a sub." I say, "That explains how it can rise or descend when it's in the air, but a plane doesn't have ballast tanks that can be filled or emptied."
Undaunted, he starts explaining how it's like putting your hand out of the car window on the highway, and how it's easier or harder depending on which way you put your hand or how fast you go." (I guess I have been listening).
At which point, I protest again, which proves I'm stubborn and unteachable, since we'll only have this exact conversation again on our next flight. It also proves I have the most patient husband in the world for putting up with me.
Anyway, this is a picture of our friend with his float plane. He built it himself. It's a two-seater, just barely, and he uses it to fly into secret lakes in Northern Ontario, to fish. He flew it to Desbarats lake when we were there.
He is one of my husband's Finnish fishing buddies, and he has offerred to fly them inland to fish. In his pre-cancer days, they would portage, but now my husband can only fish in places that they can get to by truck and/or ATV.
How did I respond to the offer?
"I didn't nurse you through cancer to have you die in a plane crash." Don't I sound like a nag?
But I've been up close to this plane. It feels like it's made of pop cans; thin ones. And didn't an Ottawa man die just this week when his self-built plane crashed?
Am I just transferring my own fears onto him? Maybe. But just because I'm irrational doesn't mean I can't have my way. How's that for logic?
My husband tries to bribe me with the insurance money I'd get, which makes me wonder how sure he is of his ride. I say, "Nope, you're worth more to me alive than dead."
So they fish the old fashioned way, in a boat, or on terra firma. The firma, the better.