ANOTHER EMPTY SWIMMING POOL

“ANOTHER EMPTY SWIMMING POOL”

FROM CAP’N MERYL


USAToday.com

As I write this, I’m home at my computer. But I’m not
on days off-—I’m on a Denver layover. As many of you
know I live in Denver but commute to Chicago where I am
based. It’s hard getting much time at home these days
as we’re flying much fuller schedules than we used to
due to cutbacks and productivity issues.

The weird thing is that many of the domestic trips
which originate in Chicago have Denver layovers. I was
in Denver last night, too, but the layover was too
short to come home. Tonight, I’ll fly back to Chicago
and I’ll be done with this Chicago-San
Francisco-Denver- Washington Dulles-Denver-Chicago
trip. Tomorrow morning I’ll take the first flight home
to Denver, but the next day I’ll have to head back to
Chicago to fly another trip, but I don’t know where to.
Confused? You know I am! I literally look at my
schedule every few hours just to make sure I don’t goof
up and wind up here when I’m supposed to be there. (I
hate it when that happens.)

When I was first learning to fly in the early
seventies, I was certain I was the only female pilot
around who aspired to fly for the airlines. I met only
one other female pilot and she just wanted to fly as a
hobby.

The fact is I was NOT the only other female around with
airline ambitions, although we were few and far between
and communications were not sophisticated like they are
today with email and websites and all of that. In
other words, they were there but I didn’t know they
were there.
The very same month I was starting on my Private Pilot
License, Bonnie Tiburzi was being accepted at American
Airlines as the first woman pilot to fly for a major
commercial airline. Emily Howell Warner had just been
accepted at Frontier Airlines as well, but Bonnie was
the first to fly for the “majors” in modern times.
I say “in modern times” because the very first female
commercial airline pilot is documented to be Helen
Ritchey, hired in 1934 by Central Airlines. She was
not allowed to join the all-male pilots’ union and was
forced to resign because she wasn’t a union member. Is
there any more symmetrical logic than that? There are
at least two other women airline pilots that may go
back as far as 1927 but I haven’t been able to
successfully research them. Helen Ritchey,
incidentally, eventually committed suicide, according
to the records I have been able to find. Whether that
was due to rejection or other factors I’ve never been
able to determine. Regardless, I can absolutely put
myself right into her flying boots and feel what she
must have felt.
When I was researching some facts for my own book, I
discovered that Bonnie Tiburzi had written a book in
1984 called “Takeoff!” I couldn’t order it fast enough
and read it from cover to cover immediately—-and then
again a second time. It took some sleuthing, but I
tracked Bonnie down and asked her if she would read my
own book (she is mentioned in it) and give me an
endorsement if she liked it, which I’m happy to say she
did. Used copies of her book can be found at
Amazon.com.

A few weeks ago, just as I was putting the finishing
touches on “The Cowboys of LAX,” a story of a
race-horse getting loose on the airport as he was being
loaded onto a Flying Tigers B-747 cargo plane, I was
contacted just by coincidence of timing by Norah
O’Neill, the first woman to hire on as a pilot at
Flying Tigers. She has just released her own book
called “Flying Tigress” and you can read more about it
at her site www.flyingtigressone

Norah not only relates wonderful adventures, but also
addresses the dark and even abusive side of being a
female in a man's world. The sheer number of shared
experiences between us is astonishing. For instance,
we’re both from San Diego, had the same FAA designated
examiner for our first licenses, both flew the bush in
Alaska, knew (and still do) many of the same people and
on and on. Norah was Geraldo Rivera’s very first
interview, when she was an Alaskan bush pilot, for the
opening segment of the very first “Good Morning
America.” Of all things, I found out recently that
Geraldo Rivera is a distant cousin of mine. (I knew if
I waited long enough I’d find an excuse to tell you
that. I thought my Mom was joking when she told me.)

And that FINALLY brings me to the title of this Update:
When women first started appearing in cockpits, and
when we’d hear a female voice on the radio, some guy
pilot would inevitably feel compelled to say, “There
goes another empty kitchen.”

In my case, of course, it just showed these guys’
ignorance. A kitchen without me in it is a good
kitchen, a clean kitchen, one without smoke and foul
odors emanating from it. Once, when I was living alone
and had just returned from a trip, I found a note on my
crock pot, left there by my TV repairman who had been
there in my absence. The note read something like
this: “I decided I better destroy your lab experiment
before it escaped.” What was in the crock pot had
started out as mushroom something-or-other. I left in
a hurry, though, and I guess mushrooms mutate when left
to their own devices. But all that’s beside the point,
I guess. Let me get back to explaining the title.

In my own book “The World At My Feet” I related a story
about an adventure I had in Iran when I went over to
purchase and ferry some airplanes back to the United
States. Although I was somewhat familiar with the
customs there and with the lowly status of women, I
made the mistake of jumping into the hotel pool first
thing when I arrived. I always do that, and since it
was a Sheraton I rationalized that it would be okay.

Wrong. I wasn’t in the pool more than a few minutes
before I was unceremoniously hauled out and arrested,
although I was released just minutes after I hit the
water
with a promise not to do it again.

Norah, in her own book, related a similar experience in
the Middle East. However, she added something I had
NEVER realized until I read her book. I noticed the
pool was drained the day after my arrest but thought
nothing of it at the time. Just time for a cleaning,
or so I thought. But in her book, I read that her pool
had been drained, too! The pools were drained BECAUSE
a woman had swum in them! Norah’s book was
enlightening for me in many ways and once again I
learned something I was completely oblivious to at time
it happened.

In honor of my new-found “fellow” female pilots I have
added a new Album (on Page 2) to my Photo Gallery at
www.fromthecockpit.com It’s called “Sky Ladies” and
you’ll find a picture of Bonnie Tiburzi, Norah O’Neill
(in her kitty-cat pajamas while on break in a Flying
Tigers B-747), Robin Shields (another new friend and
captain for American Airlines) and her 10-year-old
daughter Katie in the cockpit, taken on a
mother-daughter outing. I’ve also added Katina, my own
copilot on a Washington, Dulles to Munich trip. Her
picture may already be familiar to you as it appears in
the “Washington Dulles to Munich” Album. To meet these
ladies, please click here:

Sky Ladies

I hope you enjoy meeting some of my new friends and
will talk to you next week!

Until Next Time,
Maintain Airpseed!
Cap’n Meryl
www.flyingfearless.com

Meet The Parents

“MEET THE PARENTS”

FROM CAP’N MERYL

Link to this week’s column at USAToday.com/travel:


USA Today Column

Al the Web Guy has provided a link to a page about
Spyware, as promised in an earlier Weekly Update.
Check it out:
Link To Spyware

A few months ago I flew to Harrisburg, PA to do an
in-studio interview with Sandy Fenton on AAA’s
show “Let’s Talk Travel.” She recently sent me
the interview on CD and Al The Web Guy has posted
it to my site. You can get to it by clicking on
the brown Media Links button at
www.fromthecockpit.com or go there directly by
clicking here:
Sandy Fenton Interview
To see a picture of Sandy Fenton and me, click
here:

Picture

After several months of trying, I was finally able
to hook up with one of my readers, Father Jeremiah
Loch. We met at one of the hotels I always use in
Chicago while I was waiting to be called out for a
trip to fly. I met with Father Jeremiah, his wife
Kay and some friends and family members for
dinner. Father Jeremiah is Russian Orthodox. For
a couple of pictures, go to
www.fromthecockpit.com, click on the Photo Gallery
and then on Last Uploads.

This has got to be one of the “coolest” Fathers
and nicest families around. Just about everyone
in the family flies so aviation was the
centerpiece of the evening. Of course, that was
pretty tough for me (NOT!). It happened to be the
53rd anniversary of Kay’s (Jeremiah’s wife)
parents.

After that, I waited on reserve and never flew at
all. This is the first time I’ve sat around for a
few days and not flown any trips. However, I made
good use of my time—-although I suppose that is a
matter of opinion—-and wrote a new poem. Rather
than subjecting all my readers to this lengthy
poem, called “The Irritated Oyster,” I’ve put just
two verses at the bottom which link to the entire
thing as well as an audio rendition. If you have
small children they might enjoy the audio
rendition. The poem itself is suitable for adults
and children. I hope so, anyway. Your feedback is
most welcome.

I am thrilled to announce I have a verbal
agreement with a world-renowned artist of
children’s books and other artwork to produce some
children’s books of my own, starting with “Ode to
a Jellyfish.” If you missed that one, it’s at
www.fromthecockpt.com/jellyfish.htm. This is
really exciting for me as I’ve never even thought
about writing a children’s book, but what the heck
and why not?

Also, I received news this evening that my book
“The World At My Feet” has been nominated for an
award for independently published books. The
award is called an “Evvy.” My second book is
under contract by a mainstream publisher but the
first one I published independently. So that’s
exciting news, at least for me.

Back to my week: From Chicago I came home to
Denver for a day, then flew to San Diego to help
celebrate my parents’ 63rd anniversary with some
of our own extended family. You can “Meet The
Parents” by going to the Photo Gallery as I
mentioned above and clicking on Latest Uploads.
You can do this from the main page where all the
albums are listed without having to go to the
United States Album. 63 years and counting! I
don’t know about you, but I think this is just
remarkable.

In fact, my latest poem (The Irritated Oyster) has
an anniversary theme and so is dedicated to my
parents. They were first to hear the entire thing
when I was visiting (I just happened to have it
with me—-go figure.

I have no idea what’s up with this whole poetry
thing and I realize maybe some or even many of you
might be put off by it. It’s coming to me rather
easily so I don’t want to chase away the thoughts.
Coming up a name for the father oyster in the
story was tough and I went to bed without having
come up with it yet. I employed what I refer to
as the “Night Shift.” I mentally “assigned” my
subconscious to come up with the perfect name for
an oyster dad as I felt confident there had to be
one. Sure enough, when I woke up in the morning
the name was waiting for me. “Stewart” or “Stew”
for short. What better name for an oyster? I
know many people who put their subconscious to
work while they’re asleep. Hey, it works for
me(sometimes).

I realize I haven’t brought you any exotic
ports-of-call or thrills or chills, but this was
my week. So, I give you the first two verses of
my latest poetic endeavor below and from here you
can click to read and/or hear all of it.


THE IRRITATED OYSTER
(For my parents, Bette & Gordon Getline)


‘Twas a beautiful day in the middle of May,
beneath a shining blue sea.
A family of oysters was gathered together enjoying
their afternoon tea.
There were peanut-butter-and jellyfish sandwiches,
oyster crackers and soup.
There was Mom and Dad and a mother-in-law and two
kids in this undersea group.

The Dad was named Stewart the mother was Pearl;
the kids were named Shelly and Ray.
The Mother of Pearl was visiting them; she was
just in town for the day.
The Dad was a happy and sensitive guy; most of his
friends called him “Stew .”
And his lovely wife Pearl was sweet as could be
and the Mother of Pearl was, too.

Irritated Oyster Poem


And with these poetic thoughts….
Until Next Time,
Maintain Airpseed!
Cap’n Meryl
http://www.flyingfearless.com

Cookie Run

FROM CAP’N MERYL


http://www.usatoday.com/travel/columnist/getline/2005-05-09-ask-the-captainx.htm

“COOKIE RUN”

One of my readers, John Miranda, sent me a series
of Hawaiian photos and they are so gorgeous I
asked his permission to post his link here. Many
others have sent photos as well, and I may post
some on occasion, but it’s always a problem having
time to go through everything that is sent. So
feel free to send me things, but please don’t be
offended if I don’t respond. Here is John’s
Hawaiian link:
http://www.johnmiranda.com/kauai05.htm

Also, Just a reminder that my next “Ground School
for Passengers” is scheduled for May 18th. Check
for details here: www.flyingfearless.com.

Now, to this week’s Update: One reader wrote to me
and asked that I try to take some pictures of pipe
organs during my travels, and as I promised to do
so I was reminded of this “lost” chapter called
“Cookie Run.” “Cookie Run” was to be a chapter in
“The World At My Feet” but got cut due to concerns
about the length of the book. It is possible it
will be included in my
second book, due out in June 2006. So what do
cookies have to do with
organs? Read on! I hope you’ll let me know if
you enjoy it as it is
being considered for inclusion in my second book.

“Cookie Run”
The first time I ever flew as a pilot for Wien Air
Alaska to Salt Lake City, I attended a concert at
the Mormon Tabernacle and was reading the program
later that day. The program included the
startling fact that there were
over eleven thousand pipes, but I counted
exactly thirty-seven. I just
had to know where the rest of the pipes were, and
wanted to see what over eleven thousand pipes
could possibly look like.

On a whim, I found a phone book and looked for the
organist’s name, which unfortunately was very
generic-sounding and most likely difficult to
pinpoint. I was right about the name and there
were about a dozen identical listings but, to my
delight, his name was distinguished by the word
“organist” after it. I hadn’t expected that.

I called, he answered, and laughed when I asked my
question about the pipes.

I said, “My name is Meryl. I’m a pilot for an
airline up in Anchorage called Wien Air Alaska.
Have you heard of it?”

“Yes, I have!” he exclaimed. “We have a son in
Fairbanks and he flies on Wien when he comes to
visit. We’ve flown on Wien, too, when we’ve gone
to visit him!”

“Good,” I said. “Here’s the thing: I attended
your concert today at the Tabernacle and I really,
really enjoyed it. But I’ve just got to ask you,
where are all the pipes you can’t see? Are they
behind the main organ? It mentions the number in
the program but it doesn’t given any explanation.”

“How wonderful you called,” he said, “I’m really
glad you enjoyed the concert. I have to tell you,
nobody’s ever called and asked me about where the
rest of the pipes are. If you’ll come by tomorrow
after the 11:00 AM concert I’ll take you on a
personal tour and show you where they hide more
than eleven thousand pipes.”

I was ecstatic. I showed up and he did take me on
a tour—just him and me. He had me stand inside the
very largest bass pipe—thirty-two feet high—while
he played some notes. The vibration was
incredible and I’m highly ticklish, so I stood
giggling in the pipe while he played.

The smallest pipe was tiny, just three-quarters of
an inch. All these
“invisible” pipes were just in back of the main
pipes which, he informed me, were mostly just a
façade. Some of them were real, but many were put
there for aesthetic reasons, for symmetry. I had
just assumed they were all real and that they were
all visible, until I read the program notes.
There were, he informed me, a total of 11,623
“speaking” (as opposed to just for
decoration) pipes arranged in 206 “ranks” (rows).

He also showed me the jet turbine, or “organ
blower” behind the sound proof door when I asked
him how in the world enough air was generated to
drive the organ. “Just like the engines on the
jets you fly,” he commented casually. I was
astonished. I knew there must be something
elaborate, but had no idea the volume of air
actually required.

I told him I couldn’t imagine playing an organ of
that magnitude, and he asked me if I’d like to try
it! I’m not a Mormon, but he didn’t ask and I
don’t know that he would have cared. Other
Mormons have since told me that it was highly
unusual—unheard of, in fact—for the organist to
have allowed a non-organist for the Mormon Church
play the organ, and I believe it. He not only let
me play around with it, he actually cleared the
Tabernacle for me
to give me some privacy. Or, just possibly, he
didn’t want anyone to think
he was the one playing.

The Tabernacle, of course, has been widely
televised because of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir
and their concerts and therefore was a popular
attraction, but I was left alone for just under
half an hour while he disappeared behind the
scenes somewhere. I’m not an accomplished
organist, but, as I had so many years before in
Copenhagen when another organist recognized my
passion for the pipes and allowed me to play some
Bach, I played the same simple Bach piece “If Thou
Art Near.” Since that’s all I could manage on the
complicated instrument, I played it over and over,
experimenting with the different instrument
settings.

There were, I think, five keyboards, 32 pedals and
almost countless stops (making the different
instrument sounds). It would have taken me days
to experiment with all the combinations I wanted
to try. We had an organ at home in San Diego so I
was used to playing on a split keyboard, but it
was nothing like this!

I thanked him profusely, and he brought out a
small package which he handed to me. It contained
chocolate chip cookies baked by his wife for their
son, who, as he had mentioned on the phone, lived
in Fairbanks. Would I be so kind as to deliver
them? I’m very kind, as it happens, and I did in
fact deliver them. Small price to pay—in fact, no
price at all—for such a treat.

The ironic part is that chocolate chip cookies
played a part in my being in Salt Lake City in the
first place. You see, at the time, Mrs. Fields—as
in Mrs. Fields Cookies—had not yet made a huge
global splash. They were unavailable in Anchorage
where I lived and I had never heard of either Mrs.
Fields or her cookies until a flight attendant for
Wien told me I absolutely had to go to Salt Lake
City where they had the best chocolate chip
cookies in the world!

The layover hotel was the Crossroads Marriott,
situated directly across from Temple Square and
actually connected to the Crossoads Mall (Salt
Lake City is sometimes referred to as the
“Crossroads of the West”) and that is where I
tasted my first Mrs. Fields cookie—milk chocolate
with nuts, to be precise. One bite and I was
hopelessly addicted, along with the other flight
crews. I started flying that route as often as
possible, not just for myself, but to take orders
for others I made the mistake of bringing cookies
home to sample. At closing time, the cookie stand
would start selling the cookies at half-price. It
was a bit of a competition with all the other
flight crew members who were in Salt Lake for the
same reason I was.

The really neat thing is that Debbie Fields—A.K.A.
Mrs. Fields—was often on our flight between
Seattle and Salt Lake because, I’d heard, she had
a house
in Park City, Utah, near Salt Lake City. She
wasn’t the grandmotherly type
I’d pictured at all. In fact, she was this
gorgeous, delightful young woman whose cookies
were to become a worldwide sensation. When I saw
her a few years later on Oprah Winfrey she was
still trim and stunning, which would have been
really irritating except that she seemed so
incredibly nice.

I was to return to Temple Square and the
Tabernacle again many times over the years, first
with Wien and later with United. I saw and spoke
with that particular organist another time or two,
but that first time, regrettably but not
surprisingly, was also the last time I was
permitted to play the
grand pipe organ of the Mormon Tabernacle.
And just think—all for want of the world’s best
chocolate chip cookie!

And that’s my “Cookie Run” story. My guess is
most or all of my readers have seen this beautiful
organ, but if not, click here:

http://www.johnborwick.com/pictures/cross-USA/cross-USA-Images/19.jpg

Feel free to let me know if you think this story
should be included in the next book, or whether
you don’t find it “book worthy.” You can write to
me regarding this at: cookies@fromthecockpit.com

Until Next Time,
Maintain Airpseed!
Cap’n Meryl
www.flyingfearless.com (Cap’n Meryl’s “Ground
School for Passengers”)

Gettin' Mushy

Link to this week's column at USAToday.com/travel:

http://www.usatoday.com/travel/columnist/getline/2005-02-21-ask-the-captain_
x.htm

"Gettin' Mushy"

ANNNOUNCEMENT: First "Ground School for
Passengers" was a HIT. See what one attendee had
to say:

"As one of those flyers who grabs the armrest
every time the plane jiggles or bounces, after
spending two hours with Meryl Getline I am looking
forward to my next flight anticipating a much more
relaxed experience. She went through every topic
that terrifies us fearful ones and replaced the
fear with knowledge and understanding, and trust.
It was worth every penny." Connie Nelson -
Fremont, CA

My next Teleseminar is scheduled for May 18th.
Please visit www.flyingfearless.com for details.

Strangely enough, BEFORE I put out my first poem
for my Weekly Update, called "Over The Pole to the
Orient," my Mom told me that my Dad made a comment
about my writing like a poet, with reference to my
descriptions. They were both stunned when I put
out that first poem. As a matter of fact, I was
stunned. I've just never been into poetry
especially.

For those of you who are new to this newsletter
and want to see my previous stabs at what I
loosely refer to as poetry, please click here for
"Over The
Pole to the Orient":
http://www.fromthecockpit.com/Blogg/
then click on Feb. 2005 on the right-hand side.
The poem is in the second piece, also called "Over
the Pole to the Orient."

Click here to listen to or read "Ode to A
Jellyfish."
http://www.fromthecockpit.com/jellyfish.htm

My newest poem is based on the syntax of Robert
Frost's poem "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy
Evening." Although I was absolutely NOT into
poetry while in school, for some reason this poem
is one I memorized and never forgot. I was
intrigued by the rhyming of the third line of each
verse to the first, second and fourth lines of the
next verse, and of the overall feeling of serenity
of the poem.

In any case, I wrote the poem below with Cap'n
Al(yes, Al The Web Guy), in mind. We used to fly
the Pacific together in the late eighties when he
flew as captain on the DC-10 and I was his
copilot. A little on the mushy side, but you'll
get over it in due time. "Ode to a Jellyfish" is
really more my style, but this stuff just writes
itself and when it does, I feel I have an
obligation to share it with at least a limited
audience of several thousand, and that's you.

Before I do the poetry thing, though, last time I
wrote I was unsure where I was flying next but
guessed it would be a domestic trip and for once I
was right. As a reserve pilot, I fly leftover
trips and never really know until a day or to
prior to leaving where I'm headed.

My trip was a four-day extravaganza which went
from Chicago to San Francisco where we had a full
day downtown. Our layover hotel is right at the
gate to Chinatown. I got my Chinese food fix and,
even more importantly, my almond cookie fetish got
taken care of. I have a "thing" for almond
cookies.

My stunning view from the 21st floor of our hotel
looked out at Coit Tower with the bay behind it.
In fact, I've added quite a few pictures to my US
Album in my Photo Gallery if you want to peek.
You'll see I added some shots of both the arrival
and departure into San Francisco, and a few of
shots of Chicago as well.

TIP: Look for a link that says "Last Uploads" in
the last line just under the web address, at the
top of the Photo Gallery when you first get there.
This link will take you right to all the latest
shots, dated in May. I added five photos to the
Hawaii Album and a bunch to the U.S. Album. You
can look at them all by clicking this link right
from the main page of the Photo Gallery. No need
to click on a specific Album for this, although
you can. Here's the link to the Photo Gallery:
www.fromthecockpit.com/gallery.

At night, when I have a room high up in my hotel
with a great view, I leave my curtains wide open.
There was a flashing light reflecting off the wall
of my San Francisco hotel, which I initially
thought was my smoke detector. When I realized it
was coming from outside, I got up to go stand in
the reflection and see exactly where it was coming
from. It was the beacon from Alcatraz! I am
highly impressionable and when I fell asleep, I
dreamed about jumping off the island as an escaped
prisoner and swimming to shore. I'm one of the few
who made it, in case you're wondering how it
turned out.


From San Francisco it was just flights to Denver
and Washington, D.C.'s Dulles Airport, then back
to Chicago. Pretty hum-drum stuff. There were
two Denver layovers but I live an hour and a half
away so I didn't get to go home.

After that it was another Kona run, where I
visited with a few more friends I've made through
my column and this newsletter. Apparently many of
my readers are living the good life out in Hawaii.
The noteworthy thing about this trip is that my
primary first officer, Mike Marcano, has a
girlfriend in China. When he told me he'd been
there 134 times I almost fell out of the airplane.
Of course, that's just as a pilot and doesn't
count the approximately 150 total times he's flown
there---the rest on passes to visit his Sweetie.
He taught me and our relief pilot, Troy Avery,
some useful Chinese phrases during our flight.
Oh, and did I mention Mike's 114 (or so) flights
to Frankfurt? This guy's been just about
everywhere to the point I was exhausted (but
fascinated) listening to him. Stories of travels
to Mongolia, Tunisia and all sorts of other exotic
locales.

Troy, our relief pilot, and I flew together on the
Airbus at one time as well, even taking an annual
checkride together in the simulator. He's also an
aviation attorney and has worked on some major
cases. A delightful trip with a delightful crew.
Mike and Troy were added to my Hawaii Album, or
you can find them in the "Last Uploads" as
described above.

I also added some new shots of final approaches
(San Francisco and Chicago) and departures from
San Francisco, along with some other shots in
various locales, all in the U.S. Album. Check out
this photo of Mt. Hood taken shortly before we
headed out to sea on our Kona flight:
http://www.fromthecockpit.com/gallery/displayimage.php?&pos=-337

I went swimming in my usual cove on Kona but Ernie
the Jellyfish (see the link above to read the
story told by the poem) must have packed up his
little jellyfish bag and left town, so I swam
unscathed this time. I kind of missed him, but
not that much.

And now to the scary stuff---Cap'n Meryl's newest
poem. At least it's short. Here's a link to
Robert Frost's poem for comparison if you care to
see where the inspiration for the rhythm of own
poem originated:
http://www.ketzle.com/frost/snowyeve.htm

And here is my own, about Cap'n Al and me:

Night Flight

Across the frigid sea we fly,
A moonless night, a velvet sky.
Ten million points of light above
The only sound a gentle sigh.

I turn to see the man I love
And wonder what he's thinking of.
His brow is creased, he's deep in thought.
He doesn't see the stars above.

I wonder if I really ought
To rouse him and decide I'll not
The sky above is deep and vast
The craft we fly a tiny dot.

Our plane is silver, sleek and fast.
The night is long but now has passed,
The distant shore in sight at last.
The distant shore in sight at last.

I'm telling you I can't HELP it! I did warn you
previously, many times, that I am a hopeless
romantic. I've even joined HRA (Hopeless
Romantics
Anonymous) but it's just no help. Maybe there's a
patch or something.

http://www.flyingfearless.com

Until Next Time,
Maintain Airpseed!
Cap'n Meryl
www.flyingfearless.com (Cap'n Meryl's "Ground
School for Passengers")