okay, flying

* If we see each other do not ask me how I am because I am okay unless you ask me how I am.

* Whenever  I fly, which is not often these days, I remember the time I flew with my father across 3 time zones. I was taking him to a new home. He had dementia. And Parkinson's. His legs pained him and the remedy was for him to walk up and down the aisle, tottering along. That was okay on the big, stable, plane but the small one buffeted around so much that on one pass of our seats he said in a voice loud enough to pierce the engine (yes, I think it was a singular engine!) roar, "Hell, Girl! Who's flying this plane?" In his walking he was very much like one of those wind up toys that strike out into the world after having been wound up. It took much diplomacy to get him to sit down so the pilot could land. The pilot was kind--he patiently circled the landing strip how many times before my father finally squeezed into his seat. I miss him so much....