Letter to a Pilot

*** continued from previous post ***

September 20th, 2008

Dear Amber,

Well, I guess I need to apologize. After talking with your Mom I found out you're not going to be a Navy Pirate, but a Navy PILOT.

That's cool and all but damn . . . I was really looking forward to visiting you and scuttling a few of Her Majesty's schooners. Well, whatever. I shall get over my disappointment. Eventually.

Dammit! Could you still get a Navy issued parrot?

So, I've been looking into this whole Navy Pilot thingee - wow. Double wow. The more I read, the more I'm thinking this might even be COOLER than being a Pirate! Pirate's don't get to fly. Well, not unless they're unruly and get launched out of a cannon.

So now I have a few questions for you:

1. Do they let you check out the aircraft on weekends? You know, for pleasure trips?

2. Mom says that if you graduate OCS, then you go to ground school. Really? I would think you would go to Air School. I mean, don't you want to avoid the ground?

3. Do you get to pick your own call sign? If so, might I suggest "Bubbles", or "Perky", or possibly "Smiles"? Those are some bad ass pilot names right there and I believe they would fit your personality quite well.

4. Is it too late to apply to Pirate School?

Love ,

Daddio

P.S. Your cat came back. It took him a few days to dig himself out of the ground. I guess he wasn't dead. Just really, really tired. My bad.


*** The journey continues tomorrow ***

Letter to a Pirate

*** continued from previous post  ***


September 14, 2008


Dear Amber,


I hope this note finds you healthy and happy. I don't know much about OCS, and to be honest I may not have been listening particularly closely when you were discussing it with Mom at various points in the last two years. I was busy.


I hope that you're getting plenty of rest and fresh air. Do you have some sort of physical exercise program there at OCS? Pilates? Some low-impact aerobics? If you're going to be a Navy Pirate, you have to be in good shape. It can't be all "Arrrggghhh" this and "Yo Ho" that. At some point you may have to actually run or something - you know, if the pillaging goes awry - so that might be a good skill-set to develop.


Oh! Have you got to road-test any parrots yet? So. Flippin'. Cool! I can't stress this enough - you and your parrot are going to be lifelong companions, so don't become infatuated with colorful plumage or a large vocabulary. There is much, much more to a parrot than flash and a well turned phrase. And dear lord, try to get one that's shoulder trained. The cleaning bills for stripped shirts are outrageous.


How about your cutlass? Do you get to choose that, or is one assigned to you? And what about the dress code? Do you get to design your own Pirate outfit? If you do, go with red and black. It's a great color combination for your complexion. Although, you can't go wrong with basic black. Black just shouts 'I'm all evil and stuff, so hand over the Booty!'


Sorry for all the questions, but this Navy Pirate stuff is akin to a foreign land for me. Honestly, I didn't even know the Navy had Pirates! That reminds me, do you get to keep the treasure, or is it all turned over to Uncle Sam?


I'm so anxious to hear about the classes on profanity and drinking rum. Probably some plank walking thrown in there as well. Also, I imagine you're digging a lot of holes in the sand and drawing crude maps. What an adventure!


I hope you're enjoying these installment of Mom's and my big trip.


Love you,


Daddio


P.S. Had to evict the transients and while cleaning out your room we found 'the box'. If you survive OCS you are in big trouble Missy.



Tomorrow:  Chapter 2 - The Great Brown


*** the journey continues tomorrow

Sedation - It's not just for breakfast anymore!

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September 12, 2008

Dear Amber,

Quick note about life on the home-front before we continue the story.

What's been happening since our return . . . not much. Couple of small fires. A trip or two to the emergency room. Scrambling to come up with bail money for cousin Molly. Same old, same old. As you can see our routine hasn't changed much since you've forsaken us to become a Navy Pirate.

L8R G8R!

Love you,
Daddio

P.S. Almost forgot . . . your cat died and we really did rent out your room to transients.
Hope you're having a great day Princess!

Twent - twenty - twenty -twenty four hours to go
I wanna be sedated

--- The Ramones

Yes, it was now 24 hours 'till blast-off. The excitement level in the household had reached a fevered pitch. It was Christmas Eve. It was Carnival in Rio. It was the night before a root canal sans novocaine.

Let me just state for the record that I was a cucumber. In a bowl of ice. Sitting in the refrigerator. Meditating. It was your Mother, pour soul, that had lost it and had become - well, there's no other way to put it - a complete whack-job.

As you know I have certain responsibilities pre-trip. I know what most of them are and Mom tells me the others. I check the bike over quite thoroughly. I change the oil. I make sure the tires are good and full to the proper pressure. Nothing quite like an under inflated tire on a bike. You may be able to get away with it on a car, but on a bike each tire constitutes 50% of your contact with the road. Since I like to be able to steer - I know, picky me - proper inflation is imperative. I check the lights, the turn signals, the exhaust. I wash the beast, and make her shiny. Probably until the next trip - aren't dead bugs considered decoration in some cultures? A badge of honor? Well, they should be. What? Not so much in certain Hindu sects? Oops. My bad. There goes the bike trip through India. Anyway, I look for loose hoses, cables, nuts, bolts and check all things dangley. I fill her with premium fuel. I confirm that the gauges, gizmos, and doo-dads are in proper working order.

Which is a polite way to say I try to keep busy and stay the hell out of your Mom's way while her psychosis runs its course.

*** the journey continues tomorrow