where the writers are
Fear of flying


First time readers, kindly read the first entry for October 27, 2012, when this story began . . .


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Me:  "I have a date."

Daughter:  "That's nice, Mom, who is he?"

I gave her the background and she asked the inevitable question.  "How'd you meet him?"

"He read my professional website," I replied, casually. 

"Which one, Linked In?"

She gave me less than a second to respond.

"Mom, if you're on a dating site, it's okay.  Lots of people meet people that way."

"I am so nervous, I threw up three times yesterday," I admitted.


"It gets worse - I was in the car and had to barf into an empty styrofoam cup as I was driving along a four-lane undivided highway."

"Mom.  You're sick.  No one gets that nervous."  She didn't add, "particularly you," although I knew that thought was at the forefront of her analysis.

Flying doesn't bother me at all.  I've faced hair-raising descents in a plane that reeked of burning electrical components, as the captain informed us we were making an unscheduled landing in Lubbock, since they hadn't been able to determine the source of the smoke in the cabin.  He offered us comfort by explaining the firetrucks on the runway were "standard procedure."  The young man and his wife in the next row, after making sure their three small children were buckled in, prayed silently.

On the ground, the husband admitted he'd told his wife, "If this is it, I'm grateful we're all together."  My own daughter, who was seated next to me, complained her laptop's battery had died and she hadn't finished her paper.  I found an open electrical outlet, plugged in her power cord and parked her on the floor for the four hours we spent waiting for the airline to fly in another plane from Dallas.  She was content we got meal vouchers and could buy pizza.

The missed approach, when the plane bounced off the ice-covered runway on landing and shot rapidly skyward was nothing.  The nailmarks in my palm made by the perspiring man seated next to me healed in a few days and the only other glitch in the trip was when I missed my connection at O'Hare and there were no rental cars left.

A big trial with millions of dollars at stake?  No problem.

Posting my thoughts and opinions on the internet for anyone to read?  Risky, perhaps, but I've done that, too.

On-line dating?  It's not for the faint of heart.