Craziest Mission Moment

A couple of months ago one of my favorite mission companions wrote the following for our mission web site:

“Our "Craziest Moment" happened in Portoviejo. Elder Robert Evans and I were headed home on a dark night and this guy, who I thought was inebriated, bumped into me. As he did, he jerked my bag off of my shoulder and pulled a knife on me and Elder Evans. (What a guy!) When I realized I was being robbed of my bag and its valuables (several copies of the BoM, my scriptures, charlas (discussions), etc. - no money or ID), I suddenly felt a wave of righteous indignation come over me. (That guy just took my bag right off my shoulder. He took my bag! I'm a missionary and that's my missionary bag. You can't steal a missionary's bag from a missionary. That's just wrong!!!)

“So, in my finest español (just 5 months in Ecuador) I called upon him to immediately repent. I demanded (commanded) he put down my bag and walk away or there would be serious consequences (I may have called down the powers of heaven - some details are fuzzy after 20 years ... it happened so fast). He rejected my commands and instead jabbed his knife at me as I pressed him to repent. (Some people! Here we are thousands of miles away from home, teaching the gospel, and this is the thanks we get.)

“I jumped back at each jab (Jack Bauer style) and returned each time with the same call to repentance (PUT DOWN MY BAG or else) ...

“I was making pretty good headway for awhile (at least I thought) until I slipped in the dirt, falling to the ground as our assailant lunged towards me from above.

“No worries! Elder Evans was at my side the entire time (as all good companions are when their fellow missionary is sprawled on the ground with an armed assailant coming at them). Elder Evans jumped towards the assailant, drawing away his attention just in time with a shout I have yet to identify, nor am I able to adequately describe or recreate (you are welcome to ask Elder Evans to recreate it, but be warned). As I was on the ground (not yet giving up, but admittedly feeling more vulnerable), I reached out my hands to push myself up from the ground and I felt several sizable rocks beside me. They were just the size of my grip and large enough to use as object lessons to help me teach the principle of repentance. I jumped to my feet with teaching tools (rocks) in hand, determined to get a commitment by the end of this charla (discussion). Reproving with sharpness, I shouted out my final dire warning demanding he lay down my bag and leave us immediately or certainly suffer the wrath of two angry (filled w/righteous indignation) missionaries. Eyeing the sizable rocks in my hands and overwhelmed with Elder Evan's effective maneuvering and vocal expressions, our assailant paused momentarily, appearing to reevaluate his circumstances. Then, without further notice and not a word ever spoken by him, our assailant dropped my bag to the ground and penitently backed away. I pressed forward, grabbed my bag, looked our assailant directly in his eyes and with complete clarity, declared the obvious, "Gracias y Buenas Noches!"

“Other than that, the rest of the night was pretty calm.”

I thought I’d add my version to Mike’s account (it’s always interesting how different details stand out to different people).

Elder Calta and I were walking down the hillside in Portoviejo after teaching a discussion to a family after dark. While passing near the bus terminal a man walking the opposite direction suddenly bumped into Mike and took occasion to divest Mike of his backpack, which contained several copies of the Book of Mormon plus his camera. The man then turned to face us and drew a knife, threatening us to keep our distance. Mike wasn’t going to take that. He started yelling at the thief, commanding him to return the backpack and telling him that he was stupid and that he was going to die. (“¡Somos misioneros! ¡Tu eres estúpido! ¡Tu vas a morir!”) He also began to make menacing gestures toward the now slightly concerned robber, who slowly backed up.

Meanwhile I just wished that Mike would calm down—it wasn’t worth getting hurt—or worse—over.

Then Mike slipped and fell. The thief moved in closer, intent on pressing his advantage. I had to think fast. I quickly grabbed some rocks (I wasn’t going to get close to a guy with a knife) and cocked my arm back, ready to throw. Shouting at the thief to get his attention apparently I really got Mike’s attention as well. Mike followed my lead and also grabbed some rocks. The robber, recognizing that we weren’t the easy prey that he had imagined, again began to back up. Now back on his feet, Mike continued to threaten the man verbally and with actions (Think, “c’mon, you wanna piece of me?”). That was too much for the poor guy. Shaking visibly, he set the backpack down and backed away.

Mike picked up his backpack, looked the thief in the eyes and spoke loudly, “¡Gracias y buenas noches!”

From that experience I learned not to make Mike mad, and that a 5’ 5”, 120 lbs. guy should think twice about taking on two crazy Americans. You never know, they might know karate, just like all the Americans on TV.

Two or Three Witnesses

Yesterday morning I was driving to the Atlanta airport to catch my 7:15 flight home. I had checked on the computer the night before and saw that there were plenty of seats and I looked forward to a relaxed commute home. Well, fairly relaxed. I would have to make a connection in Denver, since the nonstop to Salt Lake City was pretty full with lots of other people like me on the standby list for whatever few seats were available. But I would get home by noon, which was the important part.

So while driving I called up the airline to reserve the “jumpseat”—the extra observation seat that every airliner has in the cockpit. Nearly every U.S. airline has agreements in place so that a pilot from any of the participating airlines can ride up front (or in back if there are empty seats) on any of the participating airlines. This has gotten me home at least a third of the time and is invaluable. Anyway, in process of making the reservation I discovered much to my dismay that the flight actually was departing at 6:30, not 7:15. Was the website wrong? I recalled that another website showed the flight leaving at 6:30, but since the company’s website showed 7:15, I assumed (take note of that word) that the company’s website was correct.

Panic struck me as I drove to the ASA parking lot. By my calculations, if I was lucky I would arrive at the terminal at 6:15. Maybe I could still make it. The bus made good time, and after an agonizing 60 second delay waiting for an airplane to get out of the way. At 6:16 I got out of the bus, ran for a jet bridge (remember, I’m outside with the airplanes), hiked up the stairs, entered the terminal and sprinted for the gate. I got there at 6:19 (gate agents try to close the door at ten minutes prior). I made it! Success!

Except the flight was full, and although I had reserved the jumpseat I hadn’t been there early enough to claim it. Three other pilots were in front of me. Failure! Doom!

Now when would I get home? Well, to make a long story short, the next flight I could reasonably try was the nonstop to Salt Lake City, and while the airplane was full, I was first in line for the jumpseat. I got home by noon, and all was well.

I felt very blessed yesterday, in spite of my initial bad luck. I also learned (re-learned) an important lesson: if something doesn’t seem right, like two websites disagreeing about when a flight was scheduled to leave, then the only smart thing to do is to dig deeper until you find out which one is correct. What I had inadvertently done is mix up the 7:15PM flight with the 6:30AM flight. The second website wasn’t wrong, nor was the airline’s website. What was in error was my perception, my interpretation.

The scriptures teach this point: “In the mouth of two or three witnesses shall every word be established.” (2 Corinthians 13:1) This isn’t just a spiritual principle, but a practical day-by-day one as well. And I need to assume a whole lot less.

Rocks

Something I’ve never been especially good at is time management. I understand the basic principles, but generally lack the will-power to see it through as effectively as I should. Sometimes I’m very on-the-ball and other times I am a slacker. It’s easy to stay busy sometimes, but not accomplish much of anything.

One of the concepts that I’m trying to better implement I first learned from Stephen R. Covey, the well-known productivity expert. In a PBS special he demonstrated how often we tend to let the little things get in the way of the things that matter, preventing us from giving them adequate attention. Here’s a quick version of the concept:



The key is determining what the rocks are and scheduling that time as inviolate. Church is an easy one, as is work. In my profession, arriving late for work is a quick and easy way to get fired. What are the other rocks? Family time? Couple time for those who are married? Exercise? Sleep? Ah, sleep—the time that tends to absorb the other things that didn’t get done earlier. How often do we miss out on sleep to get caught up? I’m still working on all this, but trying to figure out what my “rocks” are and making sure they do not get pre-empted by the gravel and sand of my life.

The Extraordinary in the Ordinary

It is so easy to judge people by looking at them. In part, the way we dress ourselves, groom ourselves and carry ourselves communicates a lot of information. But inevitably some information is left out. There are extraoridanary people all around us, and we often don't even suspect. This video from "Britain's Got Talent" is as good an illustration as any I've seen. Unfortunately embedding was disabled on YouTube, so you'll have to click on this link to see it. Next time you see someone, whether you know them well or have never met them before, you might wonder what extraordinary talent or skill makes them, well, extraordinary.

If Only I Could Paint

If only I could paint. There is a moment in scripture of profound emotional intensity and depth that fills my soul perhaps more than any other. It is that instant when hope banishes despair.

Imagine you are Mary Magdalene. Just two days ago your teacher, your mentor, your friend, your God was executed. All of your hopes, earthly and eternal, were wrapped up in him. And now he is gone. Dead.

Early Sunday morning, still dark and the air chilled, you walk to his tomb. There had been no time to properly prepare his body before the Sabbath and so now you are bringing spices and herbs to do it right. But upon arriving you find the stone rolled away and as you peer in with your lamp you see the tomb is empty. His death was not enough—now his enemies have stolen his body and most likely desecrated it.

You run to find Simon Peter and John to tell them the crushing news. The two immediately leave to see if it is true. You follow, and after the apostles return to the city you remain, standing and crying, your emotions completely overwhelming you. Out of the corner of your eye you see someone walking toward you in the shadowy light of dawn.

He asks, “Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?”

You reply meekly, “Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.”

There is a pause and then the man speaks again, calling you by name. “Mary.”

You recognize the voice, impossible as it seems. You turn hesitantly, not daring to believe, and see that it is indeed Jesus.

That is the moment, when hopelessness gives way to joy, when defeat yields to triumph, when despair is banished by promise. I can picture Mary’s face, her eyes wet with tears and wide with surprise, her mouth open, her lips trembling, forming an involuntary smile.

That is the moment that sums up the Gospel, the Good News of Jesus Christ, who gives us “beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.” (Isaiah 61:3)

There are many works of art showing Mary at the tomb, but this exact view I have never seen depicted, at least the way I envision it. If only I could paint. . . .

Birthday Traditions

Nine years ago my wife informed me that we were going out for my birthday. I don’t remember if I was expecting a movie or some other activity, but I didn’t have much time to wonder—we only drove three blocks and stopped in front of a neighbor’s house. “I just have to get something,” she told me, but urged me to come with her to the door. Being somewhat clueless generally, I didn’t suspect anything. Not until the door opened and a dozen people yelled, “Surprise!” Yes, she had planned a surprise birthday party for me with all of our friends in our new neighborhood. And, because she really loved me, she had arranged for the guys to play Risk while the girls played other games. Do I have an awesome wife, or what? (And do not answer, “what.”)

Since then this has become an annual tradition. The attendees have changed from year to year, although the core remains the same. Some years several couldn’t make it, and so Risk had to wait until another year. But it was really about the friendships, anyway.

This year we are going to try and start a new tradition—really an extension of the old. You see, we have been holding these birthday parties in our old neighborhood in Orem with the friends we have there. Now we want to do the same thing with our new friends in Provo. So, if you’re reading this and have some time to come by on April 24th, you are heartily invited, whether you live in our Provo neighborhood or not. It promises to be a pretty large gathering. Games* will be played. A good time will be had by all. I hope to see you there.

(*Games include, but are not limited to, Apples to Apples, Risk, Cranium, Flux (Monty Python Edition), The Great Dalmuti, and many others. Bring your own! And I should mention that my brother-in-law gave me a new version of Risk for my birthday this year. It took some time to learn, but it’s a lot of fun, too. I’m sure it will be one of the games out on the 25th.)

Another Trip Around the Sun

Yesterday while attending Red Pepper’s soccer game I ran into someone I used to work with. In the course of our conversation we discovered that we both celebrated our 40th birthdays within a week of each other. His question to me caught me a little off guard: “Was it as devastating for you as it was for me?” I remarked something to the effect that I notice that I don’t bounce back physically as quickly as I used to, but otherwise couldn’t relate and so I said nothing more on that subject.

I wonder what it was specifically that so devastated him. Did he feel that his best days were behind him? Did he look forward and see steadily decreasing vitality? Did he once excel in sports and could feel the difference that 20 years has made?

First of all, let’s keep this real: 40 just isn’t that old, no matter what my kids think. Sure, the lines on my face are getting deeper and I have a few more gray hairs than I used to. And an eight-minute mile feels a lot faster than when I ran track in high school. There are other signs that remind me on a regular basis that I’m no longer a young man. And I’m not exactly thrilled about these things. Nor am I terribly excited about the colonoscopy that I still haven’t scheduled but need to.

But age brings benefits, too. While I have to admit I find myself re-learning too many lessons in life, some I have learned quite well. A little wisdom is definitely a good thing. It has brought me my wife, who has been my best friend for more than half of my life. It has allowed me to truly appreciate my parents and love my children. Mostly it has brought me experiences, which is more than saying memories. Memories are something I am reminded of when sitting on the couch and looking in a photo album. Experiences, on the other hand, are those things in the past that guide my present and future. And that’s where I choose to live—in the present and future.

Aging is neither good nor bad. It just is. So why waste my time railing against or lamenting something that I can’t control? No, I choose to embrace (sometimes hesitantly, admittedly) these birthdays that keep coming, and the changes that they represent. I am no longer the person I was 20 years ago. He doesn’t exist. I’m not even the person I was yesterday. I’m here today. Today touches the past and the future, but it’s the only thing that really matters, because it’s the only thing I can control in any degree.

And for that reason, to me despising a birthday is a rejection of today. It is trying to hold on to a past that no longer exists, and fearing a future that isn’t real. No, a birthday should be a celebration of those trips we’ve made around the sun and what they have brought us.

Flight Attendant Rap

Being in the flying industry, I always appreciate when someone steps out to make it more enjoyable. For example, the pre-departure briefing given by the flight attendents: this can be canned and boring (nearly all the time) or it can be fun. I vote for fun, and evidently, so does this flight attendent. Enjoy!

Because Sometimes Once Just Isn’t Enough

What do you do with a two-year-old who takes delight in chaos? My wife already blogged about The Snow Incident.

But evidently once just wasn't enough! Act II of The Snow Incident happened Sunday, just before our whole family was to meet with the bishop for recommends to attend the Draper Temple dedication. Yes, baby powder was everywhere. I vacuumed, hoping that would do a good enough job. It helped, but there was still a fine layer of powder on the pergo floor, which made it extra slippery. Fun, but he already broke his leg once. So I mopped it as well. And wiped it off of the furniture and bedding and. . . well, just about everything. It took me well over an hour to clean. On the bright side, I don't think his room has been that clean since we moved in.

The baby powder is no longer located in Jack-Jack's room.

Oh, but he's crafty. Yesterday he found the itch cream and squeezed it out of the tube onto his diapers. Naturally it didn’t stay there. It got all over the floor and his furniture, and all over him, too.

The itch cream is no longer located in Jack-Jack’s room, either.

Nor is the Aquaphor, nor anything else that could be shaken or squeezed within his room.

I suppose one solution is to give up on nap time. But that means my wife will also have to give up nap time. Not happening. Another solution is duct tape, but that seems a little extreme.

So I ask you, what do you do with a two-year-old who thrives on creating chaos?

The Coolness That is Facebook

Several months ago I received an invitation in my email to join Facebook.

It was from my mother.

Yes, my mom is more with it than I am.

I signed up and within just a few days I found my email full of people “friending” me who I had known in high school, college, my mission and even friends just down the street. It was very cool to re-connect with people I hadn’t talked to in 20 years or more and see where life had led them. Months later I still seem to add a friend or two every couple of weeks. I tend to check in when I’m on the road and see what’s going on. From what I hear some people get really wrapped up in it, spending hours of their day on Facebook. Sort of like World of Warcraft fro the non-Geek crowd, I guess.

Now my daughter, Banana, is on Facebook, as well as several of her friends. Two have invited me to be “friends.” I ignored the first request, because I just think it looks creepy that I’m friends with 13 and 14 year-old girls. But I mentioned it to someone at work and he said to go for it because then I’ll know what they’re up to—and know what my daughter may be up to. Her friends are pretty level-headed, as is she, but there may be some wisdom in that thought.

At least she doesn’t have a MySpace account. Then I might have something to worry about.

Now, I realize that I only have three or four people who read my blog, but if you're on Facebook and we haven't added each other as friends, well, what are you waiting for?

The Hero Within

OK, now you know my secret. While others believe I’m off flying around the southeastern USA I’m actually fighting against the forces of chaos and evil.

A little about eh costume/look. First the hair. No, that’s not a mullet. I swear. Ever since I saw the film “Willow” I wanted to be able to have my hair like Madmartigan’s (played by Val Kilmer). Why? I don’t know, it just looked cool to me, and with thick wavy hair it was never going to happen. Believe me, I grew up in the 70s when it was cool to have long hair. It didn’t work (not that my mom ever let it get too far).

As for the costume, flashy just means you’re easier to pick out. I like stealthy. Sneak up on the bad guys and take them out before they even know what’s happening.

The sword? OK, that’s more for “the look.” It’s not standard equipment, but swords are just much cooler than guns from my point of view. If you’ve ever watched “Heroes” on TV then you know that Hiro gets this too. It’s just one of those things.

Well, now my secret is out. But good luck catching me. You never know when I might turn up next.

A little more seriously, though, don’t we all want to be heroes? Some may not wish for the attention, but who doesn’t want super-powers to enable themselves to do amazing things? Amazing fathering powers would be high on my list. You know, always being able to motivate your children to do the right thing for the right reason at the right time. Incredible flying and financial planning skills would be too. Especially in this economy! Lets just make that fantastic providing powers so that we always have enough and to spare. Not to mention extraordinary husband powers (you know, like mind-reading) so that I can make my wife not only feel cherished and loved but also take away her worry and stress. I could go on, but you get the idea.

(If you haven’t already, check out my wife’s blog here. And you can be a hero too! Go to The Hero Factory and create your own alter-ego.)

My Roommate's Rough Day

Last week I received a cryptic phone call from my crash pad roommate.

“Rob, who would you call if you had just been forced to land in someone’s field?”

OK, is this a trick question? Hypothetical? But I could hear the wind whipping in his cell phone’s mike. Maybe he was serious.

“Um, I’d probably start with the owner of the airplane,” I stumbled. I had no idea. It sounded like he was trying to keep this as discreet as possible, an improbable task fraught with all kinds of issues.

“Rob, I’ll call you back.” Click.

Now what was that all about? Obviously the FAA would have to be notified, not to mention the owner of the field. I first called a friend who works for a different airline. I caught him in the middle of getting a flight ready for the passengers to board, but he promised to call back in a few minutes. I then called my Dad, who is a retired airline pilot. After talking with each of them I hopped on the internet and looked up definitions to see what constitutes an “accident” versus and “incident.” (Yes, there are very specific definitions and requirements.)

I then called my roommate back. He was talking with someone else, and said he’d call back. When he did I got the rest of the story.

It seems he was flying his step-dad in his step-dad’s plane from Utah to Florida. It was a small, single engine four-seater, about six years old. About 10 minutes after taking off from Midland, Texas he noticed a fluctuation in the oil pressure gauge. Never a thing a pilot wants to see. He decided not to take any chances and informed Air Traffic Control that he was turning back to the airport. A couple of minutes later the engine died.

Gliding to the airport was clearly not an option, so he began to look around for a suitable landing spot. Fortunately he was over northwestern Texas and not western Colorado. He quickly found a nice cotton field and gently landed into the wind, making not a scratch on the airframe. Crisis over.

Or was it? Now what? Where was he exactly, and now what should he do. I’m gratified that he called me. I only wish my initial help could have been more, well, helpful. The questions were answered for him shortly, as numerous police, fire and media vehicles arrived at the scene, informed by Air Traffic Control. You can watch the local news report about it here and read about it here.

When all was said and done he had nothing more than some paperwork to fill out, plus find a way home. It was a very stressful day, even though the forced landing was no fault of his own and could even be seen as a testament to his good judgment and skill. Nevertheless, after something so emotionally draining his reaction was not elation but exhaustion.

I extend my congratulations to him for a job well done. I’m very glad it had a happy ending, but I’m also glad it happened to him and not me.

25 Things About Me

Recently a friend posted a list of 25 things about himself that his friends may not have known. I was inspired and came up with this list about myself:

1) I spent two summers during high school volunteering in Latin America (Ecuador and Panama).
2) I helped families in small villages build latrines. My then six-year-old sister thought it was so cool that I was building trains.
3) I speak Spanish and Portuguese fluently, speak some German and am now working on learning Arabic.
4) The first girl I kissed was Brazillian. In Rio.
5) I met my future wife while trying to fish my retainer out of the trash during a freshman opening social in college.
6) She was the one who offered to help me find it, which she did. At the bottom of the can. Her parting comment was, “I’d wash that if I were you.”
7) My dad was pulled over by the police on the Bay Bridge while trying to get my mother to the hospital when she was in labor with me.
8) There are eight years between my older brother and me, and eight years between my younger brother and me.
9) My wife had never taken care of a newborn before, so when my oldest was born I was the expert. Briefly.
10) I ate some of my parents’ wedding cake (they froze it).
11) I started out wanting to be a pilot, then a diplomat, then a marriage and family therapist, then a financial planner, and then a pilot again.
12) I herded cattle in Oregon. OK, only once, but I did it.
13) I ran into a friend in Germany and he was so surprised he fell to the ground.
14) The first time I spoke to my wife’s parents I used a fake English accent (my mother-in-law is from England and my then-girlfriend mistakenly thought they would like it. Did I mention we were young?)
15) Apparently some memories fade, because when I called my future father-in-law four years later to ask to marry his daughter, his response was, “Well, it’s about time.”
16) I saw Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, Nils Lofgren, Don Henley, Tom Petty, Robin Williams, and Bruce Springsteen—all at the same concert!
17) I ran in the world’s largest footrace, with over 100,000 participants—The Bay to Breakers in San Francisco, California)
18) In high school I was nominated, “Most likely to become a sumo wrestler,” but lost out to someone even skinnier.
19) I completed the last of the requirements for my Eagle award the day before my 18th birthday. Who are you calling a procrastinator?
20) Since then I have served as a Cub Scout den leader, Cubmaster (twice), Scout committee chairman and Assistant Scoutmaster.
21) In college I was the national president of the Intercollegiate Knights, a national service honorary.
22) I enjoy trading-card games like Yu-Gi-Oh, Pokemon and Magic but rarely have time to play anymore.
23) I took piano for 6 years or so as a kid. Now I wish I had appreciated it more and taken it more seriously.
24) I watched the sun rise from the summit of Mt. Sinai in Egypt.
25) My favorite TV show is “The Amazing Race.” Surprised? I didn’t think so.

Go on, you know you want to do this too. Make your list and make sure I know where you post it!

Lazy Days

I tend to blog when I’m away on trips, but the last three months those have been sparse. November and December I was on “long-call reserve” which came with the blessing of a 12-hour call out. I took the risk of staying at home, trusting that if and when the scheduling department called I would be able to get to Atlanta in time.

In November, including my annual four-day training, I worked a total of 13 days, with 17 days off. To put that in perspective, as a reserve pilot I am only guaranteed 11 days off each month, but without the need of being in Atlanta I was able to enhance that somewhat. Of course, that necessitated that I was glued to my cell phone in case Scheduling called, plus the panic that I might not be able to make the next flight out, but that was vitiated by the extra time at home.

In December I only worked 8 days, including two days for my annual “proficiency check,” you know, to see if I could still fly an airplane to company standards. That was stressful, but I successfully passed and learned a thing or two, to boot. But the net result was that I was home for an amazing 23 days, including Christmas!

Then in January I scored a “line.” I was no longer on reserve. I had a regular schedule! That earned me a minimum of 12 days off, but I also had a week of paid vacation as well, so this month I am only working 14 days, with 17 total days off. Not bad!

But then reality checks back in. With the deteriorating economy, my airline determined that it needed to furlough 80 pilots. Fortunately for me, I was not one of them, but it eroded my seniority. This, compounded by the fact that the company created 50 fewer “lines” for February meant that not only will I be back on reserve next month but I will also be back on “short call,” necessitating my presence in Atlanta. Back to 11 days at home.

But on the other hand, I should have a lot more time to blog and read everyone’s blog. So for those of you who check in from time to time to see if I’ve posted anything new, well, there’s a pretty good chance that I’ll be back on my weekly schedule next month. See, there’s always a sliver lining somewhere!

The Things We Do For Love

I finished my last trip of 2008 on New Year’s Eve just a little after noon. A choice loomed before me. I had the next day off, but then needed to be back early on the 2nd for a trip. Flights to Utah appeared to have seats available, but returning to Atlanta on New Year’s Day looked to be rough at best—every flight but one was already oversold plus there were already dozens of fellow Delta and Delta Connection employees (“non-revs”—non revenue paying passengers) like me on the list for whatever empty seats there might be. To compound things, my next days off weren’t until the 6th, meaning that if I chose to stay in Atlanta, I would be gone for eight days in a row. Hardly ideal.

I decided to go for it. The 1:50 flight to Salt Lake City looked good. . . or so I thought. Upon arriving at the gate I saw on the monitors overhead that the flight had less than a handful of seats still available and over 50 non-revs on the list. I stood in line, hoping that the jump-seat in the cockpit was still available. It was a good plan, if only the person just ahead of me hadn’t requested it first. There was still the 4:25 flight, but all of those who didn’t make the 1:50 flight would just roll over to the next one, so my chances were slim at best.

The other pilot recognized my plight and informed me that he had checked out connecting to Salt Lake City through St. Louis and that the jump-seats were available. Another choice. I didn’t want to get stuck in St. Louis if the connecting flight was full. Once again, I decided to go for it. I raced to the other gate, since the St. Louis flight was leaving in less than 30 minutes. Trying to get the flight out on time on a busy travel day, the gate agent was less than happy or helpful when I showed up at nearly the last minute with my request. A Delta pilot had already requested the jump-seat, it turned out. Although I had priority (it was an ASA flight) and he volunteered to sit in back (he was first in the priority list for non-revs) she refused to change anything. With a (supposedly) full flight and 7 non-revs listed, my chances were looking lousy. But, as luck would have it, there must have been some paying passengers who mis-connected because there was one empty seat after all. Hallelujah!

Once in St. Louis I had to wait two and a half hours for the flight to Salt Lake City. Good thing I brought plenty to read. Fortunately I did get the jump-seat this time, and somehow, again in spite of a supposedly full flight, there was an empty seat for me in the back. I took advantage and slept as much as I could, knowing it would be a very short night.

I pulled into the driveway at 8:00, happy to be home, but still dreading the thought of getting up at 4:15 to try to get back to Atlanta. Annette greeted me with an enthusiastic kiss, very pleased that I had made the effort. That and the kids hugs, which ranged from cheerful to exuberant, made all the trouble worthwhile. We had several of our children’s friends over for the festivities, played Mario Kart on the Wii as well as Family Cranium. A good time was had by all. After seeing everyone off, putting the children to bed and cleaning up, Annette and I finally fell asleep around 1:30 or so.

Less than three hours later I was up. Surprisingly, I wasn’t as exhausted as I expected. I guess my body treated it more like a nap. Good thing. Once again, I knew that my best chance lay with requesting the jump-seat. I made sure I was first in line. Now, if a Delta pilot had wanted it, I would have lost out, but otherwise, it’s first come, first served. So first mattered. And sure enough, shortly after requesting and receiving the jump-seat another ASA pilot arrived. I kept my eyes peeled, looking for any Delta pilots, but none showed up. This time I did end up sitting in the cockpit, but I was just happy that I didn’t end up sitting in the airport all day trying to get out. That was a very real possibility.

The Delta pilots were very friendly and a lot of fun, and to top it off there were some First Class breakfasts left over for the three of us. Score! (Pilots love free food, and no, this isn’t typical.) I arrived in Atlanta shortly after noon, roughly 24 hours after I had left. After a brief train ride and somewhat longer bus trip I arrived at my crash pad and. . . well, what else?. . . crashed!

It was definitely a memorable New Year’s Eve. I was very grateful that even with a bump or two along the way, it had all worked out so well and that I was able to be with those I loved to usher in the New Year.