Just Plane Nuts

As we were pulling into the driveway the other night, my son and I looked skyward and saw two jets flying in formation.

Dammit, Jim, I'm a writer, not an artist.

It was a reminder that Labor Day weekend was fast approaching, and that could only mean one thing: the jets were running through their paces in preparation for this weekend's National Air Show.

In a former (married) life, I went to the Air Show every year. I stood by dutifully as my then-husband, a builder of model airplanes, pointed out the markings and recited the capabilities of each and every airplane displayed on the tarmac. I nodded appreciatively and tried to sustain an interest that waned and finally died after the first hour or so.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed taking a look-see at all the planes and was as awed as every other spectator in the stands when the Blue Angles (or Thunderbirds) blew by above us at crazy speeds, in formation, and performed their stunts. I learned what a hammerhead was. And I was enthralled by the history and anecdotes of the planes featured in the show.

Alas, my Air Show days were long ago, and I only have a vague recollection of the event. And a memory of a sore neck, squinty eyes and ringing ears.

I applaud those whose knowledge of such things goes so deep.

As for me, I guess this means I wasn't a pilot in a former life. Or a wing walker.

I kinda like my feet planted firmly on the ground.

Even if my head is often hanging out in the clouds.