So Many Dishes

I’m not as bad as I used to be, but I still get nervous when I fly in a plane. In my defense, it stems from an experience that I think makes my nerves understandable.

The first time I flew was when Ken and I went on our honeymoon. We flew from Philadelphia to San Juan, Puerto Rico, and that was fine. While we were in Puerto Rico, we decided to take a day trip to St. Thomas in the US Virgin Islands.

When we got to the airport, we discovered that we were flying in a Piper Apache 6-seater plane with the pilot and one other couple. To balance the plane, the pilot put Ken in the copilot’s seat, I was behind him, the husband of the couple was next to me, and the wife was in back. Strike one: I wasn’t next to Ken.

It obviously feels different, flying in a small plane, and my stomach didn’t much care for the experience, although breakfast stayed with me. But it was not a pleasant feeling. Strike two.

I don’t know if anything has changed at the St.Thomas airport (this was 53 years, after all), but the runway was built out over the water, so it looked as if we were going to land on a carrier deck with a mountain at the end of it. Worse, there were crosswinds and turbulence. So the pilot had to keep whipping the nose of the plane around, because one minute, we’d be facing the runway, and the next, we’d be looking at water. We bumped down on the runway, and I couldn’t wait to put my feet on the ground. I’m not sure how Ken managed to get me on the plane to return to Puerto Rico that afternoon.

These days, I think about the destination, but, until we’re up in the air after the initial ascent, my knuckles are probably still lacking in color 😀