(An excerpt from my book, D Is For Dysfunctional…and Doo Wop!)

Because we were often in the air, and because he was considerably older, George insisted I learn to fly our Beechcraft Bonanza. After all, I should be able at least to land the aircraft if he were to suffer some sort of nasty attack while at the controls—heart, stroke, gastro-intestinal, or random act of kindness (which would have been rare, indeed.)

I was absolutely against the idea of flying lessons. I wasn’t sure which would be worse—dying in a plane crash or suffering the humiliation of taking lessons in the air from my husband. But George assured me that learning to operate an airplane was no more complex than learning to operate a sewing machine.

My witty, snappy response was, “Yes, but when I make a mistake on my sewing machine I don’t risk spreading my brains over three counties in Northern California.”

Despite my kicking and screaming, I found myself one morning at the dual controls of the Cessna 150. George approached the plane with a quick-time swagger, reminiscent of the bantam roosters strutting in my grandmother’s chicken coop. The tasks of run-up, taxi, and takeoff were accomplished without incident. (Well, to be honest, George did that part.)

When we reached cruising altitude, George handed the yoke (control wheel) to me. “Watch the little airplane,” he shouted, “Keep it level!” The little airplane was the attitude gauge and it indicated whether you were climbing, descending, or on a straight and level course. The noise in the cockpit made shouting a necessity. Of course, George remained calm throughout—that was one of his most irritating qualities.

“Shut up!” I whispered back to him, choking the yoke and vowing that one of us was going to die before sunset. “I’m more interested in keeping this big damn airplane level and in one piece.” Those wedding vows to honor and obey meant nothing at six thousand feet.

Lesson: All too often, we spend too much of our time keeping an eye on the little
airplane, the nitty-gritty irksome details of daily life, when we’ll get a much better
view and enjoy the ride a lot more if we keep our focus on the big airplane picture.

“Keep your eye on the horizon. There’s an aircraft at three o’clock,” shouted George.

“What do I care?” (Dare I say it?) “It’s only nine-thirty!”

It probably comes as no surprise that George and I divorced after fewer than four years of marriage—and three flying lessons. After all, not many marriages can survive a husband-wife/ teacher-student relationship, especially if the teacher is a private pilot.

Remember that delightful old joke? Question: What’s the difference between a cactus and the cockpit of a private plane? Answer: With a cactus, all the pricks are on the outside.

If you wish to obtain a copy of the book, check with Amazon.com or B&N.com, or send a request to DrStep@cox.net.