Deflated

I think if I do this thirty day thing again, I'm going to do five weeks of six days each. I seem to naturally take a vacation that way. And it's like a freebie when you really, really need rescuing.

My yoga ball has passed away. My demonic cat (Oreo) scrabbled up it. Now it's deflating. My sinking spirits are matched only by this distance between my butt and the ground.

~

Slipstream. Slip the plane. That's what Grandpa would do. In his small tin can; his life; his Love. It was a little thing. Silver and shiny and only held two. Two very VERY friendly people. With narrow rears. Perhaps the plane liked it that way. It had a narrow rear too. Grandpa called it a taildragger. I always wanted to hang a tail from the tail. Something tigerish, or boa. Something that went with the Silver Mistress lettering on the nose. When ever I looked at it I wondered what Grandma had thought. Any of them. Grandpa had gotten married a few times.

But the plane didn't behave like the staid airliners. They were boring in their slow takeoffs and landings. Grandpa would float near the runway. A dandelion seed not finished with its flight, you'd think it wouldn't come to the ground til a mile later. Then came the slip.

The wings would angle but the plane wouldn't bank. It was the elevator; the roller coaster; the startled awakening from a falling dream. We'd all fall. Just a bit. Just enough to slide teasing toward the ground. He'd tilt the wings back in a parachuting whoosh, and we'd glide to the tarmac. His smile caused a large crevasse in his beard. And he'd say it. He always said it. The headphones would come off. He'd turn and beam.

"Cheated death again!"

Sister said he cheated death with a lot of people. I wonder what Grandma thought about that too. Any of them.