Let's Take It From the Top

Much has happened during the weeks since my last post. My mom and I took our vacation in Washington and enjoyed the relaxing effect of being away from the bustle of our workplaces. After getting back, I finished my remaining hours of work for my school bill and got a few extra in for the pocket. And now, with registration only 2 1/2 hours away and my dear sister four months away, I'm taking the last few moments of summer to type my last post before the school year starts.

Vacation time this year found my mom and I driving north through Oregon on our way to Young Disciple Camp in Washington. Our first night on the road we just managed to find our campsite in the middle of the barren wastelands of eastern Oregon long after sunset. Internet directions, we found, didn't always provide the exact mileages. After having supper on a picnic table that collapsed under us before we were done, we went and enjoyed the main attraction of the campground: hot springs.

We arrived in Inchilium, Washington several days later, having visited some old friends on the weekend and seeing some of Idaho. I settled into the rigors of YD camp, having fun in canoeing class taught by my distant relative Matt Boyd (yes he was there too), gobbling the food - including an unscheduled dose of cashew sauce -, playing my trumpet in orchestra, and deep-frying plantains in Mr. Arnold's Missionary Adventures class (shhh, don't tell anybody!). I also gained some valuable insights from the Deep Bible Study classes taught by Mr. Prewitt.

Mom and I stayed a few extra days visiting my cousin and then we headed back to the Golden State, with Mr. Boyd riding in the backseat. On the way we saw the giants of the Cascade range - Rainier, Jefferson, Adams, Bachelor, Shasta - and we stopped by the gorgeous Crater Lake.
Finally we rolled back onto campus close to midnight and spent the rest of our vacation time recuperating.

So there's the scoop. School starts tomorrow and I'll be on final approach for graduation. This shouldn't be the last you hear of me, as it's likely that Ms. Chi will give us blogging assignments again. Then those funny little assignment numbers will be back on my titles. Changes continue to occur and you never know, maybe in a year or two I might need to change the name of this blog to The Flying Yankee. We'll see.

For now, best wishes, and over and out.

The Flying Dutchman.

What Does That Say?

With every new job comes new skills and experiences. For my summer job, the draft board assigned me to Grounds for two hours in the morning and the Weimart for the rest of the day. A week after getting out of school, I reported for duty and began learning the ropes.

There is always a challenge involved in starting a new job. Grounds work is a bit more self-explanatory, but creating invoices, stapling the right papers together, and knowing just what to say to an upset customer who's order I had nothing to do with was a bit trickier. But after a couple weeks of shipping orders, cashiering, and talking on the phone with long-winded customers I felt reasonably settled in.

I survived inventory and store work finally started becoming routine. One day I set to work on filling a row of bulk containers. Setting the half-empty jar of baking powder on the counter I cast my glance about the room searching for the refill. Ah, there's a sack with the brand name EnerG. I unhurriedly scooped the white powder into the container while I remembered the unpleasant sour taste that the EnerG baking powder had imparted to a batch of waffles. Closing the lid on the very full jar, I turned to seal the sack. My gaze rested on the product name just below the brand: Egg Replacer. Oh no! Five pounds of mixed egg replacer and baking powder was now headed for the trash can.

More recently I was getting ready to bag some bulk foods, so I diligently set about preparing the bagging area. One of the store workers keeps a spray bottle with grapeseed extract for disinfectant instead of a chemical cleaner. Grabbing a spray bottle on the counter I carefully scrubbed down the work surface, not noticing the powerful odor rising into the air. I set down the bottle, ready to get to work when I happened to see the label scrawled in red marker. Not again. As I frantically scrubbed the counter with water, my boss walked by and asked, "Did somebody spray the Deer-Away?"

I can take away one good lesson from these two incidents: Always read the labels. There is absolutely nothing that can be lost from double-checking. At the very least it will save me from ruining someone's baking or trying to clean with a rotten egg base deer deterrant. In spiritual matters the same lesson applies. Sometimes what appears to be something good may be a close counterfeit. And maybe the only clue exposing its true identity is written on the label.

Look! An Airplane

The Flying Dutchman has been at it again! I'd finally had enough of being stuck to the ground, so I scheduled another intro flying lesson at the Auburn airport. (I had already taken two one-time introductory flying lessons.) But I was getting desperate. Finding a good excuse to spend the money turn up in a grade report from W.A., I headed down to the airport with my two sisters and a friend.

Arriving at the Auburn Municipal Airport, a small airport stuffed full of private airplanes, I led my companions along to the flying school and let myself soak in the experience. I met my instructor - the third I've had - and let him pore over the whole 1.3 hours of flight time recorded in my logbook. I asked him the fateful question.

"Could we work on patterns today?" I queried.

"Sure. We'll go down to Lincoln to practice takeoffs and landings because it has a longer runway and less tricky winds," he replied, apparently unphased about letting a kid with almost no flight time try to land a plane with him in it. I beamed and off we went to preflight the Piper Warrior and get airborne. Peter, my sister's friend climbed in the back seat to take video. Several minutes later, the Hobbs meter (a sort of mileage counter that adds up minutes instead of miles) was running and we were in the air.

After I took the plane off, I followed my instructor's directions to the Lincoln airport. As we got close, Dennis my instructor took the controls and did one touch-and-go to show me how it was supposed to look like. Then, putting his hands in his lap he gave me control of the plane.

"Now it's your turn." Peter, you have no idea what kind of a ride you're in for. And you'd better be recording! Flying downwind, I followed the instructions Dennis gave me and began preparing the plane for landing. Throttle back. A notch of flaps. Turn to the base leg.

"Keep the nose down so the airspeed doesn't drop." Forward on the yoke. Another notch of flaps. Turning on final, the beautiful sight of the runway came in front of me. Last notch of flaps.

Moving the controls back and forth, I tried to keep the plane aligned with the runway as breezes shifted my plane back and forth. Another hundred feet to go. Dennis came on the intercom again, telling me just what to do to put the plane on the ground smoothly.

"Start looking at the end of the runway now and level off. Now pull the throttle out." I flew several feet above the runway and let the engine idle. Hold it off, hold it off. Thump! I had landed a plane for the first time.

"Good. Now steer back to the centerline and we'll take off again." Three landings later I was taxiing back to the ramp at Auburn Municipal. After refueling the plane and letting poor Peter back into the fresh air, we walked back to the flying school. I presented my prized logbook to Dennis and I watched happily as he jotted down the figures: climbs, descents, turns, pattern work, 4 takeoffs and landings, . . . 1.0 hour. He signed the entry, and handing it back to me he remarked, "You have a natural aptitude for flying. Not many students are out there doing touch-and-gos on their third lesson!"

Those words put a perfect end to a perfect day of flying. It's still awhile until I earn my wings, but a lesson here and there makes the wait much more endurable. This is the Flying Dutchman descending for landing on his bed. Goodnight.

To Meet Once More

I am a natural pack-rat, saving each and every item that I "might need" later on. Recently I was going through my letter collection in an effort to free up some more closet space. Opening the box, I began wading through mementos dating all the way back to my eighth birthday. This was my second time through the box and I was having a lot more success. Envelopes, cards that only had the sender's signature in them, and old subscription offers from Plane & Pilot magazine - all found themselves in the waste basket.

As I opened one particular christmassy card, I noticed the signature on the bottom. The card was from my first boss, a kind lady who had offered my friend and I a job after seeing our ad for trash hauling. Starting when I was about eleven, my Stephan and I weeded her yard, took out her trash, and made fresh vegetable juice each morning. She was always fond of us and though we were paid by the hour, she never failed to through in a bonus at the end of each week.

Then her visits to Rhode Island grew longer and finally I found out she was leaving for good. My boss was dying of cancer. One last stay and then she left, this time taking her cat. Several months later she died.

As I glanced over the card, remembering the fun times Stephan and I had working for our boss, the first sentence in the message jumped out at me. Hope to see you again quite soon! The words, written to let me know she was coming to visit, suddenly took on a deeper meaning. Jesus is coming soon. Sin and suffering don’t have much time left to do their damage and soon Christ will return. We will be reunited with loved ones and friends and this time it will be for good.

In that moment, the greatest event in the universe’s history seemed so near. God wants us to remember that our time here is really short. His words blend with my boss’s words as they echo the hope-filled reassurance, Hope to see you again quite soon!

Here We Go!

When school has ended, and the textbooks have been turned in, and the loads of graded homework burned, must the writing stop? The prudent will learn at least one thing from school – skills acquired and honed during the educational process are meant for life after school. It is my pleasure to inform you that what you are reading is now my very own blog. Summer has arrived, English class is done, and you won’t be seeing a funny little number in parenthesis at the end of each post title. My goal is to keep it updated. Nice idea isn’t it. Feel free to post a reminder comment if I forget to write. As I always say, “An old blog is a boring blog.” Keep your eyes peeled – The Flying Dutchman isn’t gone yet!

Promotion Time (36)

It's almost over. School year 07/08 is drawing to a close as the students prepare to go through finals week. Graduation invitations have been sent out, tickets home have been booked, and the last blogging assignments are being written. Juniors are anxious to be promoted to the coveted rank of seniors, and seniors are about to arrive at the bottom of the pecking order once more.

Here are my parting words to this year's batch of smartened cookies. We've had a great year. Campouts, choir trips, field trips, and S.A. socials are some of the fun memories we all share. But even the homework and sometimes boring classes paid off in the satisfaction that every student felt at least once when they saw a red "A" scrawled over their assignment.

A few words of wisdom for the classes: Freshmen, remember that it only gets better next year as you advance up the ladder. Sadly, it is true even at W.A. that freshmen get picked on the most. Sophomores, this year may have been busy, stressful, and jam-packed with homework. But being a junior won't be any easier. Enjoy! Juniors, it's all downhill from here (That's just my theory, but if those clowns graduating this year made it, it should be doable.) Seniors, you were a fun-loving bunch and it definitely brightened up the school. If you transfer some of your enthusiasm to studying, you'll do just fine in college. Good luck!

I express my sincere appreciation to my teachers and the neat staff of W.A. Since you always are involved with the students, we've all gotten to know you outside of the classroom. Mr. Boyd, always loving an adventure, Ms Jenkins telling the wildest true stories, Ms Chi promoting NPR, and Ms Polk and her "little" endearing terms.

W.A. is a special school because of the people that make it up. No amount of government grants and subsidies could have made Weimar what it is. Weimar Academy has truly changed lives and in turn changed the world. Let us uphold the tradition. And one day soon, friends, students, teachers, and staff alike will gather around the Throne and sing "Side by Side".

When Today Becomes Tomorrow (35)

Ask a ten year-old if five years seems like a long time and most likely you'd get an answer saying it would take forever for that amount of time to elapse. Indeed, back in elementary school I never imagined I'd be 17 years old and a junior in high school. But strangely enough it happened, and even as I tap the letters on the keyboard I am on the verge of becoming a senior. When (and if) 2013 arrives, what will my life be like? Perhaps it will look something like this:

Nearly four years of college will be behind me and I'll be getting ready to graduate with some sort of a Balchelor's degree. Maybe I'll have gained my education in the recently resurrected Weimar College or maybe I'll be packing up my dorm room at Andrews University. By that time I'll have had a bit more practice producing videos and hopefully I'll have put my backpacking equipment to good use. I'll be looking for a job related to my college degree (maybe a high school Chemistry teacher) so that I can start earning money to take flying lessons.

My formal education will be almost behind me and I'll be getting ready to launch off into the work of mission aviation somewhere in the jungles of someplace. My writing will have further matured through college and my portfolio will have a good amount of published articles in it. Eventually I will be starting up a column in a mission magazine that chronicles my mission pilot experiences.

Maybe at that time I'll start thinking of getting a driver's license. Since I was living at home while attending W.C., insurance just wasn't worth it and my bicycle sufficed for everything except town trips. But the airport is an hour bike ride away, so a car would come in handy. These are some of the possibilities and only the Lord knows what will transpire in the next five years. We may not be here that long. Or we may. One thing is certain; time is relentless.

The individual hardships and joys of days gone past are forgotten as a person grows older. And just as I never imagined I would someday be a high school student, it's hard to imagine that the Lord's coming will really happen. But it will. And even the seemingly long years of a lifetime will fade into insignificance when that small black cloud the size of a man's fist appears on the horizon. Only the blink of an eye separates today from eternity.