That First Cross Country

I've told this story time after time so I thought I better get it down on record just for the heck of it.

When you get a pilot's license, part of the requirements are three solo-cross country flights. At least, they were required when I got my license, way back when. Anyway, I had a little trouble on two of them. Here is my story.

I believe this was my second solo cross country. It was supposed to be from Fayetteville, Arkansas to Joplin, Missouri, and back to Fayetteville. Well, I never made it to Joplin. I took off in Cessna 16U sometime in 1992 I guess. Had my flight planned plotted out and filed with the FAA Flight Service Station, did my preflight inspection and all of that other stuff that I barely remember these days and I was ready to go.

No worries about the fact that only one of the radios was working in the plane because one had been taken out for repair. No problem.

Well, there I go. Cessna 16u, runway 3 4, cleared for take off. 16u. Depart North and head for Joplin. Everything is going smooth. Northwest Arkansas is beautiful. Trees, towns, hills, lakes. Beautiful. Well, passing over Rogers, Arkansas, I try and turn my radio to the next VOR or whatever navigation system I was using and low and behold, it won't work. How will I ever find Joplin, Missouri if I can't tune my radio in? Then I look out the window and I see an airport. Small, but definitely a runway. Unfortunately I'm flying at about 200o feet or so and need to get down to the ground. I turn my little airplane to the east and head for somewhere. I tune the radio in to some frequency, don't know where because now I think I'm pretty lost. I try to get closer to the ground but the airplane goes into the caution zone on the altitude gauge. Oh my God. Stay calm I tell myself. Level out those wings and descend at less of an angle.

I'm getting closer to the ground now. Thank God. But something stinks, bad. Could I have been so scarred that I had an accident in my pants? I hope not. Keep circling the airport, I'm almost ready to enter a left downwind now. Left base, Oh I see, a pig farm!! I didn't have an accident. Finally, 16u on short final to some airport. Airplane lands, thank God I'm on the ground now. Taxi to the little buildings. Get out of the airplane and head into the FBO. What do I find on a Sunday morning at some little airport somewhere near Northwest Arkansas? A bunch of old male pilots drinking coffee. So in walks me, a cute, slender, 25 year old young lady and I say: "Where am I?" The men are a little baffled and one replies "You are in Neosho, Missouri". "Neosho?, I'm supposed to be in Joplin, but the radio quit working." "Well, Joplin is just up the road, ma'am, you could have just followed the highway."

"Is there a pay phone around here?" I ask. "On the wall." replies the older man. I call up Clayton. "Clayton, this airplane is broken." "What's wrong?" he asks. "The radio has quit working and I had to land in Neosho!" "You could have followed the road to get to Joplin." He says. "I'm lost now and you need to come and get me because I can't find my way back to Fayetteville."

"Charlene", he says, "Can you please get in the airplane and fly home?" "Okay, I said, but I'm mad and I hope I don't get lost."

So there I go, back to Fayetteville. I pass Rogers, Bentonville, Springdale, and finally I see Fayetteville. Cessna 16u cleared to land, runway 16. 16u.

My Crazy Co-Workers

When you work at the same place, with the same people, year after year, it's like having another family. Some of your proudest moments and some of your worst moments are here. Sometimes it feels like you spend more time with your "work" family then you do with your "home" family. We keep doing it so it must be okay. So to all my work family who reads these posts, enjoy them, and if you ever need a welder, a horseback rider, or an airplane pilot, I'll give you the number of some good ones.






HI CHARLENE -the bamf-

Yes, I was an Air Traffic Controller.

It was 1989. Six years after high school and one semester to go to graduate from UTEP with a Bachelor's of Business Administration. There was a job fair at UTEP and representatives from the Federal Aviation Administration were there. They were trying to recruit Air Traffic Controllers. I figured I knew all about that.

Earlier that year, on a flight from El Paso to Boston, I was wearing a pink and white striped dress, and the crew of the flight needed another seat in coach so I was bumped into first class. Back then you could tune into the channel where you could hear the pilots talking to the Air Traffic Controllers. I listened in all the way from El Paso to Boston as I followed our flight on a map of the United States that was printed out on a cocktail napkin. Cool stuff, huh? Besides that, I figured I knew all about Air Traffic Control. After all, Ronald Regan fired many of the ATC folks for going on strike. I even met someone who used to do it until he got fired.

Then of course, there was my experience as a pilot. Harry Chapman took me up in his little Cessna 152 when I was about ten years old and I even flew it. I remember his instructions perfectly: "Just follow the rail road tracks." That was in Michigan. We flew from Lansing to Alma and back again. That little trip changed my life. I knew back then that I wanted to fly an airplane. And then working for the F.F.A. would certainly make things easier. I'd be around pilots and I'd be able to get a pilot's license. Great Plan!!

So there I go.  Filled out the job application.  Bought the Air Traffic Controller's study guide.  I think the publisher was ARCO.  I worked all the problems in that book a couple of times over and then went to take the test.  Of coarse, I put down that I was female and hispanic hoping that would get me a couple of extra points.

You know that out of 200 people who took the exam that day the FAA only took two of us?  yep!  Me and Vanessa Poole, an african american female.  And on January 8, 1990, I reported to the Mike Monroney Aeronautical Center In Oklahoma City, OK!  It was a very stressful coarse of about three months, but can you believe they paid us for it?  I think I was a GS 7 or 8 or something like that.  Didn't matter, it was the best paying job I ever had!!  And I didn't even need a degree!!  (Good thing I had one though).

Here comes the not so glorious part of my short ATC career.  I passed the first three months.  That in itself was quite an accomplishment because only about 60% of the people who start actually do pass.  A lot drop out for personal reasons (then they are still qualified to do it again and actually have an advantage the next time, and some just fail).  Again, I passed, but barely.  I think I passed with a 71%, the lowest passing grade was a 70%.  Only one other person had a lower score than me.  I guess it didn't bother me too much, I was young and dumb as they say.

The people that passed with the highest grades automatically were assigned to work in the centers.  Those are those dark room with a radar scope in front of you.   I think I would actually have done much better there.  The lower grades were assigned to the towers.  They gave me two choices:  Downtown Shreveport, LA, or Fayetteville, AR.  Like a dummy I said:  "Send me to the one where I'll get the most experience."  Okay, Fayetteville, AR, is a non-radar approach control, you'll get a lot of experience there.  So I accepted, and was off to start my new career!  What a blast that was.

So most of you who know me know that was a short-lived phase of my life.  After about a year of on the job training, I was removed from training.  After you get removed from training there is nothing left except for you to find another job.  Sad, sad, sad.  I did pass some of the training but the local control was kind of hard.  I could never ask all of the questions at the same time:  Like speed, altitude, direction, type of aircraft, destination, etc.  I would just get to nervous thinking that I had to do it perfectly every time.  Then I second guessed myself with my poor vision.  It was corrected to 20/20 but I still had my doubts.

There were a couple of funny stories, not so funny at the time, while I was working.  Once I called a biplane a double winger.  Too nervous to think of the word biplane.  Lost points for that.  Once I put a big fast jet liner to land behind a little slow Cessna 150 and the pilot said I was dumb and buzzed the tower.  Lost points again.  But the one that really was bad was right after a terrible crash in Los Angeles.  In LA the controller put an aircraft on the runway at an intersection in the dark, and told him to hold.  Then the controller cleared another plane to land on that same runway.  There was a terrible crash and lots of people died.  Well, the very next day the FAA put out a directive to controllers saying that you were no longer able to put an aircraft on the runway at a intersection at night and tell them to hold their position.  So what do I do?  Yep.  I remember it clearly.  "Citation 700TF, Intersection Charlie Departure approved, taxi into position and hold."  Yep, it was at night.  I got unplugged.  Of coarse I was in training so the controller in charge took over and said "Disregard, Tango Foxtrot, you are cleared for take off at intersection Charlie."  So nobody got hurt, but I was just about out of a job.

I tried to fight thee removal from training through the union, and with a lawyer.  There were reasons I felt it was unfair at the time.  I was the only one there who didn't have prior experience.  I felt that those controllers had an advantage when they started because they had prior experience.  Well, finally, the lawyer told me, I could spend a bunch of money, and let my fate ride in the minds of a jury, or I could just get on with my life.  So that's what I did.  I pursued a career in banking since that was what my degree was in, and put the Air Traffic Control job at my 6 o'clock position and moved forward.

This is for my kids, mostly.

Being a single mom and supporting three kids, I tend to worry about the welfare of my children. If anything happens to me, then what will become of them? It's called Mommy thinking. Today they are 14, 12, and 8. They have a father and I'm sure he would take them. We are divorced for a reason. He is not a nice person. I'm hoping the stories I write here, will get to my kids someday. Through these stories they will know about my life and how much I love every single solitary minute of it. Life is a gift. Every breath we take is a miracle and we have God to thank for that. Through my stories I hope they can understand that life has so much to offer. This I hope will get them through the hard times.

A New Mexican Weekend

I know now why it's called the Land of Enchantment. On a little trip to Truth or Consequences, aka Hot Springs, New Mexico, I was enchanted. When the sun went down the land was glowing. The ultraviolet rays of what was left of the endless color spectrum glowed those mountains into bright orange and purple giants. The sky became so orange that only fire could come close to the color. The islands of clouds in the blue sea of sky were gold, fire, and silver lined. The springs where Geronimo bathed were still running clean and hot. And before him the Indians, the natives, the spiritual people, for thousands of years, were enchanted too. Looking at the stars I spoke to God, I asked him for my life, just the way it was. Living every minute like there is no tomorrow. Trying to get it all right, every day. Trying and trying. The Land of Enchantment, New Mexico.

Road Trip '09: Living the dreams

This one is for my kids.

Do I regret driving 6000 miles and spending every last nickel in my checking account and using a month vacation and maxing out those credit cards? Heck no I don't and I never will. Today, I decided that life was good and that I am happy. For so long I've been focused on retiring someday. But the 401k went down the drain? Now what? Well, whats wrong with working? I've worked since I was 12 years old working for my riding lessons in Michigan. When I was 13 or 14 I started to babysit so that I could buy a saddle (and still working for those riding lessons). At 15 I was driving the bosses car downtown to the county court house to drop off the Summons and Complaint forms and the Affidavit and Writ of Garnishments that I would type up in his office. When we moved to El Paso I got a job at McDonalds, then I started welding, then worked for the YWCA, Weinershnitel, and then settled in for three years or so at McKesson Drug Company and paid my way through college. I quit that job after not getting my vacation time to go to Mexico City so when I came back I started working for H and R block as a secretary answering tax questions and then for Manpower. When I graduated from college with a degree in Business Administration I went and worked for the Federal Aviation Administration. What was I thinking? Well that didn't work out after a year or so so it was back to Manpower then to work for J B Hunt in his bank in Fayetteville, AR, the bank got sold so then I was working for Worthen Corporation. I got fed up and quit that too after a while and decided to go to nursing school and work in customer service at a hospital. I finally graduationed in 1996 and became a
Registered Nurse.

Today I decided it was okay to work until I can't anymore. So my husband left and took his retirement. That's okay, I have my life back. And our 29 day long trip was quite nice.

What I don't understand

A woman can give a man everything. Love, children, money, faithfulness, trust, passion. She can clean his house, rub his back, cook his food. She justifies everything he does. His drinking, his spending, his anger, his abuse. She would die for him. Then that man turns his back on his children, his wife, and his home. Does it even matter?

To Ride A Horse in a Parade.

To ride a horse in a parade is like nothing you ever imagined. My days at Poki Roni Horse Farm with Travis and Mrs. Kirchner, Barbara, Maureen, and all the others were what dreams are made of. We think about the good times when everything was innocent and those were that for me.

Dusty was born in 1985. People would ask me what kind of horse he was and I'd tell them that he was 1/2 Mexican and 1/2 American just like me. His mother, Mid-Night, was sent to me in 1982 from my uncle's ranch in Jimenez, Chihuahua. His father Pagen was a cross bred Thoroughbred horse from the U.S. When my uncle sent Mid-Night to El Paso he said that the rancheros were happy for the mare because she was going to live in the U.S. with papers.

Mrs. Kirchner would help me with Dusty. She taught me to be patient with him. She taught me not to get excited around him because that would upset him. The one time I rode him when it was windy she got upset with me because I had fallen off. She told me it was my fault and that I shouldn't have ridden him on a windy day when there was a chance for him to get scarred of things. She told me he would learn that he would be able to throw me off if he wanted to.

On July 4th, 1987 there was a parade on the East Side of El Paso. The plan was for everyone to wear blue jeans, white shirts, and a red bandanna with a cowboy hat. I guess I didn't get the word so I decided to show up with a black cape, a three cornered hat, some wire glasses, English riding boots, and a flag. My horse was barely two years old. After getting the horses to Hanks High School, and mounting up with all the costumes, balloons, and excitement, there I was, on Dusty, looking like Paula Revere, with a flag to boot. Nobody else had brought a flag so I was nominated to lead the pack--right behind some pickup truck filled with kids, balloons, streamers, and confetti.

I'll never forget Mrs. Kirchner's words. "Everybody who sees you today is going to wish they were you." Those words didn't sink in at the time. I was scarred the horse would throw me; I was hot, and ready to vomit, asking myself, why was I there. The horse was too young to be in a parade and how the heck was I going to carry that flag without my hat falling off. There was nobody there to help me, my friends were riding behind me trying to keep their horses calm. My parents said that maybe they'd go watch later. My boyfriend was jealous of the horses and wanted nothing to do with them. I'm sure Mrs. Kirchner gave me some encouragement. In fact, I do remember people telling me how authentic I looked up there on that horse.

Well, the parade started. Dusty moved forward. Every time that truck in front of us stopped, I prayed to God that Dusty would move forward again. He did. All through that parade that little two year old horse did exactly what he was supposed to do. I'll never forget that ride. It was during that ride that Mrs. Kirchner's words hit me. Every gentleman that we passed in the crowd who was wearing a hat took it off when Dusty, the Flag, and I rode past. It was those people and their respect for the flag, the horse, and the freedom of our country that our forefathers had struggled for, that I will never forget.

Mrs. Kirchner passed away last fall, Dusty about two years ago, and Mid-Night in 1999. But my memories and dreams and the people who were in my life make me who I am. And that is what I hope to pass on to my kids. So may the spirit of Mrs. Kirchner and those horses live on. And of those people who respected the flag that day in 1987.

Life is truly a gift, to God I am thankful.

California Windmills at Sundown

Just about a month ago, my three kids and I, driving to Disneyland. Only a Walmart road atlas for directions. Driving all day from El Paso. Low on diesel, and low on water bottles; we needed tylenol and batteries. We needed the corner Walgrees. Feeling like we had to stop soon or else we would be there. Los Angeles. It seemed like once we got off of I-10 we'd be lost. There was no way we'd find tylenol and batteries in Los Angeles. For sure we'd get lost in that huge town of cement and trees if we had to get off the main road. It was getting dark and it seemed like we were heading towards a big drop off where the earth would end. The end of I-10 we'd call it.

We had to stop soon. The sun was going down and we were running out of I-10, but the windmills were so cool. Hundreds, thousands maybe. Everywhere. The sky was beautiful. Orange and purple and yellow. Any exit would do, and we were getting closer and closer. The kids navigating from the Walmart map, estimating the time, I had to choose an exit or we'd be there without gas, tylenol or water for three days.

So there we are at a gas station somewhere between a bunch of mountains. The wind was so strong. If you didn't park your truck the right way, the wind would slam your door shut and take off your arm if you weren't careful. I screamed at the kids to stay put. I drove from the gas pump to the door of the store because I was afraid. The wind was so strong. Finally inside, I asked the clerk, What's with the wind? It's always windy he said. Then in walked someone he knew. How could two people know each other out in the middle of all of this I thought. How could anything be normal here. I got the gas, the batteries, and the tylenol. Los Angeles now seemed safe. Anywhere seemed safe, anywhere away from that wind. I better not ever complain about the wind in El Paso again.I can't wait to hear the song Mr. Russell!!Charlene

Riding in the Snow

My mother never would buy me a horse when we lived in Michigan and she would never have my horse at my uncle's ranch in Mexico shipped up to Michigan either. She always said it was too cold in Michigan for a Mexican horse. I've always believed whatever people tell me, even about that. But life wasn't all that bad without my own horse because my mother did 1/2 lease a horse for me, or so it was called back then. She paid $55 dollars a month, which was 1/2 the board, so three days a week that horse was mine.

Rocky, or Rocket J. Squirrel in the show ring, was my first 1/2 horse. Robin C. was his true owner. She didn't have time to ride him often so the 1/2 lease worked out great for both of us. Rocky was a blood bay quarter horse. Not too fancy or anything, but calm and strong. It took a lot of effort to keep him going, but we did alright. He'd run out of quarters as an old friend of mine would say. But about a year into the lease, Robin was in a terrible car accident. MGs and 18 wheelers were never a good mix. I remember she worked for the DART cup company and was driving to the stable on her lunch break when she met up with that truck. Miraculously, Robin pulled through. She had to sell ol' Rocky though, and my Mom wouldn't buy him for me.

But along came Tommy. A steeple chaser imported from Czechoslovakia with papers that called him a Furioso. This is a cross between a draft horse and a Thoroughbred. The story goes that Tommy's owner was originally from Czechoslovakia and had immigrated to this country where he became a Doctor. To keep ties with his country he had this horse imported. At some point the man gave the horse to his daughter. She brought him to the stable and offered a 1/2 lease to me knowing that Rocky was gone.

My riding instructor didn't want me to ride Tommy. He said the horse was too advanced for me. But at 13 years old, I told him that Tommy was the only horse available so I'd have to lease him anyway. When I first saw Tommy, his eyes seemed to be rolling around in his head, like a scarred animal. I could see the whites of his eyes and on a horse that's a little weird. He was just as scarred of me as I was of him. But when you are 13 you are fearless. If your lucky you've never been in much pain either so a big horse from Czechoslovakia was only a small challenge.

With the patience of a 13 year old, and the reluctant help of my riding instructor, Tommy and I became the best of friends. He'd follow me around without a lead rope, let me bath him, braid him, brush him, clean his feet, and of course, ride in the horse shows. We even jumped a four foot fence once upon a time. But my favorite rides were always the trail rides. They weren't really trail rides though, they were more like show off rides. We'd leave the stable and just go riding down the street. We'd go around the block, and past people's houses. We'd ride through corn fields and to the A and W. There was a Chip in Putt that had the greatest lemon aid. Life was great back then. But the most memorable ride I ever had with Tommy was a ride through the woods after a freshly fallen snow. The sky was white, and the ground was white. The trees were bare like sticks, but were blanketed in snow. But Tommy and I knew where the trail was and that it was safe. So we made our usual way out of the stable up the dirt road and into the woods. The only noise was the packing of the snow under Tommy's hooves and his breathing. Everything else was muffled by the snow. It was the most peaceful moment I have ever experienced in my life.

My mother was a strong woman. Although the stables were 15 miles from our house, she drove me there that day with all of that snow on the ground and some still falling. Nobody else had gone out there that morning because of the snow. The stable boy who lived there was there, but other than that it was just me and a barn full of horses on a snowy Michigan day in the middle of winter time. Maybe because my mom grew up in Mexico, she wasn't afraid of the snow because she never saw any until she moved to Michigan with my Dad. Or maybe the thought of me bugging her all day for a ride to the stable was worth the risk of the snowy drive. The memory of that ride that day so many years ago has lasted a life time. I'll have to thank my mom.

Life is full of great moments. It's also full of struggles. We just have to rewind the memories of those great moments and replay them in our minds when things get tough. Hopefully they'll keep us going.