TRAINING
One day I had a wild idea to learn to fly. But I was old (50-something) and I was a girl. I never thought in a million years anyone would really give me a chance. In walked Michael Phillips. Throaty voiced, wearing slippery shoes with little leather tassels. I thought he was merely humoring the moment. We went on a discovery flight. He said he was like Saint Jude the patron saint of lost and hopeless causes. For the next 18 months, day by day, flight by flight, Michael endured and adapted to the convoluted, emotional learning curve that I brought with me. Some days I’d glance over to the right seat in the cockpit and see his eyes closed, hands in prayer pose, fingertips holding up his chin. Are you praying, Michael? I had asked. Reflecting, he barely whispered. We flew on. The process continued. He never gave up on me or balked at the challenge. Michael surpassed sainthood and earned the indelible title of Zen Flight Master. And in the same spirit, I will forever be a Pilot.
- Paula Gail (and Stella)
>> LET'S GO FLYING!
