I took My First Airplane Trip When I Was 38

Life, The Rain And Flying High  I flew on my first airplane ride back in 1972, two years short of becoming forty. My friend’s baby flew when he was two months old to see his other Grandmother in New Orleans. Little Will was thirty-eight years earlier in his flying time. I figured if Mom could fly her first trip when she was 65, I could beat her by twenty-seven years. We flew to England, the plane was empty, and the food fairly good, the snacks pretty tasty, I had the whole three seats to spread out on and to try and sleep and my husband did the same. It was a seven hour trip and the time went by fast. We arrived in London about eight in the morning and it was about in our real time two in the afternoon. We saw the hustle and bustle of London and we went to sleep right away. Other travelers in our group checked in to the hotel, threw their baggage down and went sightseeing. We were still young, younger than many on the trip, but we decided to go to sleep. We awakened about two in the afternoon London time and then we were raring to sightsee. At dinner, the early ones were dragging their bodies because they had jumped into viewing the city at once and we two took a rest and we were bright and alert and eager to do things. When we went on our first bus ride, we were warned that the streets were full of pickpockets and we were to hold our purses tight to our chests and the men should have their wallets in their front pockets. No one in our group was pickpocketed. We saved that event for many years ago, when my husband was pickpocketed in an elevator in a medical building. He did not know it had happened, it was winter time, he had on a heavy coat and he did the unthinkable. He had his wallet full of many credit cards and kept it in his back pocket which is a no-no. When we arrived home from the doctor’s office, there was a message on the phone from the Visa Company saying that an unusual amount of activity had happened in the last thirty minutes and they were wondering if it was us or a robber. He looked for his wallet and then we realized he had helped two men on the elevator going up when one said his arm was stuck in the open door. The other one gently picked his pocket and they went on and in thirty minutes they had charged in four stores, Sears, Walmart, Home Depot and a TV store. They had spent twenty-five hundred dollars charged to our Visa. In Sears they had the nerve to buy a diamond bracelet and a policy to cover its repair in my husband’s name. No one had checked the handwriting on the card to see if it matched what it should have been. They even spelled his first name wrong on the Sears purchase and policy of repair. It took lots of time to straighten things out with about four credit cards they had gotten with the Visa one. We felt as if we had been violated, they took the pictures of the grandchildren he had in there and pictures he had of himself when he was in the Korean War so many years ago. We felt for weeks like they were watching us and knew all about us from his cards, his driver’s license and his photos of him and the family. So in London, no one touched us, right here in an elevator where my husband helped the injured man get his hand that was so called stuck in the door, while the two were robbing him. It is a scary feeling; we got ourselves an identity card policy, where we pay them to monitor our cards, bank accounts and etc. for a monthly fee. If any unusual activity, we are notified at once. He no longer carries his wallet in his back pocket. He no longer helps or believes in being a good guy on an elevator. If I had been there, and someone had even breathed on me, I would have screamed. He did not feel their touch, they were simply adept at doing it and raised up his heavy winter coat with such ease, it was not felt at all. My friend, a senior in Washington State, Steven Behr is a ballroom dancer like me and he says this “how old would you be if you did not know your REAL AGE? He says he would be sixty-two.” I would say that some nights and or days, I would be forty-two and a half. Other days, I would say I would be over sixty-five and that would be pretty good too. A Verizon technician in Costa Rica said on the phone to me several years ago, when he was helping me get the computer to work again, “You sound like you are thirty-five. I said no way and he said OK no more than forty-five.” I said “seventy-nine in two months.” He was amazed, he himself was twenty-one. So it is nice to be 82 tomorrow, some say you look too young to have a twenty-four year old grandson and the technician said my voice was forty-five. Today I was ordering me a birthday cake for dinner tomorrow and the bakery manager at Giant could not believe my voice was almost 82. She could not believe it either. I get that a lot when I am asked my birth date for something on the computer I am buying.Maybe, I could get me a talk radio show and pass my self off of 45 or maybe to tell the truth would be a novelty for talk shows. I shall consider the offer if I get it. Ha. Whether it is true or not, I look back to when I was forty and the children were thirteen and nine and I was married for fourteen years. Life was so different then, money was harder to come by, to save, easy to spend it all and live from paycheck to paycheck and looking forward to better financial times and always hoping for good health for our parents. My Dad was gone when I was thirty. Gasoline for the automobile was about sixty-nine cents or lower per gallon. You did not get it yourself; a man did it for you and washed your windows too. There is a saying that says: “From morning’s first light to evening’s last star, always remember how special you are. Just as the caterpillar transforms into a magnificent butterfly we too are in a process of becoming our highest selves through a journey of self-discovery and self-acceptance, as we learn to spread our wings. You are still gliding through each day with grace.” I say we can all do that at any age and even if we are over forty, over sixty-five and older, we can still fly with hope and happiness. I may have been thirty-eight when I flew on an airplane for the first time and I have flown all over the world since then, but I stopped flying on a plane in nineteen eighty-six. I have seen a lot of countries, been on three cruises and seen most of the important places in the world. Now I do my ‘flying’ here at home in my various activities and through my writing. There is a saying "Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass; it is about learning to dance in the rain." I am still a moving butterfly and now where I move or fly is still exciting and exhilarating; whatever you do or wherever you go, you are still flying high and soaring up to the sky with joy at the age you are and the age you think you can be. Always remember you are very special person. elita sohmer clayman Fairfax Station Patch