Blue Light Special

A few days ago an acquaintance stopped by, having forgotten a scarf during a previous visit. Sabrina is a poet and painter. She had shown me her paintings while interviewing for an empty studio a few months back. I liked them-- as well as those by her sister, a resident of another state. She mentioned that she's concentrating on her writings right now and then, later, said that her work table for art is currently used in the kitchen for an eating surface. What a pity, I thought! We strolled about the studio, with my pointing out a drop leaf table rescued from the roadside that needed a home. "First come, first given" I told her, hoping that she could use it. I'm one of those types who drives a large enough car to rescue recycleable items and do. The longest turnaround for this hobby was the wheel barrow (with only one final step in it's assembly, all parts there), which took a year of asking those who drop by the studio. I'm not so good at conversation so this gives me a topic.

Within days she had a pal to help her transport the table. The pal, Mary Jean, had rented an electric car in San Francisco. Those cars are nifty! Mary Jean, dressed in capris with cool dangles, is a full on personality very different from the quiet type of Sabrina. Her eyes absorbed everything, her comments vivid and she seemed quick and intense in her understanding of the world. During the visit I described, for some reason that I can't recall, an airplane ride that I took as a maybe 7 yr old? We were in a Super Ventura, which was a converted bomber, replete with the bomb doors still in the cockpit. At the end of the flight, the pilot discovered that one of the retracted wheels would descend but not lock into place. With the copilot taking over, the pilot, a high level genius and do it all hands on kinda guy, not only conversed with Boeing (the manuf.) but also went down thru the bomb door to access the wheels. We circled the airport for four hours to no avail. I can still remember the pattern of the different lights for the runways, access roads and taxiways. All airport taxiways are lined with cobalt blue glass lights that glow softly. I've always been fond of them for their beauty. Since the emergency landing trip, I can still hear the morse code radio sound of the airport, which I suppose was part of the navigational system. As I recall, the door to the cockpit remained open during the final minutes of the flight.

As I finished my story (and I will here too, at the end of this but you already know that I lived), Mary Jean said that her father was the one who created/invented the blue glass for those lights. After she'd told me of his many accomplishments, including working with space stations (NASA), I was very impressed and wished that I had gotten to know him, an electrical engineer. I asked her if she had a sample of that taxiway blue glass lamp cover and was informed that no, she didn't. That triggered a studio search for a present.

Years ago, while at an artist refuge in Basin, Montana, a bunch of we artists would zip to a distant town for amusement. Basin itself had part of one road paved and about 50 homes, a pizza parlor, a pottery shop and a cafe that was also the bar and the laundromat. For further amusement we had to go further for more choices. Going to the dump to acquire materials for a play, or driving to the gas station (10 miles, Total: 1 library, 1 hardware store and a movie rental place, 2 grocery stores adjacent to each other) or to see the larger populations of Helena and Butte, both over an hour's drive away and more. The last two had many pawn/ junk stores and yes, drum roll, that's where I purchased an airport blue glass lamp cover. I passed up a fascinating pair of Inuit sealfur pants... I'd have to be shorter and very much more slim to use them! Slim sounds good, shorter no, thanks.

At long last I found the blue glass in the back area of the studio and passed it on to it's rightful owner. She seemed pleased to have it. And yes, we landed ok -- on one wheel, balanced for a while, then the wing tip touched down to scrape a groove in the grass covered dirt, not even the pavement, for a short distance. All hail and thanks to the incredible finesse of the pilot. He chose to rely on his skills rather than have the runway "foamed" to lessen the friction and reduce the fire hazards. A question of whether to be a bar of soap on a bubble bath wet bathroom floor or attempt a ballarina on pointe performance with a plane carrying two families and many children. We landed dry. Being the youngest, I was strapped onto the couch and immediatly started asking for release as I was sure we'd burst into flames.

This meeting of we two women can make one think of how small a world this is.... or was it a message from her father or mine to we who remain alive these days? A little fun twinkle in the eyes of the universe is what I think, serindippity too.

Oh, and in case you notice those long red straps hanging out of the underside of an airplane while it's on the ground? Those are tags to catch the eyes of the mechanic who might forget the rag that he shoved up into the gear to keep the oil from soiling the concrete underneath. A good pilot visually examines his plane... carefully.