You can find me at my hangar

That’s right. I got hangar space! It’s not one of the swanky ones with an electric door. I am still on the waiting list for one of those. I will have to push my own sliding door open for now. But it is mine. All mine. I will be moving the airplane parts out of my garage and beginning the process of hangar move in December 1.

It’s just storage space, right? Wrong. It’s an identity. It’s a lifestyle. OK, it’s a status symbol. I remember when my grandfather got his own golf cart. He was an avid golfer. In retirement, he played every single day. Including the day he died. He loved the golf course like most pilots love the airport. The day he got his very own golf cart was big. He loved that cart. In his own, very quiet way, I know he would be super excited for me and my hangar.

As I work my way through this project, it is becoming so much more clear how many people have come before me and shaped me into who I am now. Not sure if they did well or poorly, but they did what they could. I am the product of two very different grandmothers who taught me very different things. My maternal grandmother was a feisty Irish woman who never had the benefit of much education. She was raised in southern Kansas, lost her mother at 9 to the 1918 Influenza epidemic, and was just about as street smart as you can get. My paternal grandmother was stately and smart. She was a teacher who inspired so many students before she was taken from this world far too young. I imagine if they were both still here, they would be united in their excitement for me. They were both powerful, independent women. I have been lucky to be surrounded by powerful, independent women my whole life.

Now that you have stuck with me this long, go get some coffee at and have a great day!

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