crash landing

Last Monday, to celebrate Jason's one year anniversary of living with us, my husband Sam gallantly offered to let Jason do anything he wanted that day. Anything at all! The sky's the limit! Which worked out nicely for Sam, since he had to work that day, so I was the one who got the great honor of fulfilling the generous offer.


And so I ended up dutifully adding to the inversion on Monday, as my ward of the state and I drove to the SLC airport to watch the planes come in. Jason knew of a bike path right at the top of the runway where you can stand and watch the planes come in.


Except planes don't just come in. They appear out of the smog first, looking all tiny and harmless, and then they get louder and louder, and dip down closer and closer to the ground, and suddenly you realize they're gigantic, and the the wind picks up, and by that time the air is roaring around you, and your hair is everywhere, and then WHOOSH! they've flown right over your head and gone on to land.


It's actually quite exhilarating. The fear that a crash landing will crush you at any moment, the fear that if you stand up straight you'll touch the plane, the fear that your hearing will be permanently damaged, and the absolute certainty that you should not have done your hair that morning.


As it turns out, we didn't see many planes that day (much to Jason's very vocal chagrin). I guess there's limited air traffic on MLK day at noon? I hope the few planes we did see made it worth it. Plus, I can say I've been thiiiiis close to suffering death by exhilarating airplane crash. It's almost like I can say I survived the Titanic (you know, the same kind of near-death-by-man-made-machine type of thing... It makes sense in my head, okay?).

P.S. It's got to be scientifically proven somewhere that two days of a weekend is shorter than two days of a work week. I know it, I just have to find the research to prove it. Back to the grindstone tomorrow!