The week at the Humber School for Writers was fantastic. After a week loaded with information, guidance and instruction I’m back home drained and exhausted but filled with motivation. Though one thing I didn’t have to face coming home on a Friday evening and heading northbound on the 400 was cottage traffic. And not because I left early enough or just got lucky with the cars on the road.
No, I got lucky because after 14 years together, my husband still tries to impress me and offered to pick me up in his plane. Now before anyone gets the idea that we’ve struck it rich and he’s flying around in a deluxe private jet, think again. It’s a 1984 Cessna.
And though he’s been flying since he was 17 years old and is meticulous when it comes to safety, I have haven’t flown with him since before we got married. That time (also a ploy by him to impress) it was a glider. That date was a flop as I ended up sick for hours from the turning in the thermals (updrafts) in order to get more height and stay in the air longer. It wasn’t my finest moment, and it didn’t impress me, not in the least.
The bottom line is – I don’t like to fly. Unless of course, there’s a beach at the end of the journey. So each weekend when Will goes flying, he tries to talk me into going, but I really have no interest. No more interest than he has in coming to a writer’s retreat. We all have our passions, right?
Anyway – getting home on a Friday night in 20 minutes instead of 2 hours (3 or 4 if you factor in traffic) sounded like a good alternative to me, so I agreed. It made him happy, because he could show off a little and play Top Gun to his wife. It made me happy because I would be home with my family and my dog sooner, rather than later. It also meant I would finally get up in his plane – something he’s been after me about since April when he bought it.
So we had our flight from Toronto Island Airport home to the Oro Airport and I’m in one piece. I won’t lie, I was a little skittish.
But I got home safe and sound, without a scratch. My ears didn’t even pop. But that doesn’t mean I’ve changed my disposition about being in the air on a frequent basis, or at the least, not for pleasure. I’m a writer, not a flyer.