Should he “be”, or should he “not to be”…it seems THAT was the question Herr Hamlet had banging around in his melon…amongst about a million others. So, BBall, does your titillating title from scene one of the third Act of Willy Shakespear’s yarn about the Danish bloke (that couldn’t make up his mind), mean that you’ll stop being a dumbass and refrain from making stupid decisions in your life? Nope. High-brow thoughts like that never seem to cross these neurons. I just thought it was a cool title that referenced dreaming (only in Hammy’s case, he was talking about the BIG SLEEP…you know….the “dirt nap”). No, I’ll continue to make idiotic decisions like should I buy the big gaming computer…or the BIGGER gaming computer. Anyone who knows me can easily answer that question. “He’ll buy the red shiny one…guaranteed.”

(Oooh…shiny.)

Actually, this blather is about dreaming; specifically dreams concerning slipping the “surly bonds of Earth.” You know, flying. Raise your hand if you’ve ever had a dream about being able to fly? O.K., everyone can put their hands down; it seems that somewhere just shy of 100% of humanity can say that they’ve had that type of dream. I guess I started having them as a kid, for if you’ve read my earlier blogs you know that I logged many an hour around airfields getting familiar with all sorts of exotic flying machines. My dear lovely bride gets excited each time she tells me about a dream of flying (Side note; she’s an “adrenaline junkie”…loves skydiving, loves high places, married me, you know…a crazy person). Hers are usually the type that can be described as “Peter Pan” flying (or I guess, maybe the son of Kal-El, you know Clark Kent …er…Superman). This, of course, begs the question, “Do people who do the low-Earth orbit thing for a living” have dreams of flying? The answer (for me at least) is yes. I had a “flying dream” the night before last. Side note #2; I remember my Dad saying that he had dreams about flying long past his last day as an aviator.

(This would be me…only frozen with terror. I wonder how the Cessna would land with me hanging onto the wing strut?)

Why would someone with a gazillion flight hours dream of flying? Truthfully, I’m not sure. Tuesday, the 25th of February, 2000 was the last time these grubby mits would touch a flying machine in real life (flight simulations do not count…I looked it up). Actually, on that day, I only touched the beautiful Boeing marvel as a literal “bus driver”, for it was the First Officer’s leg and I simply taxied the machine to the runway in Guatemala City and to the gate at LAX after we cleared Runway 25R five hours and forty-three minutes later. I had no way of knowing that the combination of a serious medical condition (achalasia), and the worldwide nightmare of the COVID-19 pandemic, would mean that the loving pat I would give the big Boeing as I stepped onto the jetway that afternoon, would be the last act in my last moments as a professional aviator. Truth be told, a more fitting way to give a personal “goodbye” to my beloved flying machines I could not imagine. So, do my dreams of flying signify a desire to be ensconced back in that world. I don’t think so (more on that later).

So? What type of dream did you have two nights ago BBall? After four-plus decades of hauling dare-devils (I mean customers) around hither and yon across the planet, what possible brand of slumber-induced adventures occupy your REM hours? Were you “Peter-panning” your way through the Grand Canyon on a mission to locate and save a lost group of Peruvian orphans? Maybe riding a mythical winged beast across medieval lands spreading good cheer and permanently uniting the kingdoms with your superb display of aerial antics? Oh, wait, I know…you were piloting a souped-up version of the Bell X-1 (after Chuck Yeager called in sick) to HIGH Earth orbit to combat a Romulan battlecruiser thus saving humanity from 1000 years of enslavement? (With the secret laser weapon I installed on the X-1…hey, it’s my dream, leave me alone), Do any of those sound familiar? Nope…my “flying dreams” seem to fall into the category that might be described by the words…worried and/or anxious.

(This bugger would end up as just another floating mass of space junk!)

Two nights ago as I slumbered, I was back at work, and things were exactly the same only different. The cockpit of the wide-body jet looked exactly like I remembered it…big, beautiful windows, nearly unlimited visibility, super comfy seat, and, of course, a million gauges and “funny clocks” staring back at me. Funny thing, when you spend thousands of hours in the same spot at work (in this case, the First Officer’s seat on the DC-10), climbing back into that chair is very much like putting on your oldest, most comfortable pair of shoes. I was sitting in the F/O seat, and we were at the gate in Paris preparing to launch toward some (unknown) destination in the colonies (USA). So far, so good, right? This is where the whole “yay, it’s a flying dream thing” started to get pear-shaped. What was the issue? Bad airplane, bad passenger, did you forget to put on your uniform pants (again)?

(Such a beautiful machine that even a retired 68-year-old pelican could fly it. Thanks to Mr. Wanrooy for the use of the pic.)

Nope, this particular dream regarded a legal issue. I was responding to the Captain as we chatted before the departure when I suddenly realized that I had been retired for almost five years (apparently, I was a 68-year-old First Officer who had been recalled out of retirement …talk about flying past your “expiration date”) I confessed to the Boss that I had not taken an FAA check-ride and/or stood naked in front of an FAA Medical Examiner since that fateful pandemic year, and that I was not legal to take the flight (or any other I might add). After I mentioned that small fact he was (rightfully) more than just a wee bit upset, but what did he expect…his F/O was a newly “un-retired” 68 freakin-year-old co-pilot!? At some point, he mumbled something about how he hoped we would not be “ramp checked” by the FAA in the U.S., and that it would be better if we just kept our mouths shut and spent the next 8 hours worrying about our conjugal visit rights if we were caught and sent to prison. At that point in the dream, I stood up, got my suitcase, and nonchalantly sauntered off the jet. Hey, I may have stranded 300 people in Paris, but at least my conscious followed me into dreamland.

(In all seriousness…THIS is what an airline pilot should wear to work. No way I would forget to put my pants on…right?)

Full disclosure; I have indeed had the dream of standing on the jetway preparing to board the jet and noticing I have no pants on (hand to God), plus I’ve had the “I’ve got to get to work and keep getting lost on the freeway and can’t seem to figure out what exit to take”, and the vanilla version of the “I can’t find my uniform so I show up in my civilian clothes to the horror of the Chief Pilot” nightmare. This one, thankfully, didn’t involve a forgotten or misplaced uniform article, but do I ever have flying dreams that aren’t screwed up? Sure, very occasionally to be sure, but I sometimes do. Usually, they involve a very close relative or friend who’s “flown West” and I wake up feeling pretty warm and fuzzy. My Dad comes to mind immediately, plus my dear friend Steve “Buzz” Baker (past blog entries about both), and the great post-dream feelings are probably more about the person I’m with once again than the experience of flying machines. I guess the BIG question is do I miss the world of aviation enough to dream wonderful, exciting dreams about soaring over the beautiful lush lands of the world? Apparently not, but I guess if I did, then (unless things have changed drastically in the last five years) I would have to dig through my closet and find my black uniform pants.

Maybe.

’till next time…