Hemingway undoubtedly the exception, it’s probably never a good idea to post while over-served. Here goes.
I’m not sure how Halloween is conducted on other continents, although I suspect that it might be celebrated in a somewhat universal fashion. But dis is how we do it in Atlanta.
Mom dresses kids up in costumes that just arrived today via Amazon Prime. Dad leaves work early, in my case 1530, because traffic is a grim on Halloween, and makes a stop at Total Wine (these days is 50% craft beer) to stock the support wagon. Mommy in charge of kids and their accouterment, while daddy prepares a cooler with an assortment of fine IPAs and pale ales, along with a few juice boxes and chocolate milk.
While mommy is tending to her aesthetic needs, we make a perfunctary candy sweep of the cul de sac, and then load up the family truckster. Pushing a couple of buttons, the side doors sweep back to allow Eliza and Olivia clear fields of fire, while Scarlett mans the 50 up top. Feeling as if we are ready for Fallujah, Mogadishu, or Belfast, we launch for a short ride to join up with our friends at the rendezvous point.
Neither SAS or D boys they be, rather number 2 and I are escorting a herd of unicorn princesses.
Our AO is subdivision of cluster homes, that is free standing houses surrounded by about 50 square feet of lawn. Be what they may, the neighborhood is correctly decorated, welcoming, and gay. The is much evidence of a block party extraordinaire and therefore, the perfect venue for our commandos to gather as much candy as they can pack in their stash bags, while mommy and daddy are in trail, pulling the SAG wagon and sipping on their chilled YETI tumblers. Yawn.
Then the perfect family arrives. Mr Incredible and Elastagirl make Claudia and I feel like we need to actually use our gym memberships. To make matters worse, Jack Jack looks like he wants to burn a hole in my ass.
Meteorologically, it’s a perfect night, unusually clear and about 65 degrees F. While the kids continue candy harvesting, first my ears and then my eyes are repeatedly drawn upward at the sounds of passing turboprops. At about 4 miles from a busy executive airport on the NE side of Atlanta, in a space of about 15 minutes, 4 King Airs and a PC-12 pass low overhead. This is probably the usual business departures at dusk, and no one seems to notice. It’s a siren call for me though and I marvel at the absolute perfect auditory delights playing overhead. Both aircraft are distinctive, but it is surprising how often I can correctly guess the aircraft before a confirmatory look. It’s not really that I know what each aircraft sound like, It’s more that I know what the Beach sounds like, having been around them so often skydiving, and then there is something different. Since there are so many PC-12s operating out of KPDK, it’s a simple matter to deduce the other aircraft.
How lucky are those with their hands on the throttle charging off into a clear night to places unknown, while Mr. Incredible and I exchange banalities. I imagine the pilots looking down thinking, “It sucks to be you.”
He’s already working that angle…