97 Evergreen West

      The phone rings, I think.  I try to shake out the cobwebs in my head and listen, and it rings again.  I looked at the clock and cussed whoever might be calling this early on a Sunday morning.  Work, probably.  “I’ve got a flight for you Jason.”  The dispatcher said.  “You’re doing the Seattle-Vancouver run again, if you’re up to it.”  He continued.  “No problem, when do we go?” I replied and asked in the same sentence.  “We scheduled a 4 PM take off tomorrow.  Seattle landing time about 6:30 PM.  Your overnight there and then take off for Vancouver at 6 AM, quick turn there and return to Spokane.”  This was dispatcher lingo for a simple out and back hump run.  “Who is Co-pilot?” I asked.  “Your buddy Doug, should I call him or would you like to?” He asked.  I explained that since he was responsible for this aggravating hangover that I was experiencing, and the fact that it was 7AM on a Sunday morning, I wanted the pleasure of calling him.  With a forced “See you tomorrow” pleasantry, we were off the phone.  I called Doug.  He sounded better than I did.  We flipped a coin and I won, so I would be Pilot in Command tomorrow.  This was a ritual we started about a year ago.  You really have to trust someone a lot to do a coin flipping decision over the phone.  We were tight enough to trust each other that much.  Think about it.

     Oscar determined that I was up and moving and began his demanding ritual seeking food and attention. Since I didn’t have a mate, I had a cat.  He was decent company, though he could be quite the pain in the ass at times.  Oscar liked to act like he was a tough cat, but he was an indoor cat to the extreme.  If you played rough with him, he could leave some impressive scratches on you, but I had my doubts he could survive 24 hours outside, even in the summertime.  I was convinced that if it came to killing something to eat, he would starve.  The only thing he could kill was the contents of a can with a Friskies label on it.  He convinced me to bring him home when he was a kitten by not giving me a choice in the matter. He decided he was going to live with me, and that was the end of it, no discussion, the decision was his and it was final. He was of the Heinz 57 variety with some percentage of Siamese in him.  I wasn’t forced to pick a kitten from the pile of kittens, or anything like that.  I reached into the box to pet a couple of them and Oscar just never let go.  We made a good pair, as pets and owners go. 

     My Sunday was fairly routine.  I took a shower, ate my Frosted Flakes, drank coffee, watched some CNN, and went to Wal-Mart for essentials.  When I got home I had a message on the answering machine from my brother Buck.  He was asking if I knew any pilots that could take Kim up to get some pictures for her portfolio.  She was always adding levels to her photography genre.  I had to think about that one for a minute.  Let’s see, I’m a pilot, more than half of all the people I know are pilots, friends of pilots, married to pilots, or have a family member that is a pilot.  He could be awfully dumb sometimes for a smart person.

     I had a better idea, so I called him back.  “Buck, I have a flight to Seattle tomorrow, with a follow on to Vancouver, then back here.  Why don’t you see if Kim wants some shots of the mountains, the ocean and coastline, some cities, etc?  Better yet, why don’t you call Boeing and tell them you’re taking a couple of days off and we will make an adventure out of it.  The company doesn’t mind if we take family and friends with us once in a while, as long as you’re not paying customers that can bitch about substandard accommodations and crappy in-flight services.” I explained and suggested.  He liked the idea but needed to make some phone calls before he could commit to it, so he suggested that I come over for dinner later and we terminated our call.

     I arrived at Buck and Kim’s house at just about 5 PM