Remembering and honoring

What I'm about to write might seem out of place in this blog, but I hope readers will indulge me and read on. Today is September 11, 2011. In just over 8 hours, many Americans will observe a moment of silence, as we remember the day 10 years ago that changed our lives and our nation's landscape forever.

For me, September 11, 2001 started out as just another day. I was on my way to work in my office on the perimeter of the Scottsdale Airport. I had the radio on in my car, and usual, I was frustrated with morning commute traffic. Instead of stopping at the local Starbucks, which I did nearly every morning on my way to work, for some unknown reason, I pulled into a neighborhood sandwich & coffee shop. As I walked in, the girl behind the counter commented that a plane had just flown into the World Trade Center in New York City. I remember thinking, and I believe I even said; "it's probably foggy in New York, and some guy in a little plane got lost". The shop had no tv, and I honestly didn't think any more of it. I just figured some private pilot got lost or confused, and hit the skyscraper. No big deal, right?

Less than 5 minutes later I walked into my office. The hallway was still dark, but I could hear voices. Loud voices sounding worried and rushed. Instead of going into my own office, I turned the corner into the call center area in time to watch the second airplane hit the WTC, almost as if in slow motion. Could I be seeing what I thought I'd just seen? Could a jet really hit the World Trade Center? And why? The sky looked clear. I didn't see any fog. How does a jet hit a skyscraper on a clear and cloudless morning?

And suddenly our phones went crazy. In September 2001 I worked as the director of training and development for a software company that designed, implemented and maintained crew lodging and transportation software for airline crews. Our largest customer was a US based freight company, for whom we assisted hundreds of crewmembers each day. Because we held hotel rooms world wide, and because aviation in the US came to a complete standstill, it seemed that everyone was calling us looking for help accommodating their crewmembers who'd been stranded. The callers were polite but obviously anxious and they needed help quickly.

I don't know how many calls we took that day. I don't remember who we called to come in and help us field the calls. I don't remember what time I left my office late that night. I don't remember who I spoke with that day, or even that week. I do remember someone ordering pizza's to be delivered for lunch. I also remember feeling ice cold that day and for many days after. And living in Phoenix Arizona, September's aren't cold. But I was. From the inside out, I just felt cold.

The following Summer I met a commercial airline pilot that I would eventually fall in love with and marry. He's a great pilot, a professional, someone whose skill and judgement I trust implicitly. I've often told him that he somehow becomes part of his airplane when he's in the cockpit. I can't explain that, it's just a feeling I get when I see him flying, whether it's the Boeing 777 he fly's for Continental or our little Cessna 150.

I can't say that I never worry about Keith on his trips. In our early years, when I'd drop him off at the airport for a trip to Tel Aviv Israel, I'd have to stop to get through a panic attack brought about by my fears for his safety there. Even now, whether it's a hurricane on the east coast or a frigid winter in Beijing, I worry about my husband. But weather and city safety are small potatos compared with the worries I and other pilots' wives have about the possibility of a repeat of the events of September 11, 2001.

Today my husband is in Hong Kong. He'll leave there late tonight, returning home tomorrow evening. And from the time he boards his plane, until I hear his voice shortly after landing in Newark, New Jersey - I will track his flight online and hope and pray for his safety, just as I do for every single flight he takes.

I pray that we never again experience the sort of violation our nation experienced that September day 10 years ago. I pray that no spouse, parent, child or sibling has to again lose a loved one at the hands of religious fanatics. I hope that we as a nation never take our safety and security so lightly that we become complacent and again fall victim to madmen.

More than anything, I pray that time somehow eases the pain of that September day and that we as a nation can someday watch September 11th pass as just another date on the calendar. But today won't be that day. Today we will remember, and mourn again the loss of so many innocent lives, and perhaps, our greater innocence in general.

God Bless America

What's new

It seems that an old and very unpopular notion about women who stay at home is still floating around; that being - that they "don't work". Personally, I don't know of any stay-at-home woman who doesn't work. Whether she's a wife, mother, or a single woman who's done her time in corporate America, I don't know of a single woman who stays home all day swilling champagne and popping bon-bons into her mouth. Not that I might not consider it if someone would kindly do all my shopping, cooking, cleaning, laundry, organizing and driving people wherever they need to be. And of course, they'll need to work my home-based business.

Being self-employed isn't being unemployed. In fact, I'd argue that as the owner of a home-based business, I probably spend more time working than I did when I commuted 45 minutes to an office where I typically put in 10 hrs a day. On any given evening I'm in front of my laptop working on new designs, improving existing designs, improving my understanding of Photoshop Elements (that's a biggie), blogging, social networking (including tweeting and reading business tweets), researching avenues for greater business exposure, and networking. Anyone who thinks all of that doesn't take time, well, come spend a day with me and see.

So just how have I been spending the past several weeks when I'm not actually making t-shirts and/or onesies? Funny you asked. Just take a look for yourself. And if you happen to see something you like, email me or comment in this blog and let me know. I'm always happy to welcome a new customer to the business.

Thanks for taking the time to stop by and check out what's new with La Petite Pilot. Come back soon!

The Goodbye Girl

Or; why I fly 5 hours, (that's 2,133 miles according to http://www.convertunits.com/) to spend one night in a Newark, NJ hotel with my airline pilot husband, then fly 5 hours (yep, another 2,133 miles) home ... alone.

When I say I'm flying to Newark to overnight with my husband Keith, and will be home the next day while he flys off to some far off place, I'm usually met with blank stares or something like; "what the heck for?" I could say it's because I like the pizza in New Jersey (Bruno's - yum), I could say I like hotel romance, I could say I enjoy the occasional (make that rare) upgrade to First Class on Continental Airlines ... and all of that would be true. But the real reason I do it, is to spend those few precious hours with my husband.

Home life is a nonstop crush of schedules and committments, of school bells and student pilot training, of expectations and deadlines. But the 5 hours on the airplane to Newark, even if my husband is asleep in the seat beside me, and the ten to twelve hours alone with him in a New Jersey hotel room are a gift beyond compare.

For those few hours there are just two of us. There are no one elses wants and needs more important than our own, there is just my husband and me enjoying the quiet of a small New Jersey hotel room as we sip our Coke-a-Cola's and eat our pizza, and share a few hours of husband and wife talk.

Then all too soon it's over, and I'm re-packing our bags in preparation of going our seperate ways. I take his dirty laundry home with me (no sense in him carrying it to China and back), and we grab a quick cup of tea before the van takes us back to Newark Airport. My job as the Goodbye Girl is about to begin.

At the airport there is just enough time for a late breakfast or early lunch, then Keith is due in the weather room. There, as he meets the rest of his flight crew, he pours over weather reports and route charts and begins in earnest his work as the professional and dedicated pilot I so admire and respect. He will inevitably introduce me to the Captain and the IRO's (International Relief Officers) flying with him, but it's my job to stay in the background, quietly observing but beaming with pride. That man, the one discussing impending turbulance and route diversions with such experienced authority ... that man is my husband ... imagine that.

I always schedule my return flight to depart after Keith's plane leaves, so once he's through in the weather room we head to the gate where his airplane awaits crew and passengers alike. I find a quiet corner in which to wait, while Keith goes down to the plane to "load the box", a pilot's expression for loading the route and flight data into the airplanes computer.

It's not long before my husband is back at my side, asking how the loads (seating) look for my own flight, and what I plan to do whilst he's away. Small talk fills the next few minutes, but it's what we don't say that hangs so heavily in the air. That we'll miss each other. That I wish he could retire tomorrow. That I hate goodbyes.

All too soon the gate agents begin calling row numbers, filling the plane with passengers. Keith hugs me, telling me how much he appreciated and enjoyed my coming all this way for such a few small hours. He reminds me it'll only be four days and then he'll be home again. In my mind those four days might just as well be forty-four. One more lingering kiss good bye and it's my husbands back that's disappearing down the jetway. But not before he turns around one last time and using the ASL sign for "I love you" - blows a kiss to his goodbye girl.

I wait at the window in the boarding area as all the passengers board, the door is closed, the jetway is wheeled away from the plane, and the supertug begins the slow push of my husbands' beautiful jet towards the runway. One last kiss blown back and forth, one last "I love you" hand sign, one last prayer asking God to keep him safe, and he's gone.

My job as the goodbye girl is over ... until the next time I pack an overnight bag and follow my pilot husband 2,133 miles to Newark New Jersey for a few precious hours with the man I love.

Why do I do it? Because to do otherwise would be to rob us of that time together. Because my husband seems so much more relaxed when I'm saying goodbye to him in person than over the phone. Because it makes the man I adore feel loved and special. And that he is.

Lori

So far ... so good

Tom Rubin over at AeroPhoenix, the marketing whiz who's responsible for my baby bodysuits being available to pilot shops nationwide, sent me an email late last week saying the line is selling well. "Well" to Tom means his customers are taking notice and ordering a few to see how they move in their particular pilot shop. But when is "well" - well enough?

Personally, now that I'm in the game, I'll feel like La Petite Pilot is a success when I walk into a major airport such as Phoenix Sky Harbor or Newark's Liberty International, and see my baby bodysuits on display. That said, the fact that a national distributor has picked up my babywear certainly isn't small beans, and I'm duly grateful that Mr. Rubin has given me a chance. But now that I've had a bite of the apple ... I want more. I want Tom's next call to say my babywear is "flying (pun intended) off the shelves".

I had a lovely luncheon this past Sunday with two members of the Pilot Wives Club (http://www.pilotwivesclub.com/) during which both ladies said they'd looked for a website for La Petite Pilot. So far, this blog is my only outing on the internet, though I know that the best bet for getting my babywear seen (and bought) is a website. Until I get there, and I'm not quite ready, this blog will continue to be the only web presence for La Petite Pilot. So far ... so good.

Below are a few of my other designs. These are just 3 of the t's I've designed for the Deer Valley Airport's pilot shop. - Lori

(double click on the picture above, and arrow right for a full page view)

I had a grandson, then I had an idea

On the 6th of this month our family welcomed it's newest little Lamb ... Trevor Anthony Lamb. There's something about the birth of a child, it renews your sense of hope in the future, reminding you of what truly matters. For me, it also reminded me that not everything has to be a complex, big deal, too-much-thinking kind of experience. Sometimes ... simpler really is better.

My daughter-in-law (Trevor's mom) had asked that I design a trio of t-shirts for her three boys. Should it be "biggest brother", "little brother" and "littlest brother" ... hmmm ... no, that's not quite "it". Maybe I could use their nicknames; Bubba, Duece and Tre ... still not "it". When something that should be easy suddenly feels difficult, it's time for me to take a step back. So I took a day off and just let all the ideas crowding my head come to a rest. And then it came to me;

This is a family head over heels with airplanes. The boys' grandfather (my husband) is an airline pilot, the boys' father learned to fly years ago, and their mom, well she just embraces the family obsession with a sense of humor. I'd already made the trio a French Memo Board (complete with royal blue airplanes against white clouds) for their bedroom, so why didn't I see what was right in front of me? The t-shirt theme was now crystal clear;

Captain Keith Lamb, First Officer Devin Lamb, and Flight Engineer Trevor Lamb

I can't wait to see these three wonderful little boys in this new design from La Petite Pilot (wow, that's me!). I've asked my daughter-in-law (an awesome photographer) for a photo of the boys modeling the shirts, and I'll post it as soon as I have it.

So, with this project now complete, and having re-learned a good lesson, I'm calling it a day!

Till next time,

Lori