A Note to Dr. Laura

In keeping with my 9/11/2001 string I am going to enter into today’s posting a letter that I wrote to Dr. Laura Schlesinger on September 24, 2001. I wrote this letter because I had been listening to a lot of discussion regarding the heroes of 9/11. I believe there were many heroes that day. The police, the fireman and many others who have remained anonymous were all heroes to me.

One group that I found conspicuously absent from those whose lives were affected by the 9/11 attacks was the flight crews of the hijacked airplanes. Little mention of these folks has been made even to this day. In the letter to Dr. Laura I tried to rectify this unfortunate omission.

Dr. Laura read my letter in her opening dialogue, word for word. As she read through the letter she fought back tears, managing to get to the end of the letter just before the break. I listened intently with my children as my salute to the flight crews, poorly written as it was, was read to millions of Dr. Laura’s listeners.

I did not write this letter for any personal benefit. The sadness of the 9/11 attacks stayed with me for some time after they occurred. I wrote this letter to give people an idea of what the flight crews on board those ill fated jets might have been going through and to relate my own experiences to those of the crew members on board those flights.

Here is the letter in its entirety.

Dear Dr. Laura,

I would like to tell you about what I was doing during the disastrous events of Sept. 11, 2001. I wish to help people become aware that there are heroes out there who have, I believe, been sadly overlooked. Namely, the flight crews on board the aircraft that were hijacked.

I am a 747 Captain of a major international air carrier. On the evening of 9/11/2001 I had taken off from Tokyo's Narita International Airport headed for San Francisco not long after a typhoon had swept through the area. We were about 3 hours late as a result of the typhoon but our departure was essentially normal and without incident. Crossing the Pacific Ocean in an airliner requires that aircrews monitor a common frequency for all airliners. It was on this frequency that I first heard of the events that were occurring in the United States The information was being passed to us by pilots from other airlines over the common frequency as the situation unfolded. At this point we were about 6 hours from our destination.

As more information became available and we moved past the initial shock we started to work through our situation as it existed. 6 hours from our destination, over the Pacific Ocean, an apparent terrorist attack on the World Trade Center using American and United Airlines aircraft with very little information available as to how we should proceed. It was passed to all aircrew that authorities in the U.S. had closed all American airspace. Adding to the seriousness of the situation was the fact that we did not know whether or not we had hijackers on board with the intent of taking control of our aircraft.

A moment later we were directed by our company to go to “HIGH ALERT” and take all necessary precautions to prevent intruders from entering our cockpit.

It was at this point that I insured that my First Officer remined focused on flying the aircraft. I summoned the lead flight attendant, or purser, to brief her on the situation. In a case like this a strong purser is vital to the successful completion of the critical tasks that must be carried out. The purser or “lead flight attendant” that was on Flight #28 that night could not have been better suited to the job at hand. As I explained to her what we knew I could tell she was organizing her thoughts and prioritizing about how she was going to handle the flight attendants and passengers. We agreed that briefing just the flight attendants by way of “all call” (our method of talking to all flight attendants without using the public address system) was the best way to proceed. When all flight attendants were on the phones I started to tell them what we knew and what I expected them to do for the next five hours.

I asked them to calmly walk through the cabin observing all passengers and that talk between them was to be limited. They were also told that when they were sitting in their jump seats they were to review their manual sections referencing hijacking. I recall saying to them “This is a sad day for us all but we have people depending on us so let’s stay focused and move ahead with the job at hand”.

In the last 2 hours of the flight and as we sped across the Pacific, not knowing whether or not a hijacking attempt was to be made, I kept coming back to thoughts of how my children must be worried. I forced myself to remain focused and attend to the tasks to be completed before landing. There were many.

It was now time to brief my other two cockpit crew members. Both pilots were highly experienced international aviators so there was not a lot to say. I was compelled, though, to talk with them about what to do if an intruder tried to enter the cockpit area. Armed with two cockpit axes my First Officer and Second Officer agreed that killing any intruders was our only alternative. We discussed who was to strike the first blow and continued to run through various scenarios until it was time to prepare for landing at our destination, San Francisco.

When we first contacted Oakland Center the asked a simple question: are you declaring an emergency? I stated “Negative, we are not declaring an emergency”. Center responded, “If you not do declare an emergency you will not be permitted to land on U.S. soil”. This was understandable considering we were 3 hours late, a large aircraft loaded with people and fuel and we were approaching a large metropolitan area.

As I thought through the idea of declaring an emergency it occurred to me that we had probably been intercepted by American fighter planes. From my experience in the military and sizing up the situation I considered the prospect that it would take little to force these fighter pilots to think I was lying about being hijacked and shoot my airliner down. Declaring an emergency, even if I did not have one, could well have been all the provocation they needed. Even a missed heading or altitude could be all that was necessary.

I knew regardless of my misgivings about declaring an emergency that I did not have that I would not be permitted to land if I did not declare an emergency. I said a small prayer and, following that, said yes, we would be declaring an emergency. I also mentioned to my First Officer that if he was ever going to be precisely on assigned altitude of heading the time was now.

The remainder of Flight #28 was fairly routine save for the fact that there was not another aircraft on any of the radio frequencies that we used to communicate with air traffic control. Those frequencies would normally be quite crowded with chatter. After landing, the term "surreal" best describes the atmosphere as we off-loaded passengers into an otherwise empty terminal.

When I arrived at my hotel room, exhausted from the day’s events, I saw the incredible pictures of the collapse of the WTC and the aftermath of the attack on the Pentagon. I cried hard for all of the victims of the disaster unfolding before my eyes. I cried for the people whose lives were lost in the buildings. I cried for the heroic firefighters and policemen and men and women of the flight crews on board the ill fated aircraft.

I knew what my crew and I had just been through and that it paled in comparison to the horror that must have taken place in the cockpits and cabins of the lost aircraft.
These were fine people who had never been trained for the circumstances they were facing and, like my own crew, were forced to make it up as they were living through each terrorizing moment.

As far as the cockpit crew is concerned I am absolutely certain there is not a professional pilot alive that would relinquish control of his/her aircraft without putting up a fight. I know they did the very best they could to save the lives in their care not knowing that their fate had been sealed even before they pushed back from the gate.

Flight crews are funny people. We love what we do and we do it with such overall professionalism and ease that few people know that we are there unless there is a problem. We take our jobs seriously and we know that the lives of every one on board depend on the decisions we make.

I feel it is important to say that in my 35 years in aviation as a Naval Aviator and airline pilot I have never experienced a flight like Flight #28, September 11,2001. I know that my day was nothing, repeat nothing, at all like that of the crew of those four jet airliners.

I still shed a tear from time to time as I think of the families of those crew members lost in the tragedy of 9/11/2001. I try to put myself in the cockpit of those aircraft and imagine what I would have done or could have done were I in that situation. I am certain that the aircrew did everything possible to prevent the takeover of their aircraft.

Dr. Laura, these flight crews are, indeed, the unsung heroes of this tragedy. They died under the most horrible of circumstances trying desperately to protect those in their charge. They left behind wives and children, hopes and dreams when they perished. Please give them a moment of your time. Mention them on your show. Don’t let people forget that they were faced with an impossible task. The outcome was tragic. The effort to stop it from happening was undoubtedly there. Undoubtedly.

Thank you for your time.

Captain M.I.T.

Last Plane Landing. Story of the last plane to land on contiguous American soil on 9/11/2001

If you have had a chance to read my profile, limited as it may be, you will see that I am a former Naval Aviator and Captain for a United States international airline. I mentioned in my initial posting that I would be writing about some of my life's adventures with a few flying experiences tossed in to keep things interesting. With 9/11/2009 approaching I felt it appropriate to write about what became the longest, most harrowing flight of my career. It is a career that spans nearly 35 years in aviation and nearly 25,000 hours of flight time. Let me begin with a little back round.
I entered the United States Navy in August of 1974 after graduating from a small Jesuit university in the great northwest. I commissioned in the Navy to be a pilot and officer with no experience in the flying of airplanes, a liberal arts education and just enough math to work a cash register. Upon the start of flight training I fumbled and tumbled my way through primary and advanced flight training and carrier qualifications. I was stationed in Sicily where I flew the C-2, landing on a number of different aircraft carriers in two and a half years. The next tour of duty was to fly the EC-130 and then to the reserves where I flew DC-9's.
I became and airline pilot in September of 1983 and rapidly moved through the ranks until, after 14 years or so, I became Captain on the Boeing 747-200. It is at this time that my story takes place.

Prelude to “The Last Plane Landing”. A Story of the Last Plane to Land in the contiguous United States on 9/11/2001.

“Bojinka” or The Big Bang. Simple enough words but I could not stop thinking of them as we crossed the Pacific Ocean on 9/11/2001. I was the Captain on a Northwest Airlines 747 crossing the Pacific when we learned of the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon. My first thoughts were of "Bojinka". Bojinka was the name of the plot conceived and nearly carried out by Ramzi Yousef in 1995. It was a plot to blow up 11 American airliners killing 4000 people in one night as they flew across the Pacific. As international pilots we were briefed and security was heightened in the early days of 1995 when this plot was developing. The information provided in those briefings stayed with me in the years that followed. One person eventually died on a flight where the " Bojinka" terrorists succeeded in exploding a small device on board an aircraft but not in bringing it down. “Bojinka” was eventually foiled before any further damage could be done.
After learning a small part of the details of the attacks on the WTC and Pentagon and as Captain of Northwest Airlines flight #28 from Tokyo to San Francisco on 9/11 the word ”Bojinka” kept working it’s way into my thoughts, forcing me to wonder if, perhaps, this time they had succeeded.
We were late. A typhoon had struck the Tokyo area and flights were pushed back to accommodate delayed incoming flights. We eventually became airborne at 1802 local time (6:02pm), about two and a half hours late. It was a normal flight in all respects until approximately tw and a half hours after take off. It was then that we heard the first terrifying words crackling across the airliner's common radio frequency. All international airliners in flight are required to monitor a common radio frequency so that they may communicate with one another in flight. It is on that frequency that we first became aware of the disaster that was unfolding on the east coast of the United States.
The first words came from an American Airlines flight, . "Any of you getting what I am getting over company frequency?” “Ya, I am getting it”, another American flight responded. “Seems a light airplane hit the North Tower of the World Trade center”. A United Airlines flight entered the conversation. “I am getting that info as well but they are telling us it is an airliner”. American: “Now we are being told that another plane hit the South Tower of the World Trade center and we are getting reports that they were hijacked airliners”. An unidentified aircraft spoke up “Jesus, what is happening back there?”
American: “We are getting reports now that it is four hijacked airliners and one of them just hit the Pentagon. United, did you see names of the companies they came from?” United responded quietly, almost in a whisper, exposing his disbelief, “Two American, two United.” Another unidentified voice: “God help them.”
At this point I turned to the First Officer and told him I wanted him to pull the power back and conserve fuel. I had no complete details of what had happened but I knew that pulling the power back gave me two things: more time and more fuel. I would need both before the night was over.
Chuck, my First Officer and Zeek My Second Officer, or Flight Engineer (not real names) awaited instructions as I sat in the left seat of this mighty 747 kowing that I had never seen or heard of anything like this before. Firstly, I assigned the primary task of flying and navigation to Chuck. He is a skilled aviator and it is critical at this point that someone is watching everything related to the the plane tracking through the air properly. Next, I checked with Zeek to ensure that all systems were operating normally and that the fuel was being used up at an acceptable rate.
When I was satisfied that the aircraft was safely flying and we were in no danger of running out of gas I turned my attention to the Flight Attendants. We had a veteran crew on board but to this point none of them knew of the events as they were occurring on the east coast. I called for the Purser (Lead Flight Attendant) to come up to the cockpit. As I was preparing to talk with the Purser the radio continued to carry the news of a flight that had struck the ground in Pennsylvania. Whatever it was that was going on it appeared that we were heading right for it as we cut across the skies over the Pacific.
"Hay, Tim, what's up?" Jane, (not real name), our Purser had just arrived in the cockpit. I had her grab the jumps seat just behind me as I started to explain what I knew of the events unfolding in the U.S. Stunned is the only word that can describe the look on her face as she lowered her head to try to adsorb all that I had told her. We took the next few minutes to decide on a plan as to how to inform the rest of the crew and to watch for potential threats as they developed over the next few hours. What I said to the Flight Attendants would be extremely important so i wanted to get it as close to correct as possible before Jane took up her duties. An "All Call" was the most effective way to communicate to all of the flight attendants at once so Jane went back into the aft end of the aircraft to prepare the flight attendants for what I was about to say.
"1 left, 3 left, 4right, 2 left" the flight attendants checked in, each at their assigned station, ready to listen. I started talking "People, there is a disaster unfolding on the east coast of the United States. We have very little information but this is what we know". I could hear faint gasps as I went through the information knowing this must be scaring the hell out of them. I continued "I want each of you to stay calm, walk about the cabin as you normally would, look for unusual behavior. There is to be no gathering of flight attendants in the galleys unless you are working and, while you are in your jump seats please review your manual sections regarding hijacking procedures. This is a sad day for all of us but it is extremely important that all of you remain focused and remember the people on this aircraft are depending on us to get them to their destination safely and that is exactly what we intend to do." As they signed off I could not help to think how lucky I was to have this group of flight attendants with me.
I had little time to consider my next step when the message came across our inter company communications radio. "GO TO HIGH ALERT!" That was essentially the sum total of the message. What did that mean? There were three former military aviators on the flight deck and, although common sense dictated what "HIGH ALERT" meant, in the context of a 747 airliner crossing the Pacific we were a little puzzled. As we studied our manuals to find the definition of "HIGH ALERT" it come to me that we, Flight #28, Tokyo to San Francisco, was essentially on our own to decide how this flight was to be conducted and to figure out just how we were to land and where. The company's attentions were focused entirely on emptying the airways of any flights, getting them on the ground, a federally promulgated mandate. As we crossed the pacific, not at all clear where we were going to land or whether we would even be able to land in our own country, the situation became more complicated. "Tim, this is Jane, the Purser". Jane spoke to me over the inter phone. " I think we may have trouble. There is a gentleman who appears to be of middle eastern lineage and he is sweating profusely and holding on very tight to his briefcase. Repeated attempts to converse with him have been met with quiet, almost whispering responses. What would you like us to do?"
Four hours from San Francisco and I could see our situation getting a lot worse before it got any better.
"Jane, keep a close eye on this guy and look around him to see if there are any others that may be communicating with him through gestures, eye contact or notes. Let me know immediately if you see anything that furthers your suspicion". Less than two hours from the San Francisco airport. I figured if there was going to be a move by any hijackers it would be coming soon. It was time to contact Oakland Center, the first Air Traffic Control agency that airliners directly speak with after a Trans Pacific flight. "Oakland Center this is Flight #28, flight level 390" (thirty nine thousand feet above the water). "Flight 28, squawk 1622 (this is a number dialed into the transponder that helps ATC clearly identify who you are) and proceed direct to San Francisco".
Just as I was about to read back the directions provided by ATC they followed with a statement that, to this day, brings a cold shiver down my spine. "Are you declaring an EMERGENCY".
The fact that they asked this very unusual question spoke volumes to me about how serious they were taking our arrival. We were a large aircraft coming into the US with a full compliment of passengers and crew and a fair amount of fuel on board. This last fact was due to the fuel conservation measured I had put in place hours before. I looked at the other two aviators with a a look that said "What in the hell does this mean? We don't have an emergency." Chuck glance over at me from the flight controls, said nothing then returned to the job of flying the aircraft. I knew he thought as I did. What next!
Zeek spoke up, "Tim, is there a chance we have been intercepted by US military fighters? Given the situation, I would expect there to be at least two of them trailing us right now." That's when it dawned on me that our situation had just become considerably more dangerous and a wrong word or an errant turn of the aircraft could surely mean that we would be shot down. "by our own damn guys!" I thought.
As I considered what I was going to tell Air Traffic control regarding the emergency, Jane called to the cockpit. "Tim, this guy has settled down a little. Everyone is awake and we are preparing for descent. The lights are up in the cabin and all flight attendants are focused and prepared for anything that may occur. Unless you have further instructions I will to continue my walk through the cabin in preparation for landing. I will call you immediately if there is anything further to report". I responded to her comments with "Thank you, Jane". As I did this I took a moment to thank God that I had this competent, focused Purser on this flight. I had little time for reflection, though, as ATC, again, asked if we had an EMERGENCY. they were becoming more insistent each time they asked the question. This were fully aware that I was closing in on San Francisco and our descent would begin soon. I said "No sir, we do not have an EMERGENCY". It took only seconds for them to reply. "You will not be permitted to land on American soil if you do not declare an EMERGENCY". Things just got worse.
I was now between a rock and a hard place and the lives of everyone on board were riding on my next response to ATC. I worked to collect my thoughts and consider the possibilities. First and foremost, we did not have an EMERGENCY. We had fuel and there was no adverse activity in the passenger compartment of the aircraft. But ATC did not know that nor did they trust that we were telling them the truth. I am certain that they were considering the prospect that a hijacker had already taken control of the aircraft and was speaking to them in perfect English, well versed in aviation vernacular. Another point kept coming to the forefront as I considered what I would say to Oakland Center. Had we been intercepted by US military jet fighters and how are they to interpret the situation if I declare an emergency? My reasoning: Military aviators see a declaration of an "EMERGENCY" as far more dire than commercial airline pilots. Military pilots use the declaration of an emergency as a last resort usually done just prior to bailing out or ejecting. Commercial pilots declare an emergency, in a many cases, to inform Air Traffic Control so that ATC may space aircraft to help the problematic aircraft land sooner. In many commercial airline emergency cases declaring an EMERGENCY is a precautionary measure. This is not always the case, by any means. It must be said that neither military or civilian aviators take the declaring of an EMERGENCY lightly but military aviators generally view an EMERGENCY situation as far more serious with less time to react than their civilian counterparts. I knew that I did not have an EMERGENCY. ATC wanted me to declare an EMERGENCY and, if we were intercepted by fighters, (I was certain we had been) declaring an EMERGENCY may just be the incentive that the fighter pilots needed to make the fateful decision to shoot down my aircraft. I was being forced to up the ante in this situation having to declare an EMERGENCY that simply did not exist. Jeezus, what a fix.
I quietly said a prayer, lifted up the microphone and said "Fight #28 is declaring and EMERGENCY".
"Roger, Flight #28, you are cleared to descend and maintain flight level 210". It was time. The Chuck slowly pulled the 4 power levers back, lowered the nose of the huge airplane and began our descent. I knew that if anything was going to happen it would happen in the next 45 minutes. I suddenly felt very tired. I had been awake for almost 30 hours and I began to feel the effects of the fatigue that invariably plagues all international pilots after long flights across many time zones. I sat up in the seat, took a last sip of a cold cup of coffee and focused all of my attention on getting this 747 on the ground.
I some how felt that this was overstating the obvious but I turned to Chuck, who was doing a magnificent job of flying the aircraft, and said "If you are ever going to be exactly on altitude and heading, today is the day. The slightest deviation could set these fighter guys off!" He nodded and returned his attention to the aircraft instruments.
The possibility of a hijacking still loomed large as I concentrated on the clearances given to me by ATC. "Flight #28 heading 090 degrees, descend and maintain 6,000 feet" was their next command. The altitude made sense but the heading seemed strange. We should be headed for the airport, not away. I could not tell at this point if I was justified in my concern or if I was becoming over sensitive to the nuances of each ATC clearance. All I could do at this point was trust that ATC wanted us on the ground as much as we wanted to be there and follow their instructions to the letter.
We were within 10 minutes of landing in an airport where time had literally stood still. Not a plane was moving or a word being spoken over the radio frequencies, frequencies that are usually crowded with chatter from incoming and outgoing aircraft as well as controller located on the ground. Surreal is the only word that can describe the scene as we descended for a landing at San Francisco International Airport.
With the flight attendants watching closely in the passenger compartment and my First Officer ably handling this 650,000 aircraft, I had a moment to consider whether or not I had made all the right moves, done all that I could to fulfill my obligation to the passengers and crew on this aircraft. "Gear down, flaps full, landing checklist". Chuck barked out the command to prepare the ship for its final descent and landing. It was a clear day, maximum visibility with little or no wind. On any other occasion I would have been looking forward to a wonderful layover in the "City by the Bay". Today, though, I felt as though I had been in shadowboxing with the Devil, never quite knowing what I was singing at but swinging hard nonetheless. And I was not finished.
It was time to prepare for the final phase of flight, landing the ship. I took a deep breath, said another small prayer and glanced over at Chuck and Zeek. "OK, gentleman, here we go", I said. "Gear down, flaps full, landing checklist" I repeated Chucks' command and went through all the needed moves to accomplish the required tasks. The plane rumbled and gasped as the gear and flaps slid noisily into place. The landing checklist was done. All that was left was to land the plane. I could not help thinking about whether or not a hijacker may strike or a missile may down us even at this late stage in the game.
A slight rotation of the nose of the plane, a remarkably smooth touchdown and Chuck pulled all four reverse levers back, using the engines to assist the brakes in stopping the aircraft. "80 knots, OK, Chuck, I've got the aircraft" I said as we slowed to a safe taxi speed. As I taxied to the gate I looked around the airport noticing that not a single plane, truck or car was moving. "Unbelievable", I thought.
Pulling into the gate, setting the brakes and shutting down the engines, Chuck, Zeek and I finished with our post flight checklists as we watched the passengers disembark into a changed world. A world where fear would rule the day, wars would begin and personal safety would become more important than just about anything else. From the air traffic control system to the way we talked on the phone, change had come. Arguably, not all of it good.
I thanked Chuck and Zeek for a their superb work and got out of the seat to go to the cabin to talk with the flight attendants. The plane was empty of passengers by now as I thanked the Purser for her extraordinary efforts. Without her there is no telling how this would have all turned out. I told all of the flight attendants, many of whom were crying, that they had truly made a difference on this night and to drive safely as they left to go home to their families.
As I left the aircraft my thoughts went to all that was and all that might have been. Form the first words uttered over the common frequency almost nine hours to the sweaty pasenger hanging on to his briefcase to the interception by American jet fighters, this had been a long, long night. I was exhausted. I sat in my hotel room, wishing that I was home with my children. I put my head in my hands and I cried. I cried for the airman, the fireman, the police and the folks that were in the Twin Towers that fateful day. My tears made the day complete. A fitting end to the longest, most dangerous, most exhausting flight of my life.
9/11/2001 and the happenings of that day will remain with us for the rest of our lives. Much like the assassination of JFK we will recall where we were and what we were doing at the moment of the attacks on the WTC and the Pentagon. As for me, I was doing what I have been doing for 27 years. I was flying an airliner. Pure coincidence or divine intervention, Who knows? I can say that we were the lucky ones that day. We lived to tell the story of the last plane landing.
ps Just a note: It is a matter of record, kept in the National Archives, that Northwest Airlines Flight 28 from Tokyo Narita International Airport to San Francisco was, in fact, the last plane to land on contiguous American soil on September 11, 2001.







More Later
M.I.T.

The Clutter Gods and a Nice Big House

Last week I took a look at a house located close to my current residence. The idea was to see if it was worth buying, moving into and subsequently selling my present home. The house was sitting on a magnificent piece of property with a view that extended for miles. It was bigger than my present home and seemed to have it all. I considered the possibilities.The house was bigger than mine and would hold a lot of stuff. A lot of stuff that I can’t seem to find room for now.
I then went home, sat in my living room and started to think about what my home meant to me. It was not long before I came to the conclusion that the house that I presently call home was not only adequate but it was perfect. The view from my porch was comparable to the view at the home that I had visited and, although my home is smaller, I believe it is far more easily managed. Above all it is my home.
Home is home. I love my home. I feel good there. I like that I know where my stuff is and where it is not. I am OK that the refrigerator has a rubber seal missing and that the upstairs carpet is a little worn out. This is where I belong. I am now certain of that fact. So, when it comes to the purchase of a bigger house that will hold more stuff, my new motto is : LESS IS MORE!. Which brings me to my questions of the day.
When is enough, enough? When can we say that we have finally come to a juncture in our lives where “having stuff” and “getting things” no longer satisfies us. At what point does the idea of obtaining more “things” go sliding like a greased pig to the bottom of our list of priorities? When do we stop accumulating and start shedding?
I think that I know the answer. For me, the time is now. In a word: No mas! (two words, actually.)
I am maxed out. My home is stuffed to the gills. I own or have owned all of the “things” that I ever care to possess. It all belongs to me and is currently located in my basement. And the basement is my enemy.
I used to love my basement. Not now. Not any more! I am currently in a pitched battle with my basement. Frankly, the situation had degraded to the point where it is me or the basement. A fight to the finish. Mano a Mano. Of course this challenge to the basement is one that I have yet to follow through with. Why am I so afraid? Because I respect the basement. No, that’s not true. I fear the basement. The basement owns me and I know it. It knows how much I hate clutter and yet it sits there, full to the gun whales, laughing at me, mocking me.
Admittedly, it was not always this way. There was a time when I liked being down in the basement. It was warm in the winter and cool in the summer. It had boxes of memories and items from my past that you could find nowhere else. It had space. It had one additional benefit: my wife, bless her heart, had absolutely no interest in going down there. Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife dearly. But the basement was my mine. All mine. It was my “sanctuary”.
Then things changed. It happened slowly at first, as it usually does, with a request. “Honey, can we put these things from the store in the basement?” my wife asked. As the owner of a boutique my wife occasionally needs to store inventory at the house. I dutifully helped her out and placed four boxes of clothing in a nice neat stack in the corner of my sanctuary. “It’s not that bad”, I told myself.
Then the onslaught began in earnest. She said, “Honey, make it easy on yourself. Why not put all the Christmas decorations down in the basement. There is plenty of room”. Uh oh! I could feel my sanctuary slowly, insidiously becoming a dry storage facility. Things got worse. More stuff, less space. Now, I can no longer go down the stairs to my “sanctuary”. There isn’t room. I don’t mean I cannot be in my “sanctuary”. I mean I can’t even get down to my sanctuary. My sanctuary is home to every conceivable item on God’s green earth except me. It is not my “sanctuary” anymore. It is my basement. And my basement owns me.
The basement and all that is stored down there think I am a joke. They mock me each time I pass the door to the basement and laugh as I continuously run from the challenge of organizing it all. I have, quite simply, lost control.
New development: There is hope. Inroads have been made as I slowly, surreptitiously remove items from my basement. Small things at first. Larger things later. I am currently in negotiations with the “Clutter Gods” and there are encouraging signs of a settlement. It appears that I am even getting along better with my basement in hopes of it once again becoming my sanctuary. My basement no longer mocks me. It just giggles a little as I walk by.
So I guess there is a bit of a bright light for those who find themselves overwhelmed by the accumulation of life’s little purchases. I’ve found that I possess the intestinal fortitude to organize stuff, donate items, throw things out in my efforts to regain control of my home and “sanctuary”. It can be done. It takes time, courage, stamina, blood, sweat and tears. One must "endeavor to persevere".
Deep in the recesses of my mind, though, I hold tight to the idea that if all else fails I can always buy a bigger house.

The Beginning

To those who have chosen to read my blog and to those whom have stumbled upon it through good fortune or misfortune, I welcome you. This is my first offering as a blogger and I would like to state my intentions as to what I intend accomplish. I don't have the slightest idea!

I suspect that I will develop the format as I go. Rest assured, I have no inclinations towards turning this blog into a political rant. There are far to many of those around already and they grow tiresome very quickly. I think I shall use this amazing forum to pen some thoughts of the day, tell some very interesting flying stories and talk about my observations of life in general.

Is the concept original? Who knows. With the astounding numbers of folks blogging nowadays I suspect not. I believe, though, that we all have a little something to say about something. That is where I think this blog is headed. It is something about something-or something about nothing. Where ever it takes me I will use my love of writing coupled with some remarkable life experiences and try to construct a site that is fun to read, somewhat informative and leaves you, the reader, with something to think about as you go through your day.

I will probably post erratically in the beginning until I have a set pattern that I can work with and then settle down into a regulated sequence of postings.

Thank you for reading. A shaky start, to be sure. But nonetheless, a start.

M.I.T.