Whether the title is actually right for this piece, I don’t know.  But it seems like it might attach in some way or another.  And I like it for its distinctiveness, if nothing else.  It’s might be one of those deals where the title is about as good as it gets, and it could all be downhill from here.

I purchased a little electric powered, push propelled RC airplane back in the day.  My thought was that many happy hours could be spent together with the boys, fine tuning our skills, exclaiming over the latest trick learned, etc., etc.  And I will say that we did spend many hours together, and if they weren’t all happy, then some where decidedly exciting, and some particularly somber.

We began tentatively, one cold fall evening.  Luck was with us, and we managed a fairly decent flight for never having flown before.  But we learned very quickly that the dog was also interested in the experiment, keeping his eyes cocked to the sky and the new bird that flew most ungainly, tempting him with near misses (not on purpose of course) and wobbly, unimaginable turns (also not on purpose) towards and away from him. 

We crashed bad on one of the next flights and had to wait long weeks for the expensive parts to arrive.  Once repaired though, we took to the skies again.  On one of these later flights, we learned something that could have been derived from common sense if we had so desired.  Common sense would have told us if the windmills that generate electricity just a couple of miles east of us were whipping around at almost top speed, even if it was dead quiet on the ground, one should keep their prized possession from that altitude.  But common sense didn’t favor us with her flighty presence, and we were left to defend our decisions on our own. 

Once our bird reached that altitude, as of course we had directed her to, she turned tail of her own violation and set course towards O’Hare International with great speed and urgency.  We immediately recognized our dilemma and gave just as urgent inputs and commands to turn her course back towards us.  Which she did, and quite obediently.  Her fine features now facing us calmed us somewhat; it was just a matter of waiting whilst she clawed her way back and down to us.  But a few seconds later, we came upon another realization.  Her fine features were getting distinctly harder to make out, and our ever-faithful sky watching dog, on the ground and below her, was growing more and more remote also.  No amount of pleading and throttle input came to our aid.   

She was getting far enough away, and the light was fading fast, so a decision was made to crash land her.  We could tell our communication was getting a bit fuzzy with her, and that became even more apparent when we tried to dive her down.  She stubbornly refused, knowing injury was sure to happen.  Or maybe it was the air currents she couldn’t overcome.  I’ll give her that much.  Eventually, she found a hole in the atmosphere, and came burning a streak straight for the ground, into the midst of a mostly mature milo field. 

By the time we got to where we thought she had landed, it was dark enough that we had no way of finding her.  One of the boys grabbed the hem of common sense as she pirouetted past us and said, “Hey, give a little throttle.  Maybe we can hear her.”  So, someone did.  But we didn’t hear a thing.  The dog did though.  We could see him cocking his head this way and that, and then suddenly, he went on point in the most beautiful pose one could ever wish for.  He led us right to her and proudly snatched her from the milo’s claws ere she was vanquished by it.  That snatch by the dog about did it for our faithful bird, and she sat for days and months high on a shelf in the garage.

Until one summer day when the boys were out exploring the grounds of their great Grandpa’s farmstead.  They didn’t find much worth bringing home, except one thing.  They found a hand carved boat, carved out of a 2-foot piece of 2 x 6 board some 50 years before their time by their great uncles. 

There were a couple nicks where the chisel had gone through that were easily filled in with water resistant glue. Next, our faithful bird was retrieved from the top shelf in the garage and carefully disassembled.  The power unit, propeller, and rudder were shortened up and coupled together to make one clean power and steer package.  Next it was gently lowered into its newly apportioned housing midship on the boat.  Time was given for the glue to dry and long unused batteries to charge.  A test of all functions afterwards proved all systems were go, and we raced out to a body of water behind our place that was approximately 200’ x 200’. 

With utmost concern for her wellbeing, we lowered her into the water.  Several slow runs were made, and great rejoicing and laughter followed.  Faster and faster became the runs.  Our little clipper fairly danced before our eyes.  Until, that is, the one manning the throttle pulled back too abruptly, and our newly minted clipper become a submarine in the twinkling of an eye.  Evidently, the uncles who carved her, carved in too many dive planes, as we had a hard time blowing enough ballast to get her to resurface.  In fact, she didn’t resurface at all, until someone waded out to her and collected her in their capable hands. 

She was dried out, and with some trepidation we tried her controls again.  All systems were a go!  We sailed her several more times after that, and mostly with great success.

I imagine if that old girl could talk about her life story, she would have quite some exclamations when it came to the telling of how she was created back in the late 60’s, more than likely sailed by hand on some farm pond back then, found in the early 2000’s, refurbished and had a power unit installed, and put to use for the great joy of others.  And I suppose life is a lot like her; in the end we are here for the joy of others, even though it may seem that years go by with nary a glance in our direction. 

I looked for the Fair Lady the other day.  I thought she still sat on a shelf in the garage.  But I couldn’t find her.  I suppose I threw her away one time when I thought it was time to clean up junk.  I wish like everything I hadn’t.  I know if she were still here, I’d make a visit to her now and again for old times sake and the memories evoked.  I guess I’ll idle over to this writing instead from time to time, just as I have today.  Here’s for memories sake . . . Rest easy, old girl.