July 2, 2005
Eglinton Street, Toronto

The bottom part said ‘insurance’.

Last week after ground school I was talking with another student pilot about our flying goals. Ground school is a mix of recreation, commercial, and airline pilot students in various stages of instruction and experience. A good third are already flying. Some have clear career paths for aviation, some just want to fly for fun. In this rotation it’s nearly all men, some 20s and 30s but mostly older. This is unsurprising as flying comes down to money and time, after interest. Flight training is expensive and most people fall into the category of career pilot (which takes a long time to build the hours so the younger you start the better) or recreational pilot (it’s expensive to buy and maintain your own airplane, so that tends to come later in life). These are broad generalizations, but the demographics are recognizable.

I’m clearly in the latter category. I’m in it for the fun. Since the first day David took me aloft in the Tri-Pacer I was hooked — that auspicious moment taking place less than 36 hours after we met and sooner if it had not rained the first day. In fact, one of the reasons why I wanted to meet David Fielding in the first place was because he had his own airplane. I’d never known anyone who had his own airplane before. It smacks of irony, but if all I had to do to fly in a private aircraft for the first time in my life was to travel in a jumbo jet for five hours first, then why not? The whole idea of being able to give my input into the flight plan was a novelty that grew into a lifestyle.

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It’s 8:30pm and we finally get a break, goodness gracious. I was getting squirrelly…

… it’s a lot of sitting in one day, with only a period of aggressive rush hour driving in between. Because of where I live, Wednesday means breaking a LOT of road rules to get from my underground parking to the expressway: right turns from the left-turn lane, inches between cars, merging from wrong lanes. When I sit in traffic, I eat my dinner which today consists of a sandwich and an apple.

Have I mentioned ground school is 15 weeks? I’m looking forward to the beginning of Daylight Savings Time, when I can drive in daylight instead of darkness to the flight school. I’m DONE with winter!

Tonight is actually Ground School #5 on the schedule because I missed Class #2 due to a snowstorm, so I’m debating whether to take the PStar exam next week… I don’t know if I’m ready yet. It takes 90% to pass the exam, and it’s multiple choice. I need some serious review this weekend. This stuff came naturally to David, who had an engineer’s brain. I don’t — it’s a lot more effort for me to absorb the material.

It’s strange to feel so close to him in an aviation environment, yet so far away because I’m here without him. He’s both present and absent, which seems contradictory. I can even recall him leading a Civil Air Patrol class on weight and balance (I sat in on two of his classes); I can visualize him in his uniform holding a model airplane and showing angle of attack to demonstrate a concept. David loved to teach aerospace, especially to kids. He was a good teacher.

/wistful

September 3, 2005
Cherry Ridge Airport, Pennsylvania

David working on the Piper Tri-Pacer’s brakes. If he were sitting here in ground school class with me while I learn about engine components, he’d nudge me and say, “Hey Gail, were you paying attention when I was tinkering?!?”

Last month I met Holly Yvonne, a fellow Flickrite from Pennsylvania, and her three little ‘uns. (Her fourth will be along any day now!) When I walked in the door, I met Holly’s littlest fella almost straightaway, which stopped me in my tracks. Not just because of his smiley ways, but because he looked so much like David when he was a baby (larger version). There aren’t many baby photos of David online, but compare this larger version with the one on the right.

Uncanny!

Technorati tags: baby photos

November 12, 2001
Photo credit: Dan Lanphear
1Lt David Fielding
Deputy Commander for Seniors/Mission Pilot/Aerospace Education Officer
Mount Pocono Composite Squadron 207, Civil Air Patrol

This photo was taken in 2001, when David was 1Lt. He was promoted to Lt. Col. in November 2005.

In matters of importance (and otherwise, sometimes), an inner dialogue takes place, with my words and what I’d imagine David saying. I read somewhere of a therapy exercise of letter-writing, where the subject writes a letter to the one who has passed on with their normal writing hand, and with their other hand, they write a response as they imagine it written by their loved one. It sounds very awkward, but apparently it has surprised people with its effectiveness in providing a “voice”.

I haven’t tried this yet, but I would like to. I have a journal that David and I were going to start on December 1, 2005, but his handwriting had become so shaky it was bordering on illegible. It frustrated him that he couldn’t write anymore, but it also didn’t seem the same if it was typed and printed, so the journal was abandoned. We got as far as pasting a few pictures in it: our engagement photo, a wedding photo collage, David typing up a post on the PowerBook in the hospital, and with Hugh at home. The plan was at the end of each month, both of us would write a few paragraphs on the right side of one page, and on the left side would be a photo that represented that month. I figured a monthly journal of our married life would be an easy frequency since we already both wrote online regularly.

When I read about the letter-writing therapy using both hands, I thought about how much David occupies the inner dialogue part of my brain. I took a can of clam chowder to work for lunch last week, and while I was heating it up in the microwave I could hear David telling me to buy this particular brand of “chow-DAH” in his best Boston accent. This happens all the time — especially in the grocery store, whenever I see airplanes, or animals, corn dogs or anything he was fond of. Or not so fond of, like women wearing too much makeup, or kids getting spoiled and not being disciplined properly. David’s form of mockery was never malicious, but always amusing.

Last weekend in Campbellford, Harold Carlaw was showing me an old airplane engine and when he said radiator — “rah-(’a’ like in apple)-dee-ay-tor” — he nearly jumped out of his skin because I exclaimed, “That’s exactly the way my husband pronounced it!” It made him momentarily forget what he was trying to explain to me.

Sometimes I wonder how long my memories will hold out, memories that include voice inflection and mannerisms and smells and certainty in knowing how David would answer a question. In the relatively short period of time we were together, we came to know each other better than anyone else. Part of me is afraid all of that will fade, along with the rest of me that shared a life with him: the adventure of flying, travel, career prospects, building a family — all the joys and colour that come with engagement and marriage that I thought I would never experience because I didn’t think I was the “marriage type”. If I chose a picture to represent myself now, it might be this one.

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February 19, 2005

David put the five frames together and uploaded this into his photostream, but it’s one of my favourite pictures so I’ve uploaded it into mine as well.

I fell asleep on the couch after a flying trip; our old tomcat Hugh napped with me. Gail’s flash, in the dark, didn’t wake us up.

It was right after our trip to the Corning Museum of Glass.

Dave’s Logbook: Trip to Corning - February 20, 2005

Best viewed large or original size.

I got a lot of sleep last night, which I really needed (but with superfluous dreaming — although, isn’t all dreaming superfluous?). It made me think of this picture. Here’s my original post of this photo, with a comment from David below it.

Technorati tags: sleep, nap, frames

Journal 10/1 (1984)

It’s Monday again. I demand a recount! There was supposed to be a vote on whether or not to accept this Monday. I don’t. I personally refute the existence of this day. We’re on special schedule for something, but — wait — election of officers, I think. Mr. Steele, why are you handing out folders? I’d rather not know. Today almost guarantees to end up badly. This may seem very pessimistic, but then again it’s Monday, ain’t it?

The Monday after a week off work is brutal.

This is David in the early 1990s, before he got his pilot’s license and spent his free time RC flying. That’s where he met Hermann Hoepken — on the field.

Hermann Hoepken
Dusseldorf,
late 1970s

Rest in peace, Hermann, it’s been one year tonight since you’ve gone. I’ve gotten to know quite a bit about you in the past year, through Helma. But I wish I would’ve met you. David told me a lot of Hermann stories and I understand why he looked up to you so much. You and Bill were like fathers to him, and for that I am eternally grateful. Last but certainly not least, thank you for Helma. She’s a gem, but you already know that — you did the smart thing and married her. I promise I will continue your tradition of anniversary roses and buy her all the hazelnut lattes her heart desires.

Technorati tags: letter, biography

David started off at Penn State in 1985 in engineering, and at some point found his calling to the field of graphic arts. There he met John Thompson, who drew this cartoon likeness of David sporting clashing patterns — a style habit presumably founded by a haze of college drinking. (Trust me, I’ve heard the stories.) David taped it proudly outside his office on campus and spoke fondly about those days. He even dug out the pictures for me in a fit of nostalgia one night. I think I came across that particular pair of shorts when I was packing up the house.

David and John shared a sense of humour best depicted in this drawing inspired by… Michelangelo.

More of John’s cartoons can be found on his site and are available through eBay.

Technorati tags: cartoon, drawing, illustration, caricature, parody, Johnathan Thompson

I was doing some clearing up last week and found the DVD where I saved the iMovieProject version of this video. It was taken out west on May 30, 2005, David’s 38th birthday. More on that here.

I started putting the music and the photos together in June 2005, but hadn’t touched it since. I removed the Ken Burns effect (the old version of iMovie defaulted to that, for some reason), and this is the bare bones version.

The video I shot right afterwards is here (originally posted January 20, 2006):

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These photos serve to prove how widespread perms were in the ’80s. A global follicle scourge, if you ask me.

By the time this photo was taken — probably Spring ‘85 ‘84. David’s had grown out, but you can see it better in the earlier photo below.

From the journal writing assignment:

Journal 12/3 (1984)

I feel much better now that my hair is curly. I took (with help) 2 rolls of film for the Pontiac for paint study and “before” pictures. I’m not sure if I have work today. Have you noticed that nothing I’ve said thus far goes together? I just love winter. I just love corduroy. I just love Tums. I wish I could write in color. *Freeeee kpow kpow Lots of colour all over your eyebrows and chrome fringe freeooooow ahhh ahhh.*

View larger.

Journal 10/18

I have a job interview this afternoon at JC Penney’s. I hope I get it. Wasn’t that an interesting topic? No, there’s more. It’s a job in the stockroom for the Christmas season. Pretty clean work, righteous bucks. I’ll need it; because I bought a car - another car, and not just any car, a 1953 Pontiac Chief. I’m keeping my Vega for driving and restoring the Pontiac. If the Pontiac gets cleaned up and running OK, maybe I’ll drive it daily. But maybe not, because mileage is terrible.

Righteous bucks! Hee!