Cooking with the Pilot

Wandering into the kitchen one morning last weekend, my hockey-playing, pilot husband, who is an exterminator and has a degree in Biblical studies, was vigorously chopping some food source in a frying pan on the stove. I mention his hobbies, schooling and his occupations to point out that he has no formal, or informal for that matter, training in the culinary arts. NONE! He is widely renown for his burnt grilled cheese sandwiches. So his attempt at cooking amused me initially. As I began to ascertain the situation at hand, I became highly amused…. blog-worthy-amused!

On impulse at Costco, my sweet husband, the provider for our family, purchased a skid of hashbrowns. Just look at how crispy-fried those salty morsels appear! He was probably salivating in the super store. Gluten free and 100% REAL potatoes. How could he go wrong?

Kindly I explained that the objective of hashbrown cooking is to leave them alone so they can get brown and crunchy. Smashing them to smithereens won’t get the desired results. Previously I had cooked two boxes of said Costco bulk purchase, so I was quite well-informed on the procedure.

Peering into the pan, something didn’t seem right. The limp potato strips looked dry (and smashed.) Kindly I inquired, “Did you read the directions?” It was an honest question. As soon as my question was delivered, my 13-year-old daughter, who has been trained in our kitchen by my capable side, started laughing and pointed at her dad the I-told-you-so-finger-of-doom. Seems she already mentioned reading the directions to him. That’s my girl!

Rick, Mr. Master Chef, (term used very sarcastically) opened the little carton of goodness and dumped the freeze-dried potatoes in the hot frying pan. He realized something was off. His spidey senses alerted him to the need for butter. In went a dollop of creamy yellow goodness. Butter is the answer to SO MANY cooking situations.

THEN he proceeded to read the directions. And I’ll admit, the instructions for this delicacy are unusual. 1. Open carton and add hot water to the fill line. 2. Close carton and let stand for 12 minutes. Drain well.

Uh oh.

Things were off to a poor start. The pan he had chosen was obviously too small if water was to be added, so he switched to a larger pan. (The only reason I know this is because I discovered a small frying pan in the sink with the remains of burnt freeze-dried potatoes stuck to its non-nonstick bottom.) It was too late to add water to the carton full of spuds, so he added water to the frying pan full of crunchy strips and butter. It said HOT water, so the stove burner was turned to HIGH, obviously. Just like whipping up a grilled cheese sandwich to quality blackness.

Disclaimer: my daughter filled me in on this whole process after the fact so this is all hearsay.

Okay, thinking he was good, he went back to the directions. 3. Preheat a large, non-stick skillet and 2 TBSP. oil over medium-high heat. So, FAIL on the non-stick part. Next oil was poured over the soggy white, limp, smashed potato strips. Doesn’t this make you want to have some???

This is when I wandered in… to witness the mutilation of the oily, half-saturated delicacy. Kindly I probed to see what oil he used. There are four oils in my cupboard: coconut, olive, sesame and vegetable. He had a 75% chance of success. Again, my daughter who loves home-ec informed me in a Dad-is-so-busted tone, “He used butter from your bowl. The one you measured to make cookies.” Ooooh, there are several things that could make this mama go all kinds of crazy on you. Using my softened butter that is measured in a bowl for baking is one of them. And she knew he knew better! That’s my girl. Again the finger-of-doom was pointed at the perpetrator.

It’s doubtful if he ever did read 4. Fry on one side for 3-4 minutes, or until golden brown. Kindly I offered to show him how to divide the pan of scrumptiousness into thirds and flip them to golden brown perfection.

Surprisingly, they tasted okay.

The moral of the story is: When at first you don’t succeed, fry fry again.

Or: Touch mama’s measured butter and die a slow death of much pain. (Kindly I let him live.)

Happy 18 Years!

As of this past week, we have lived in the USA for 18 long years. Here’s the update on the past 216 months.

We came from Canada with two kids, ages four months and three years. Now we have four kids ages: 21, 18, 16 and 11.

We have lived in five places since arriving: one month at my parent’s house, 16 months in an apartment, 6 years in our first house, 6 months in a rental house and now almost 10 years in our current house.

Our eldest went to a charter school for kindergarten and grade one. We are in the middle of our 14th year of homeschooling. Now our eldest is a junior in college.

Rick has worked in credit card processing, flying for FedEx, had a janitorial business, a bug business and has been flying for the State of AZ for 14 years now.

We went to our first church for 18 months and then helped start a sister church where we attended for 11 years. We have been at our current church for five years five months.

I have been heading up to Prescott for scrapbooking retreats for 17 years.… but now they are just relaxing retreats.

We have been serving on the board of Arizona Families for Home Education for 4 1/2 years.

We love Arizona, but we do try to be gone for 3-6 weeks every summer. :o)

Happy Bday to my Hunka Hunka

Yes, not only is February the month of looooove, but it is also the month of my Hunka Hunka Burning Love’s birthday!  Happy Birthday to Rickey, my sweet husband who is absolutely more than I could have ever hoped for in a best friend, husband and father.

We recently discovered Flying Wild Alaska on Netflix.  Basically it is a reality show about his first flying job… just the names have been changed.  We have watched it for a couple nights in a row now, with several episodes still calling our names.  Rickey is (I was about to say “having a sleep over”) overnighting away from home tonight which is extremely rare for him in his current pilot job.  So we won’t be watching FWA tonight.  Anyway, the show brought back MULTIPLE memories of our time spent in the North when he was flying for Little Red Air Service.  Seriously, the flight crew that spent the same three years up in Fort Vermilion would have at least two seasons of episodes simply from the stories I know about.  And as all good pilot’s wives know, there are many stories that we are glad we still don’t know about.

Those were exhilarating years we spent up in the freezing tundra, but I must say that our last 16 years in the desert have been my favorite!  We have traveled more, laughed more, forgiven more, cried more, spent more, prayed more and have definitely loved more in the last 16 years.  Thanks, Rickey, for making my life so thrilling by living out the calling on your life to be a man of integrity and passion.  I love you!  XOXO

Past Perks of a Pilot’s Wife

Years back, my husband was stationed WAY up north in Alberta, Canada, flying Cessna 206s and a Britten Norman Islander in and out of remote Indian reservations along the Peace River.  Back in the good ol’ days, I was allowed to go flying with him if there was an empty seat in the plane.  I flew as much as possible and relished almost every minute of it.  One such enjoyable day started with a call from my pilot down at the airport, “I’m flying the chief and councilmen into Margaret Lake fishing lodge in the Islander.  Get our fishing poles and we can fish all day while they are in meetings.”  He flew for a Native Indian band and flying the chief was a big deal… fishing just made it that much more sweet!  With poles in hand, I met him on the ramp. 

I flew right seat and was happily viewing the extremely flat scenery on the 40 minute flight when I noticed something odd.  My pilot was not moving his head, but his eyes were roving to and fro…. searching for something.  In my mic I asked, “What are you doing?”  Not that the men could hear a word he said with the roar of the engines, but he quietly answered, “Look for two lakes next to each other.  I can’t find them.”  Ah.  Lost… with the chief in the back. Being a bit sarcastic, I suggested, “Ask them where it is.  They’ll know!”  No response from Mr. Roving Eye.  We eventually spotted the lakes and landed somewhat without incident.  The strip was usually 2,000 feet of solid dirt with a few grass patches, but for this occassion it was 2,000 feet of solid mud and a few grass patches.  Several moccasins had to have  mud wiped off of them after de-planing.

Being a supreme fishing queen, the anticipation of the day made my little casting heart beat with glee.  I assumed we would fish for several hours alone where the river ran into the lake.  How romantic!  Just me and my pilot.  Not so.  Seems the chief and his posse were supremely into fishing as well.  Their “meetings” were all hooked up and reeled in after the first hour.  They joined us on the banks in amongst the pine trees.  Unbeknownst to me, it turned out to be one of the best fishing days of my life.  I couldn’t throw the hook in without snagging a pike or a trout.  My pilot was genuinely happy for me…. in the beginning.  He was not experiencing the best fishing day of his life.  In fact, he couldn’t catch anything!  He snagged trees, lost hooks and finally just stood near me to take the hooks out of the mouths of the fish I kept pulling from the cool water.

The chief and councilmen noticed my supreme fishing ability (and probably my pilot’s too!)  They casually cast closer and closer to where I stood next to my haul on the bank at my feet.  The chief asked what I was using for bait.  Another wanted to see my lure.  Was I using weights?  Was I reeling quickly?  Where were the blinking fish hiding?

Wanting to keep his place of employment with these men, my pilot started giving my fish to them.  One at a time.  Two at a time.  Saving face is what I summed it up to be.  The brave Indians would now be returning home with booty from the fishing lodge…. and my pilot would still be their pilot. 

When we were all snug back in the plane, right before take-off, I heard one of the men comment under his breath, “Next time I’m bringing my woman.”  HAHA!  We dropped off each of them at their reservations with my fish in their hands and we returned to the hangar.  One of the other pilots asked if we had trouble finding the lakes.  “Nope!” I replied, making no eye contact with Mr. Roving Eye.  Then he asked how the fishing was.  “Not bad!  Want to see my fish?” and I proudly held up the one fish my pilot let me bring home for dinner. 

The moral of the story is: Give a man a fish and you’ll feed him for a day.  Give many men many fish and you’ll be able to keep feeding yourself.

Garage Sale Jackpot!

Three weeks ago today, I asked my dear love-to-sleep-in husband if he would get up early on his only day to sleep-in and go with me to the park for my veggie co-op at 8:00 am.  He was nice and said yes.  The co-op is called Bountiful Baskets and is such an amazing deal… $15 for a laundry basket full of fresh produce… if you don’t mind getting up early on Saturday morning.

As we’re driving there, Rick delivered a speech about an unexpected bill that came and the freeze that was currently slapped on Crosby spending.  Hey, the co-op HELPED save money!!  It is good to be informed.  I was heretowith informed. Secretly I was hoping to be taken out to breakfast, but those thoughts were dashed after the speech.  Oh well.

After picking up the bountiful basket, we were heading back to I-17 and saw several garage sale signs that sucked us in like gypsies to a fountain full of tossed coins.  The first stop was not inspiring to me.  Neither was the second stop, even though I found some Mason jars for science experiments for twenty-five cents.  Ready for departure, I was at the van waiting for Rick, when I noticed he was trying to get my attention in a covert fashion.  Head nods, throat clearing, undecipherable silently-mouthed words.  What could he have possibly found at this old folks garage sale???  I meandered over to his location and got a close up view of his eyeballs bulging from his head.  He obviously thought he had hit pay-dirt, baby.  All I could see were some old metal airplane signs.  “Great!” I surmised sarcastically, “More junk to put in the garage.”  Rick whispered, “The guy went into the house to get some more aviation stuff!”  Imagine my excitement!  I felt no need at all to do a jig.  I could tell Rick did, but was refraining.  Out came stacks of books…. more metal signs… 8×10 glossy black and white photos… postcards… and two huge metal boxes of slides.  ALL of vintage airplanes.  Rick started asking the elderly gentleman about the collection.  Seems it belonged to his passed-away old buddy and he was unloading it.  With every new photo and flight training book, Rick was positively salivating… with eyes bulging and eyebrows raised… trying to convey the glory of the moment without anyone but me witnessing this jackpot.

I was standing next to my thrilled husband reviewing the “unexpected bill…. spending freeze” speech I had just endured.  It had left Rick’s mind temporarily.  As Rick is known to do, he talked the lovely old folks down to $50 for all the airline paraphernalia.  But he didn’t have $50 cash on him.  He asked where our nearest bank was and we were off in a flash to the ATM.  As soon as we got in the van and shut the doors, Rick started spewing joy unspeakable and gobs of glory about the collection.  He explained that “we” could sell it on eBay and make a bundle (“we” = me.)  What could I say?  I knew nothing of the value of dusty old airplane books from the 40s…. and hundreds of slides of airplanes that don’t fly anymore… not my idea of an eBay goldmine.

Ok, my thinking has since changed.  The first book (of 25 in the box) sold on eBay yesterday for $89.  … a few hours later SIX of the 300 slides sold for $21.50.  I was starting to drool myself… and I believe my eyes were bulging.  Was that a jig coming on?  Larisa asked if I was going to do my eBay dance.  Maybe.  Some of the pictures are so old, we don’t have a clue how to  explain the planes… so Gramps, we might elicit your expertise!

Current garage sale score: Rick 1 – Linda 0.

My Husband’s Cell Phone Photos

I’m not sure why it just happened.  I’m not sure how it happened.  I’m not even sure what happened.  But four years worth of pictures from my husband’s cell phone just appeared in our computer’s picture file.  It was an entertaining trip for me down memory lane.  A guy’s cell phone pictures really tell the heart of the man like no other.  Please try and stick it out to the end….  a photo montage of Rick’s most important moments, captured on his cell phone!  (Feel the excitement!)

First up, the plane he flies.  (You are being spared from the 47 pictures of clouds and props and other planes.)  Twin engine Turbo Commander.  “The belly dragger”.

Our youngest son in a pot.  (This is OLD… probably four years old. I haven’t shaved his head in years.)

Me on the phone.  I don’t know who added the words… I doubt it was Rick.

Ok, had to put one landing strip on here to represent all the others…..  I have no idea where this is.  And shouldn’t he be holding the yoke with both hands???

Rick’s mum at Peggy’s Cove, Nova Scotia.  Cool Picture!

A field of wild sunflowers.  (See!  He is a romantic at heart!)

At a Capitals vs. Coyotes game.  Alexander Ovechkin leaving the ice… Keeve is the brown headed kid on the left side.  He got to TOUCH Ovie!

And of course, Sidney Crosby holding up Lord Stanley’s cup in June…. the youngest captain in the history of the NHL to win the cup.  Made Rick proud…  obviously… he took a picture of the TV with his cell phone!

Rick’s favorite place.. on Earth, I think.  Lake Tahoe.  There were MANY pictures of the lake! 

And lastly, our three darling children in amongst the lupine at Lake Tahoe.  There were probably 10 of these… and THIS really is the best one.  Simultaneous smiles without squinty eyes are hard to come by with these three.

There you have it, folks.  Out of 293 pictures, these pretty well sum it up.  The life of a pilot, hockey playing/coaching, husband and dad.  In less than ten minutes too!  Not bad.

Go Senator McCain!

Two and a half more days and we’ll all know exactly what the good ol’ USA deserves.  Well, you get what you deserve, right?  God help us!  We visited the McCain Campaign Southwest Headquarters  this week and helped the cause by putting together yard signs.  It was a buzz of activity. 

Our homeschool co-op also stepped into his office for a few moments to see all that is on display there as well.  They have a rotating system of showcasing hundreds of different pictures, certificates, awards and memorabilia, but the set that was out blew my mind.  The honor and service awards  were vast in numbers that Sen. McCain has been awarded.  Wow.  I wanted to read one in particular to my kids about his life and commitment to America, coming from a family devoted to military service and his valiant stint as a POW, but I was in tears reading it silently and couldn’t manage a vocal performance at that moment.

There were pictures of Senator McCain with Presidents Nixon, Regan, Ford, Carter, Clinton and both Bushs.  There was a picture of him in his flight suit as a handsome young soldier (who looked a lot like Tom Cruise, in my humble opinion) taken three minutes before his personal freedom was taken away from him for six years after he was shot down.  There were also many awards around the office for his work with prisoners of war and veterans.  The man knows what’s going on.  He’s been there, done that and wrote the book.

I was not automatically for Sen. McCain in the beginning.  He did not get my primary vote, but unquestionably, he has my Tuesday vote.  There is just no comparison between the two candidates in work ethic, experience, history, values, respect, track record, etc.  What in the world has Sen. Obama done for our country so far?  I cannot for the life of me figure it out.  And what in the world is a world citizen?  Are they handing out new passports for everyone on planet Earth who can fog a mirror?  I want an AMERICAN citizen as President, who is proud of our great country, and proud of our system of government, our emblems and our Christian heritage.

As many of you, I’ve read a vast array of commentaries about both candidates.  The one that made me really laugh said that in order to claim a nationality, like Chinese, or Spanish, or Black, you have to be at least 1/6 of that nationality.  I don’t know if it’s true, but they stated that Sen. Obama is 1/8 black, so he can’t legitimately even claim that.  Shoot!  That was his main playing card! 

This is my kind of candidate…. a little stand up right before the big day.  To our eternal amusement, Senator and Mrs. McCain did a stint on SNL.  Here’s the link:  http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/clips/mccain-qvc-open/805381/

Needless to say at this point, VOTE! on Tuesday.  And if you got a call from the “McCain” camp telling you to get out and vote on WEDNESDAY…. it’ll be all over by then.  It’s TUESDAY that counts.

The Life of a Pilot’s Wife

Fort Vermilion Air Strip c. 1991

The life of a pilot’s wife seems to invoke visions of grandeur in the minds of those who have never been a pilot’s wife.  I’m here today to disprove inaccurate information and lay the truth out for all to witness.  First of all, just have a looksie at the harsh weather conditions we were faced with for three years!  I’m a California girl and that’s a parka with fox fur trim, moose hide mitts (made by Rick’s grandma, Googum) and Sorels!  I’d never tried on boots that came in two parts until we moved to Fort Vermilion, Alberta.  Luckily they came in hot pink!  I guess that the weather was not due to being a pilot’s wife… it was due to a newbie pilot putting in his ‘time’ in the North before heading to bluer skies in warmer climates. 

Just a few glimpses into the strange happenings of a pilot’s family are indeed overdue. 

Glimpse #1.  We were driving our 1971 Toyota Corona Deluxe late at night when the dash lights cut out.  Rick yelled, “The instrument panel is offline!”  I yelled back, “Luckily we’re safe on the ground!”  Made me wonder if he thought he was flying a plane…. they don’t have to pay quite as close attention when they’re up in the air… hmmmmm.

Glimpse #2.  It was the middle of the night and I was stirred from blissful sleep as Rick sat up in bed and yelled, “More left power!”  I replied, “Roger that,” and he laid back down having never woken up at all.  :o)  I wonder what would have happened if I yelled, “Man overboard?”

Glimpse #3.  Anytime you call a pilot for an address or a name they always spell it in the phonetic alphabet.  Over the years I’ve gotten used to it, but it was a surprise for others when Rick said we lived on Yankee Uniform Charlie Charlie Alpha Street.  I’ve still not figured out the numbers… niner, niner… whatever.  I just add er to the end of all of them.   Oner, Twoer, Threeer.  (mockful, I realize.)

Glimpse #4.  We needed a new washing machine and were sitting together, husband and wife, reading washer reviews online.  I would suggest a model.  He would say, “18 cycles!  How many did our old washer have?”  “12”  “Why do we need 6 more?  Our clothes were clean with 12.”  I explained that the new and improved cycles were for specific washing cycles that would be useful.  He didn’t get it.  This went on and on for about an hour.  Finally I lovingly explained, “When you buy an airplane, do you want me sitting there saying, ‘Ailerons?  How many ailerons did your last plane have?  Did you use both of them?’ ”  And he let me pick out my washing machine all by myself.  You gotta talk to a pilot in pilot smack.

Glimpse #5.  I asked Rick to put in a load of laundry.  We have a new fangled LG frontloader that lights up like a cockpit when you hit the magic button.  I heard the laundry basket hit the floor.  The door opened.  Loading.  Door closed.  And then there was silence for about four minutes.  He eventually hollered, “I’m not checked out on this machine.”  WHAT?  There’s only 5 buttons on the washer.  How many are in the cockpit?  Laundry Flight Training followed.

Glimpse #6.  Important Terms to Know:  Gas is for cars.  Fuel is for planes.  We saw a bumper sticker that said, “I love the smell of Jet A early in the morning.”  Rick chuckled.  I didn’t get it.  Jet fuel stinks.  My pilot tried to explain that it is such a familiar smell that means good times are coming.  I guess it’s like the smell of the glue gun??  The sunscreen???  The movie popcorn????

And no, I don’t get to fly with him in his current job, something to do with insurance.  No frequent flyer miles here.  No jump seat privileges.  It’s a glamorous life, for sure!

Stupid but Fun!!!

Have you ever done something in your life that was so stupid it could have got you fired but on the other hand, that “something” was so much FUN!?!?  It was the winter of 1993 and Linda and I were working in Fort Vermilion in northern Alberta.  I was flying as an air ambulance and charter pilot and Linda was teaching kindergarten.  It was approx. 9:42 pm and I was playing hockey at the local rink when my pager went off. (Remember those annoying things)?  When I found a phone, dispatch relayed to me that I needed to be at the airport within 15 minutes for a medivac flight to Fox Lake.  I was a little ticked because our game wasn’t over and I would probably not be in bed until after 1 a.m.  I got changed, drove to the airport, met the other pilot Lance, towed our King Air 90(see above) out of the hangar and then loaded up the paramedics in the airplane.  

There is something you need to know about flying air ambulance in a small community.  Quite often we would get to know our patients fairly well because we would fly some of them on a frequent basis.  So was the case with a certain patient I will call “John Doedoe“.  John was known for faking illness at times so he could get a free flight to town because Fox Lake was a bit isolated (a strike against socialized medicine).  He knew the paramedic lingo and would use it often.  Before the EMT would ask him what his pain level was at John would offer the information by stating, “On a scale of 1-10 my pain level is a 10”.  The medics and the pilots found this quite humorous.

So here we were taxiing out to runway 25 when the paramedic Allan casually asked Lance and I, “Guess who we’re going out to get”?  All of us in unison unenthusiastically said “John Doedoe”.  Allan hinted as he asked me, “Hey Rick, I heard there’s going to be a lot of turbulence out there tonight, right“?  I shot back with “I got the same report“!  We all laughed.  We arrived at our destination on a snow covered runway where the nurses would put out battery-powered lamps on the sides of the snowbanks so we could land safely at night.  (We could always tell when there was a new nurse putting out the lamps because the lamps would be put very close together giving us very little room for error when landing between the lights…but that’s another story).  We loaded up Doedoe and took off for Fort Vermilion.  After levelling off at 8500 feet I decided to have some fun.  I took the yolk and jiggled it forward-back and side-to-side, forward-back-side-to-side.  I could hear the medics in the back chuckling a little.  I offered the yolk to Lance and he did the same but with a bit more force.  The chuckling turned into laughter.  Being the Captain, I was not about to be outdone by my co-pilot so I proceeded to yank and bank and create moderate to severe turbulence.  The laughter in the back of the cabin had turned to convulsive hysteria!!!  At that point, reality overtook me and I realized that I had crossed the line from professionalism to feeble-mindedness!

The next day a friend of ours who was a nurse at the hospital called Linda and asked if I had brought in Doedoe from Fox Lake.  Linda asked why and Deb proceeded to tell her that Doedoe was telling everyone that, “That Rick Crosby was trying to scare me last night!  He was rocking the airplane and making it bumpy”!  I appreciate friends that think the best of me because Deb told him, “Rick would never do anything like that“!  When Linda called and told me what was going on, I knew I was in trouble.  I went straight to the GM of Little Red Air Service and relayed to him what had happened before he heard from other sources.  In a small town of 700 people news travels fast…especially when it’s ‘pilots who make their own turbulence’ kind of news!  A couple of days later the GM called me into his office and with a smirk on his face “tried” to rebuke me for my unprofessional behavior.  I bet he wished he had thought of it first!  He gave me a letter of reprimand and I believe to this day it is still in my file in Fort Vermilion. 

What did I learn from this you ask?  Save the fun for your last day at work!!!

Peculiar Hobby: Hypermiling

Raise your hand if you saw these pictures on the COVER and inside of USA Today yesterday???  Do you have friends with strange hobbies?  Do you have a weird hobby?  Mine is scrapbooking, so some would think that’s weird.  Here’s one that I classify as unusual:  Hypermiling.  It’s the “hobby” of seeing if you can get the highest gas mileage possible by resorting to extreme techniques.  (I’ll stick to scrapbooking.)

Anyway, there are two pilots who work for ADOT, one is my husband, the other is the hypermiler, Louis, who was featured on the COVER of USA Today and the cover of the business section along with a full page article on page 3 with THREE pictures.  OK, me and my little scrapbooks haven’t been sequestered by USA Today YET.  The article did mention how to save money on gas due to the high gas prices, but featured Louis and his hyperbuddies’ techniques for Guinness Book worthy numbers.  Here’s the article:  http://www.usatoday.com/money/autos/2008-06-23-hypermilers-saving-gas_N.htm?loc=interstitialskip

We’ve known Louis for more than seven years and have been to his home where he has a “barn/garage” full of mini cars.  My appreciation grew for his wife (who is quoted in the national newspaper, for goodness sake) when I realized he collected them.  These are not Hotwheels, baby.  Mini drive-able cars. 

Louis has shared his insider information with my husband as the years have passed. When gas prices hit $4.00+ a gallon, Rick began to utilize some of the hyper tricks.  He waved goodbye to the fast lane and is driving at geriatric speeds.  He puts the van in neutral and coasts to red lights, idling whilst awaiting the green beacon.  As long as he doesn’t resort to banning the air conditioning to save gas IN PHOENIX I’m O.K. with the escapades.  The other practice my husband will never adapt is going 2 hours early for work to miss rush hour traffic….. he’s already leaving before six am.  Ain’t gonna happen in my lifetime, guaranteed.

Congrats to Louis, who is now a recognized specialist in hypermiling, even though we’ve known he is for years.  I better go find my scalloped scissors and glue dots so I can cut up the USA Today paper and scrapbook it for him.