Category Archives: Days in My Life

I don’t just sit around and watch TV.

Wild Horses

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Hard to miss from the air.

Last weekend, while flying, I spotted three separate herds of wild horses.

Recent Sightings

The first was on Saturday, on my way back to Wickenburg from Sedona. We were almost all the way back to town when I decided to take a short detour to the Hassayampa River. There were about 8 horses out in the desert southeast of Stanton. I flew almost right over them before I spotted them.

I’d seen wild horses in the area only once before. I’d also seen them several times up in the Weaver Mountains just north of there, in the foothills that stretch down to Waggoner and Walnut Grove. There are a few ranches out there, but these horses were far beyond their fences and grazing areas. Once, I spotted a small herd at at my Weaver Cabins landing zone when I flew by low with a friend to point out the spot. When I land there, there’s occasionally horse manure in the area to prove their presence.

The second recent sighting was the following day, on my way from Wickenburg to Scottsdale to pick up passengers. Although I like to fly in the Lake Pleasant area on my way to Deer Valley or Scottsdale, when the meter is running (so to speak), I take a more direct route. I was just crossing Route 74 (Carefree Highway) when I spotted four horses standing close together near the fence that keeps cattle off the road. Again, this was in open range area, not the typical place for a rancher to keep horses. I’m pretty sure they were either wild or escaped.

Wild HorsesLater, the same day, as I flew my passengers from Sedona to Scottsdale, we spotted a very large herd — perhaps 20 horses — on the flat mesas near Cordes Junction. For the life of me, I can’t remember if it was north or south of the town, but I know it was on the east side of I-17. That herd included a few youngsters. (This photo is from Wikipedia Commons. Although it shows a herd in Utah, it’s a good representation of the land around Cordes Junction: high desert grasslands.)

A few years back, one of the Phoenix TV helicopters had been up in the area and had spotted a large herd. The pilot had flown a bit low to get them running so they could get footage for the TV cameras. I watched in horror as the horses galloped toward the freeway. The pilot must have seen what could happen because he pulled away suddenly and the horses, no longer being chased, veered off. I wonder if that hotshot pilot still does asinine things like that.

When I was learning to fly in the Chandler, AZ area, my flight instructor took me out to the Gila River area on the Gila River Indian Reservation. The area is undeveloped with a stream of water running through it most of the year. There’s a large herd of wild horses out there and more often than not, we’d spot them from the air. But I’ve been through there a few times since they built the Wild Horse Pass Casino near there and I haven’t seen another horse. Perhaps they moved on to quieter pastures.

Burros

Of course, there are more wild burros (donkeys, asses — whatever you like to call them) in Arizona than horses. They mostly date back to the mining days, when miners used them to haul gear and ore. When the miners called it quits, they’d let their burros loose. Girl burros met boy burros out in the desert and made baby burros. The population boomed.

Nowadays, burros can be easily found near any major water source. The ones in the Lake Pleasant area are almost tame — I think people feed them. I’ve also seen and heard them around Alamo Lake and at aptly named Burro Creek, as well as alongside the Colorado River on the west side of the state. And everyone in Arizona knows (or should know) about the ones that make Oatman, AZ famous.

The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) periodically does burro roundups in various areas throughout Arizona. They use helicopters to find the animals and move them into fenced-in areas where they’re trapped. They they haul them off for auction or adoption.

Burros are supposed to make excellent companion animals for domesticated horses. One of my neighbors had a burro with her horses. Every time she went riding, the burro would follow along.

Wild or Escaped?

As for the horses, while I’m sure a lot of them are wild and have always been wild, I’m equally sure that some of them must be escaped. Every once in a while, I get a call from someone looking for lost horses and wanting to conduct a search from the air. While I have a kind heart, I can’t fly for free — especially if the search area is a 45-minute flight from my base. When the caller hears my rates, she usually changes her mind. And yes, the callers are almost always women.

Horses are funny. If one of them get loose, it might trot away long enough to get its owner panicking. But it will always either come back (if there are other horses there) or go to where it knows there are other horses.

My horses are a good example. They’ve gotten out, either alone or together, a few times. They always either hang out right by their own corral (that’s where the food goes, right?) or go over to my neighbor’s horses.

A few years back, we were out in the desert with a bunch of other horseback riders doing a moonlight ride. We were twenty miles from anywhere — halfway between Aguila and Vulture Mine Road south of Wickenburg. After the ride, we were hanging out in the parking area. All of our horses were tied to their trailers. Except Barb’s. She’d decided to use a piece of string to create a “corral” for her horse. A piece of string, unless it is electrified, is not going to stop a 1,000 pound animal from going where it wants to. Caleb the horse trotted right past the group of us on his way to freedom. The search, on horseback, lasted close to an hour under the light of a full moon. Then we all gave up and went home. Only my friends Steve and Janet remained behind, camping overnight with their horses. The next morning, they reported that Caleb had reappeared ten minutes after the last truck left.

Horses are herd animals. Caleb needed to be part of a herd.

Of course, if multiple horses get loose and they have a place to go, they’ll go for it. Especially if there’s grass out in the desert to graze on. I think the four horses I saw along Route 74 on Sunday were escapees. The area they were in was just too close to civilization for them to have wandered there from the wilderness.

Learn More

There’s something about horses that fascinates people. Seeing them out in the wild really thrills my passengers. And even though I’m a horse owner, I admit that I like seeing them from the air, too. It makes me feel that there’s hope for the world’s wildlife, that urban sprawl and overdevelopment hasn’t yet reached every part of the world.

Yet.

If you’d like to read more about wild horses and burros in Arizona and the west, try these articles:

A Wasted Day

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One of those days when you wish there was a “do-over” button.

Yesterday wasn’t an especially good day as far as productivity is concerned.

Shooting Trouble

I started the day with a computer problem. Simply said, I was locked out of all my blogs. It was impossible for me to download entries into ecto (which is how I first discovered the problem) and impossible to make any changes to my blogs.

The error message I got said my IP address was blacklisted.

I spent the next 3 hours troubleshooting the problem, with calls and e-mails to my Internet connection ISP, my Web host ISP, the maker of ecto, and one of the blacklist maintenance company. The cause of the problem turned out to be a change in the server used by one of my plugins, Bad Behavior. When I upgraded all my blogs to Bad Behavior 2.0.11, the problem went away. I wrote about it in Maria’s Guides, since I suspect there were many Bad Behavior users in the same situation yesterday morning.

But that was 3 hours wasted.

Costco Visit

Next, I was scheduled to attend a 2-hour seminar given by SCORE’s Phoenix Chapter. The seminar was in the Phoenix area, so I had to make a 40-mile drive to get there. I jumped in the shower, washed up, got dressed, and even put some makeup on. Then Ihopped in my little Honda and took off down Grand Avenue, stopping only long enough to pick up some “breakfast” at Filibertos — a pollo asado buritto. It was 10:30 AM.

I needed to hit Costco, near Bell Road and the Loop 101. I’m putting together care packages for U.S. troops deployed in the Gulf area and have 8 more packages to put together to meet my self-imposed quota of 10. Since the kinds of things these men and women were looking for were snacks and toiletries best bought in bulk, I figured Costco would be a good place to shop and perhaps save a few bucks.

When I got to Costco, I realized that I not only didn’t have my Costco membership card, but I also didn’t have my driver’s license for ID. I didn’t want to drive back the next day, so I tried to get some kind of temporary pass so I could shop. I was able to do so, but with the line I had to wait on at the membership desk and the amount of time they took to look up my husband’s business account, I was soon out of time for shopping. I needed to get to the seminar.

Girlfriends Helping Girlfriends

The SCORE event was held at the very nice Glendale Aquatic and Recreation Center. I guess having a facility like this is one of the perks of living in a place where more than 50% of the population is under the age of 65. It was a big meeting facility attached to an indoor pool. I assume that there were other facilities in there for recreation, but I didn’t wander around. I checked in and went right inside.

For some reason, I thought my seat at one of the two dozen round tables was in the back corner of the room. It turned out to be in the front corner. I soon got into a conversation with another female business owner, Marcy, who sells electrical components for commercial construction.

I should mention here that the topic of this free seminar was “Women Helping Women.” Four “successful” business women would each give a 10-minute presentation. Afterward, they’d sit together on a panel where one of the women acted as a moderator to ask them questions. We were supposed to be able to ask them questions, too, but that never happened.

I won’t go into detail on the speakers. I will say that the first one, a “self-made woman,” was primarily a motivational speaker with a big booming voice and a “you can do it” attitude and message. I agree with that entirely, although she was a little too self-promotional for my taste. The next few simply couldn’t compete, with their relatively tiny voices, flat stories, and failed attempts at humor. They should have ended with the big woman. It would have done more to keep us awake than the Hershey’s kisses they put in front of us. (My sugar buzz hit just after the last speaker.)

They talked about networking and helping your “girlfriends.” This is an attitude I just can’t tolerate — pointedly making a distinction between men and women in the workplace and going out of your way to help one gender over the other. I’m of the school that says if you can’t make it in a field, get out and make room for someone else. (This could be a result of working in the highly competitive New York job market, where I had my first career.) I don’t care if you’re a man or a woman. If you can do it, do it. If you can’t, don’t expect help just because you pee sitting down. In fact, I think the attitude of women insinuating that they’re different and need help is part of what keeps them from achieving what they could achieve. They’re holding themselves back with gender-related excuses.

Which may make you wonder what I was doing there. Frankly, as the third speaker started on her “help your girlfriends” spiel, I was wondering that myself.

Time crawled. By the time they were finished, I was ready to go. While the other women “networked,” I bolted.

Back to Costco

This was probably the only productive part of my day. I spent nearly an hour in Costco, gathering up snacks, toiletries, and a few personal clothing items to send the troops. I also bought a case of my current favorite wine, a king-sized bottle of Ketel One, some Pine Sol, flannel sheets for our camper, and two pairs of men’s lounge pants, for me to wear to work in my home office.

I won’t say how much I spent. I will say that I spent too much.

These things filled my car’s trunk. I had to put the case of wine on the front passenger seat.

The Wasted Meeting

By then, it was 4 PM and I still had one stop to make: at the helicopter flight school where I’m planning to get my instrument rating. I called to make sure they were still open and expecting me. They were and they were. I told my contact I’d be there within 30 minutes and hit the road.

I made it in 20 minutes. I went into an office filled almost to overflowing with men in tan flight suits. I found the one I was looking for and he brought me into the new Chief Pilot’s office.

I saw “new” because the organization had undergone a major shakeup less than two weeks before. The man I’d negotiated pricing, etc. with was gone. His replacement was a small, young man who was evidently enjoying his position of power. He produced the rate document that had been drawn up by his predecessor for me. He said that with the other guy gone, I’d have to meet with his boss to verify the rates. His boss worked at Mesa, where I get my helicopter maintained. He’d sent me to Glendale for training, since it was closer to where I lived. But he was in Las Vegas right now, so we couldn’t call him. We’d have the meeting on the next day.

He didn’t seem to give a shit that I’d driven down from Wickenburg — a distance of about 50 miles — for the meeting and that I might have to drive down again for another meeting the next day. I held my temper. It wasn’t easy. I don’t like having my time wasted, especially at the end of a long, frustrating day with a long drive ahead of me.

They wouldn’t even put me in the system or get me on the schedule. The meeting was a complete waste of time.

And I know what’s coming. They’re going to try to go back on the rates we tentatively agreed upon. I suspect that they’ll raise them by about $20 to $50 per hour. Since I need 30 hours, this will make my instrument rating even more costly than the $8K I’d budgeted for it.

I’m already thinking about looking for another flight school. The only problem is, all the flight schools in Arizona — including this one — use the “program” approach: pay one price and get all your ratings and the pseudo promise of a job. I was lucky to find this place so “close” to home. That means I might need to go out of state — which would be more costly — at my busiest flying time of the year if I want the rating by spring. So I’m in a pickle.

But what bothered me most is attending a meeting for no reason other than to tell me that I’d have to attend another meeting. Hell, isn’t that what a telephone is for? Why the hell do people think I wear that damn thing on my belt?

The Drive Home

It took an hour to get home from there. I went west on Glendale Road, then drove around Luke Air Force Base. I got to see some F-16s landing right over my head. (I had the top down.) Then I took route 303 back up to Grand Avenue.

Along the way, I took a phone call from a guy in Montana. A friend of his had flown with me on a tour and told him I might be a good contact for information about R-44 helicopters. I answered his questions. He wants the helicopter to commute back and forth to work, which is about 60 air miles each way. I told him to think of me if he needed a ferry pilot to bring the aircraft from the factory to Montana. That’s a flight I’d love to make.

The drive was nearly traffic-free once I got on Route 303. Between podcasts on my iPod and the telephone conversation, I was kept entertained. So it really wasn’t so bad. I suppose I should get used to it if I’m going to get flight training at Glendale.

It was nearly dark when I got home at about 6 PM. Mike was already home, feeding the horses. As I made dinner, I kept thinking about how much precious time had been wasted that day.

Pastina

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Comfort food from my childhood.

I find that the older I get, the more I look back with fond memories on certain aspects of my childhood. And since eating has always been high on my list of life priorities, it’s no wonder that I think back about food.

Last month, Mike and I went to the New York City area where I grew up to be tourists and spend Thanksgiving with our families. I took the opportunity to buy some of the foods I enjoyed as a kid that simply don’t seem to be available in Arizona.

PastinaOne of these is Pastina. I bought two boxes of Barilla Pastina, which is the only one I could find. (I think we used to buy Ronzoni.) The Barilla Web site, where I found this nice box shot, has a good description:

There are few children in Italy who do not grow up eating Pastina, the classic tiny pasta stars that parents first serve as a child’s introduction to the delicious world of pasta. Here in America, parents choose Barilla Pastina for their young children because it is made from 100% highest quality durum wheat; is enriched with essential nutrients, such as thiamin, iron, riboflavin and niacin; and is easily digested. And grown-ups love the deliciously nutty flavor of Barilla Pastina, too, especially in soups and simple broths.

When they say “tiny,” they’re not kidding. Pastina makes rice look huge.

We ate Pastina for breakfast many times, usually at my grandmother’s house after a sleepover. My mother’s mother was second-generation Italian; her parents had come to New York with the wave of Italian immigrants in the early 1900s. My mother was born in the Bronx and lived in a true Italian neighborhood until she was 8, when my grandparents moved to northern New Jersey. The Italian influence was pretty heavy on that side of my family, although my mother was fully Americanized. Her brother, who was 16 when they made the move, stayed more Italian. He married a second-generation Italian woman who tried hard to keep the family as Italian as possible throughout the subsequent years.

I’m the product of a third generation Italian mother and second generation German father. I don’t consider myself either nationality; I’m American — whatever that really means.

Back to Pastina. When my grandparents made Pastina, they didn’t follow package directions, which called for the usual boiling and straining of the pasta. Instead, they used far less water and let the tiny pasta soak it all up in cooking. Then, before cooking was done, they dropped a raw egg into the pot and stirred the mixture until the egg was cooked. They served it in bowls with butter. I’m not sure if this is how everyone served Pastina to kids, but it’s the way we had it.

My grandparents are gone now, so I couldn’t call them for a recipe. Instead, I sort of winged it. What I came up with works and is very tasty. Here’s the recipe/instructions for one serving:

Ingredients:

  • 1/3 cup Pastina
  • 2/3 cup water
  • 1 Tbsp butter
  • 1 egg
  • salt and pepper to taste

Cooking Instructions:

  1. Combine Pastina and water in a large, deep bowl.
  2. Cook on high in microwave for 2 minutes.
  3. Stir, add butter.
  4. Return to microwave and cook on high 1 minute.
  5. Stir, break egg into mixture and stir again to scramble and mix it in.
  6. Return to microwave and cook on high 1 minute.
  7. Stir one more time.
  8. Return to microwave and cook on high 1 more minute.
  9. Add salt and pepper to taste and serve.

Please keep in mind that my microwave is 21 years old. I think it’s only 700 watts. So you might have to adjust the cooking times shown here.

After about 3 minutes of cooking, the Pastina should have soaked up most of the water and be tender. (Remember, this pasta is really tiny.) The last two minutes are primarily to cook the egg.

I really like this — it’s true comfort food. If you give it a try or have had it in the past, please share your comments about it here. Use the Comments link or form for this post. I’d love to hear from you — especially if you grew up in an Italian household and enjoyed this for breakfast, as I did.

Care Packages

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I send out my first two care packages.

Those of you who follow this blog may have read my most recent “Support Our Troops” post. It starts off with a rant about people who think they’re supporting the troops by taking a minute to send a free card to a random soldier, then provides information on how you can send members of our armed forces things they can really use.

At the time, I vowed to send 10 care packages this month. Today I sent my first two.

I used the lists from the first two AnySoldier.com representatives to buy the items to send. I went to two stores and spent about $100 on everything from lip balm to bed sheets.

Then I made my famous oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. I packed two saved take-out packages — the kind my husband is always telling me not to save — with cookies.

I was delayed in putting it all together by my trip to Las Vegas, which was extended due to mechanical problems.

Yesterday, I was caught up in work — imagine that! Today, I had some spare time and finally put the first two packages together.

The first, to an army guy in Iraq, was mostly foodstuff, although he did get a set of twin sheets. The Priority Mail flat rate box weighted in at just over 7 lbs. The second, to a navy gal in the Gulf, was a combination of stationery items and personal hygiene items. That flat rate box weighed in at just under 7 lbs. (Cotton balls don’t weigh much.) Each box cost $8.95 to ship because of the flat rate priority mail to a U.S. (FPO and APO) address. I don’t think that was a bad deal. I just hope their contents reach the addressees before Christmas.

I printed postage and customs forms on the USPS Web site. It took me about 20 minutes for the first form and only 5 for the second. (I summarized box contents.) Then it took another 20 minutes at the post office.

I’ve decided that I’m going to ship the remaining 8 boxes at once to make better use of my time.

Now I have to collect lists and addresses. I can only get two addresses a day, so I’ll be literally collecting them.

A reminder to people who don’t want to wade through my lengthy post about this: AnySoldier.com makes it possible to send deployed troops the items they really need in care packages. Won’t you make a difference in a soldier’s life this holiday season? Visit AnySoldier.com, click the Where to Send link, and read the story of one of the service members. Buy a few things on his or her wish list and send it. Sure, it’ll take a few minutes of your time and a few dollars of your money, but it’s the best way I can think of to support our troops.

I look forward to the day when these young people can come home.

Happy Thanksgiving

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A message from the right coast.

I’m in the New York area, celebrating Thanksgiving with family, so I won’t be blogging today. But I do want to take a moment to remind everyone why we’re eating turkey today: to give thanks.

Take a moment today and consider what you have to give thanks for. Whether it’s family or a good meal or a roof over your head or even something as simple as your health, be thankful for what you’ve got. And take a moment to consider those who aren’t quite as fortunate.

And, as always, my very best wishes to our men and women overseas. More than ever, I’m hoping for their speedy and safe return to their homes and loved ones.

Happy Thanksgiving!