James Fallows is both a reporter and pilot and you’ll often get a cockpit’s-eye view of the world from him.

One of the first things they teach you about flying in DC, he writes, is how absolute the rules are on restricted flight space there.

Last Wednesday a plane took off from DC National Airport (now called Reagan.) It flew straight.

There is only one take-off runway and every plane on it must immediately turn left over the Potomac River.

It did not.

Its flight path was about to take it directly over the White House.

The air traffic controllers reminded the pilot to make that turn. Still no turn.

Finally, they commanded the pilot to call a number upon landing. Fallows says no pilot ever wants to hear that command. He doesn’t say outright that their license is forfeit but it’s certainly an implied possibility, along with I’d guess potential criminal charges.

To my knowledge, this is the first time that airspace has been breached by an unauthorized plane since 9/11. This happened last Wednesday. The name of the plane was the Eastern Express.

It was the chartered campaign plane of one Donald Trump, with JD Vance listed as passenger.

One can only wildly guess at what was going on: was Vance trying to say this will all be mine soon? Was the pilot a MAGA who’d fallen for the rules don’t apply to us mentality of his boss? Was the pilot out to lunch?

But you just can’t be, and certainly not there.

By the time Flight 93 crashed in Pennsylvania on 9/11 there were fighter jets scrambled to take it down rather than let it continue its course to crash in DC now that we knew that day what those planes were doing.

And a week before that anniversary Trump’s plane threw away the rules and invited that kind of response. Why? Just, unfathomably, why? What message were they sending?

Springfield, Ohio is being destroyed because Haitian immigrants are pouring in and they’re, like, they’re eating everybody’s cats and dogs. They’re eating them! He had to say it twice because repetition makes the lie true.

It does, right?

And then in his closing statement he claimed our military is destroyed because Harris had given all our weaponry to Afghanistan.

What the what now?

He seemed to think she was already President. At other times, he had to be reminded that Biden was not the candidate.

Twice, the moderator asked him point-blank if he had any regrets about January 6. Twice, he turned it into a snarl of self-pity and self-justification–and he claimed nobody had died.

And then blamed “their side” for the death of the “beautiful woman” repeatedly warned and then shot while climbing through the window towards the terrified Congresspeople in the chamber caught on the other side with a mob trying to beat the doors in.

Meantime, Harris had the perfect “Please continue” face. Re Jan. 6th, she reminded him that she. was. there.

She didn’t have to say any more than that.

She told what she was offering the American people in terms of policies and plans, to expand the caps on drug prices to more meds–the concession Biden had had to make on Medicare negotiating drug prices having been that they would start off with only so many being regulated in the first year and the second and the third, etc. Child tax credits. First-timer housing support. (Let me raise my hand here and say thank you USA for the FHA loan on our first that got us in.) Small business support. The return of manufacturing these past three+ years, and the jobs that came with. A tax plan that builds the middle class back up again (and one quite a bit less liberal re soaking the richest than Biden’s.) And, always, the right of a woman to make her own medical decisions, while citing cases of women miscarrying and bleeding in hospital parking lots after being refused care for fear of jail time on the part of providers.

And that’s not left-wing talking points–that has happened. Including sepsis from that lack of care.

Mean, angry, self-centered, chaotic, and, frankly, nuts, vs calm, knowledgeable, competent and caring about others and the future we offer our children with our votes.

It’s just really not a hard choice. Let’s do this.

They left for their 7:00 a.m. flight and we woke up to a house that felt far too quiet.

Walked in the laundry room and eyed the distilled water bottle next to the iron: Wait. That one was new, right? I hadn’t opened it yet. Why then…?

…!!!

And so life with its wry sense of humor handed me back one of those blankets nice and wet again along with just a few other things in reach of that water. No mildew yet, not this time. After all, I needed that extra laundry to distract me from missing them so much, right?

Our guests were back here in time for dinner. They’re leaving around 5 a.m. for their cross-country flight home and I will miss them so much.

Heading out, the burning question is, will those Reine Claude Green Gage plums from Andy’s grow in Maine?

I told her Trees of Antiquity not only sells them but considers that variety the best tasting stone fruit they have. They’d be a good one to ask–and I reminded her that our Sam grew a Meyer lemon in Vermont because she wanted to enough. Go for it.

Her glasses are bright pink with sparkles and they fit her gregariousness perfectly. You would want to be her patient. She’s a nurse.

The lace cowls: I had handspun lime-ish green silk with sparkles. I had a solid vivid red silk from a tubular yarn. I had handpainted merino in a heathery bright turquoise, the yarn bought from Serendipidye at Kings Mountain Art Fair last year.

I lined them up flat in a ziplock and pulled it out of my purse today and asked her to pick one.

She loved them all, she assured me, but that red! Definitely the red.

I quietly remembered knitting it a few months ago thinking, someone out there is going to love this color so much and I have to knit it right now and not put off weaving in the ends. It has to be ready for them.

I had not at that point actually met her yet.

Today it was the most perfect thing.

So is she.

My friend who took me to Kings Mountain? I took her to Andy’s Orchard today. It was only fair.

Meantime, how is it that never in my life did anyone tell me that young zebras are brown with black stripes? This picture a few days ago made me do a double take and eventually sent me looking for more.

There’s an extinct type called a quagga that, after sequencing its DNA from a museum specimen and finding out how closely related it was to a particular subgroup, researchers are trying to bring back through breeding and luck. They’ve got a small herd going that looks pretty close.

The stripes cool the animal against the heat. Quaggas were the southernmost type, living in cooler temps. They protect against biting flies. There were fewer of those flies there. And thus of stripes.

People were still talking in the 1800s about trying to domesticate that most gentle of zebras when they found out they couldn’t. They wouldn’t breed in zoos. They’d been hunted by colonizers. Animals that are less afraid are easier to catch.

There weren’t any left.

And now, or close to it at least, there are beginning to be some again.

On a side note, I kept trying to figure out why the name made me think of clams. The answer is, there’s a Ukrainian quagga mussel whose fading stripes are such that it was actually named after that zebra.

How on earth did I ever hear of a type of mussel in a river in Ukraine. Oh. That’s the invasive one they’re fighting in the Great Lakes.

Rabbit hole, I tell you. But fun to learn a little bit more about the world.

So much laughing. Such a good time.

It was the daughter of my high school best friend and the daughter’s husband, doing a long driving trip of a lifetime to see sights never seen before, with our house as a crash landing spot mid-California.

Amy and I each took a turn at generational double taking: she said they were going next to see her aunt, her father’s sister.

I started to say, I didn’t know he had a sister–and stopped and realized I meant her mother’s father, and of course she meant her dad and he did and silly me.

Just before they left this morning, I told her she reminded me of her grandmother: she was a sweetheart.

There was this flicker of confusion and she was trying to figure out what I meant. The only grandmother she ever knew was a step; her grandfather had been widowed around the time she’d been born and had remarried to someone who’d never had children, to whom Amy had been her only grandchild.

Your mom’s mom, I said gently. The one you never knew. I did.

She took a deep breath inhaling the essence of that thought and held me in a long, long hug.

I know what it’s like to grow up missing a grandfather lost to an early death. I know that wondering and I feel that strong wistfulness.

At long last, at least for her, I knew I could do something about it. The connection is real.

I sent them off with Andy’s peaches to share with her aunt and they will be back here Sunday before turning in the rental and flying home across the country. I cannot wait to see them again.

You know house guests are coming when you finally, finally head to Home Despot to get a new toilet seat via prepay and pick up.

My phone is old and the battery’s on its way out. I know that other people just wave their magic wands, but…

The clerk at Pickup looked about 20.

I’m old, I told her with a grin as I handed her the paper, I printed it out.

She laughed.

And the car? The mechanic got me in at 10:00, checked the code, reset it, and sent me on my way no charge after saying that the check engine light on the Prius is an emissions monitor only: if it comes on and stays on, keep driving. (I’d already told him I’d unscrewed the gas cap, screwed it back on, and clicked it three times like Dorothy’s ruby red slippers so he knew he didn’t have to tell me that part. Thank you to DebbieR’s husband for what to try.)

If it comes on and flickers, he said, get the car in here.

And that is why we’re now the proud owners of a new slow-close no-slam no-slip etc etc. Are we excited yet.

Tomorrow, though, for that I can’t wait!

This is a long shot, I wrote to the church’s chat list, but my check engine light… If anyone happens to want to go to the Kings Mountain Art Fair on Monday…

And that is how I ended up spending the afternoon catching up with an old friend so that I could catch up with more old friends. Sometimes people just need to know what they can do that would help. She found a wedding present for her son at a neighboring booth; I found the time I had hoped for of visiting with Mel and his son Korey.

I bought some of their gorgeous work and surprised them with soft Mecha hats. Korey was amazed at how well his was going to go with his favorite sweatshirt.

As I was leaving he picked up this beautiful little bowl and said, looking me in the eyes, I made this. He wrapped it quickly in paper and added it to the bag on my arm, knowing how much I would treasure the gift.

I now have something much prettier than that old plastic case to put my hearing aids in at night.

And all of them got peaches from Andy’s, because of course.

Sabrina always, always addresses the congregation starting with an enthusiastic, Aloha!

Booger, wrote the closed caption.

And this is why I try not to randomly laugh in church at the wrong moments.

I had peaches and plans. I was going to Kings Mountain Art Fair, the one time all year I get to see my old friends. Mel had messaged me that Kris hadn’t been well enough to make the trip but their son had and they were hoping and looking forward to seeing me.

I was almost to the freeway when I saw it and pulled off the road and called Richard.

Who said the obvious: do not drive the car with the check engine light on except to come home till we can get it looked at. Yeah they just looked at it last week. Still.

(Did the mice come back to the engine compartment and do more damage. Sounds like a definite maybe.)

I thought, I’ll stop by Trader Joe’s…no don’t. Tomorrow we’ll… no you won’t. Monday we can… No you can’t. All afternoon I kept reminding myself that things were abruptly different and we weren’t going anywhere. Not unless we can rent a car on a holiday. We might try.

I moped a little while and then thought, if I can’t go then I’m at least going to get the house a little more ready for guests so I can feel good about that.

We both did. It felt good. And yeah, there’s yet another blanket from the soakstorm being washed as I type.

Great to be over the 10-day bug and the fall and mobile again.

We were going through serious peach withdrawal: it’s the last few days of August, the season is short, we knew they’d all be gone soon.

One of Andy’s employees was new (to me, at least) this year and started off seeming down. I made a point of being a friendly face. And you know what comes next. Maybe.

Only, the last two times I went in I didn’t see her and wondered if she still worked there.

Today answered that question nicely. She got two flats from the back for me, one Cal Red, one Angelus.

I waited till I was rung up and then pulled two soft Malabrigo hats out of my purse and asked her to pick a color.

Okay, this was a first for me: she laughed–I’d never heard her laugh before, she hedged on accepting one, and finally explained, I have so many hats. My mom’s a knitter!

My turn to laugh: I’m not going to compete with your mom!

I totally made her day, she totally made mine, the hats came home with me but the love they convey was completely present.

I almost typed ‘his’ all those times.

I bet she still gets that a lot.

Remember the Southwest meltdown because their software was twenty years old?

I just spent an hour fighting with a bug in Alaska Air’s system demanding a pin for a transaction that their system said didn’t require one. Was there a help desk? No. I looked at Southwest–yow! Since when do they gouge?!

I finally closed the Alaska tab, took a deep breath, started over doing exactly the same things exactly the same way and it all sailed right on through. And good thing, because my Companion Code was about to expire for the year.

And none of that matters at all: what does is what we get to do because of all that. We’ve got some celebrating to do together.

Cleaning blankets. The guest room. That antsy sense of can’t-hold-still when you’re preparing for guests.

After dinner, the puzzle: he told me too late that his puzzle enthusiast mother had always stuck to 250 pieces or fewer because otherwise they take too long.

Dang. Yes. Yes they do. I’d been too much a newbie to realize what 1000 pieces was going to be like.

That one piece of rutted driveway had been missing for a week, and the last few days we were not admitting to ourselves that we’d lost interest in finishing the darn thing given that we could never finish the darn thing.

The vacuum unearthed it near the back door this evening. Somehow it had tried to follow me out to go water the plants and been stuck in the carpet. Yay!

We got right to it and didn’t stop till it was done and it’s pretty and all those sky pieces drove me nuts and we never have to do it again.

And then since organization mode had totally taken over the day I pulled out all the small-project FOs. Hats, ends run in, those go here. Cowls, ends run in, here. Anything with the ends not run in all go in here for some day when I have a strong need to Finish All The Things.

Then there was the one I labeled Favorites. The scarf I made for his mother’s funeral. The silk one, just because. The red cashmere one I wear with a particular Ukrainian blouse that I love but whose neckline I do not. Easy fix. Plus one that’s going to a particular recipient and the Favorites label fits her (also because there’s no more room in the ends-already-run-in bag.)

It’s okay to keep some, he said, making sure I knew that.

Cooler weather is coming and people are going to need a little bit of human warmth. I think I’m ready.

Today went far better than I had any reason to expect. Yay icepacks and prayers.

Or, as they teach us at church, do like it’s all up to you, because it is, and pray like it’s all up to God, because it is.

Meantime, I finally allowed myself to realize something today as I spread blanket after blanket out for their turns in the sun–some of which were salvageable, some of which were not.

Which is that I finally had a good reason to toss the ones that I’d never liked much anyway.

Meantime, there was a wool kingsize blanket in a dusty light lavender. After hot water and full agitation (deliberately–I figured it was a lost cause, but it cleaned surprisingly well) it is now a throw with ruffly edges. It would make a great boiled-wool something: a jacket? Maybe vest as you cut around that center part where the folded edge had been affected? Maybe a dog or cat bed for Pets In Need.

Maybe placemats. They’d be pretty water resistant, now. And they’d go with my Mel and Krises.