Good Morning!

Lol, now get out there and get to work!

Did I Mention It's Cold Here?

This Is What I Do Now

A long while back I wrote about what I do.  Only I don't do that anymore.
And then I wrote about feeling spikey.  Only I never told you what I was doing that got me into feeling spikey.

Remember how I said I was more-than-half-convinced that the imaginary posts in my head had already been written?  Yeah.  Totally embarrassing.  I'm just cruising through my old posts, doot de doo, and it suddenly hits me...aw man, I never explained the backstory on that one.  Dang it. I seriously thought I had.  Sorry!

So anywho, here's what I used to do:

The Last of Them

Bittersweet.

The wonderful news (if you haven't heard already) is that I have been reassigned to the Clinic helicopter base near the house.  I will be home every night, which has been a goal of ours from the beginning.  We are committing to this city and looking to buy a house, which means I finally feel like the effort of putting down roots will not be wasted.

The sad news is that this means I only have a handful of flights left to savor this enormity of beauty.

Remain Overnight

Remain OverNight.  R O N.

Can you guess what that means?

Yes, it means that I am the privileged new occupant of...

 ...the field superintendent's room on this platform.  It's the best room in the house, folks, with real wooden furniture, brass finishings, and my own personal bathroom.

It's freezing in here, too (which is a sure sign that it's the best, because only the bigwigs are certain not to sweat at night).

 For me, though, that means I'm doubling both blankets and both towels across my freezing feet, and I'm holding my laptop's charger to warm my frozen fingers.

And I will be sleeping in my jacket.  It's a good thing my hair is so long...other than my nose, my head is pretty warm.

Everyone here has been very nice and very sympathetic (of all days for my ridiculous helicopter to act up, it had to be at the very end of the day the wind was at gale force and the next 36 hours are forecast to be absolute crud - I won't likely be going anywhere for awhile).  And my gentlemanly hosts were very apologetic about my room's desk:

Apparently boys will be boys, even fully grown oil field superintendents*.

*Of course, it probably wasn't a superintendent who did this, and it could have been an accident, for all i know...but I'll admit, I busted out incredulous laughter when I saw it.  What on earth were they doing???

The Real Issue

Have you ever read C. S. Lewis's Till We Have Faces?  I remember Dad reading it to us when we were younger, and it was universally lampooned by the children in the family (us) as being nonsense and depressing.  I read it again in high school...and what do you know, books do get better with age.  There's a bit right at the end where the main character is brought before the gods for her trial (this is based on the myth of Cupid and Psyche, by the way, with the main character being Psyche's ugly big sister, Orual).  She is bewildered to find that it is not herself being tried...instead, she is asked to bring her accusations before the court.  A scroll is handed to her that she protests she did not write, but she is commanded to read it out loud anyway.  And as she reads, she recognizes that, though she may not have written the scroll, the feelings and the accusations are her own.  She accuses the gods of stealing her sister, blasting her own face, cursing her for no reason, taking from her all of her joy, deceiving her, mocking her, and on and on until the voice tells her to stop reading.  At this point, Orual realizes that she has been screeching the words on the scroll and that she has already read it through several times, as if on repeat.  She has finally heard her own true voice, without justification, without virtue, without any redeeming quality screaming about its rights and how it has been wronged.  She finally sees how bad it really is.

As the sun went down this evening, I heard that voice myself.

Go tell the dispatchers!  Tell them to just give you all the flights tomorrow, or at least to skip Mr. Comparaholic a few times in the rotation!

My teammate had been at his tricks again this evening, this time claiming outright that he "always" flies more than I do, that he does "most of the work around here."  My right to the reputation of being The Hardest Worker was threatened.  I wanted to get even.

At least go let them know that he's thinking that way, that there may be trouble.  Go tell them, tell them now!

By the time I was finished rinsing my engine, I felt like I'd responded to every argument and ploy my childish inner voice kept screaming at me, but it was like it was on repeat.  It sounded panicked and wouldn't shut up.

You have to fly more, at least for tomorrow!  Hurry and talk to them, convince them!

My only relief was when I physically looked up and mentally focused on remembering.  Emily Freeman says the biggest trouble good girls face is forgetfulness...they forget who they are, they forget where their strength really lies, they forget the invitation to trust and the promise of rest.  They try to fix it themselves because they forget that that isn't their job.  So I focused on remembering...
My worth doesn't come from my reputation.  I don't have to be the Hardest Worker because that isn't what makes me valuable anyway.  I need comfort, comfort comes from the Father, the Father hasn't left me--
...and that seamlessly flows into prayer.  The prayer ends when I get distracted, the Voice comes back, hurry up and talk to the dispatchers before they leave!, which leads back into the cycle again.

The Good News really is good.  There really is freedom in the here and now.  It is possible to be free of this Voice that hounds me, demanding that I be perfect, demanding that I demand my right to look perfect, even if I can't be perfect.  It's kind of a messy process, eh?  Messy.  Annoying.  Can this really be the work of God?  I think it is.  Maybe it isn't traveling to Africa or saving exploited women and children...it isn't even raising a child of my own or building a stronger marriage this time...it's just me.  Just me learning to trust God to be my God so that I don't have to try to be my own little god anymore.  That's the real issue.  For now.

This Is What I Do

 For those who have wondered,

 this is what I do.

 I fly (commercial big fixed-wing) down to New Orleans, and then I drive to the Louisiana coast. From there, I fly (me at the controls of a "light" helicopter),

to platforms like these:

  I drop off people and boxes of stuff and big metal objects and other things on whichever platform they tell me to go to.  


The deep-water platforms actually have BLUE water, and I sometimes get to see these:

This is the actual BLUE of the water, photo NOT doctored...this is the Gulf of Mexico...can you believe it??

Sunrise is sometimes pretty spectacular from the air.  Sometimes I remember to bring my camera and have the guy next to me snap a photo.  I digress.


There are boats in the field too, doing the same thing as me...

 ...but they can carry bigger, heavier stuff than I can.  So they get to transport giant booms, crates, and other cargo, while I zip the people and tools to wherever they need to go.  An 5 hour boat ride equals a 15 minute helicopter flight for the guys, plus, when you have to ride the boat, you also have to ride one of these:

to get off the boat.  I think they're fun, but the 56 year olds are no longer exhilarated by them. Most of the guys are thrilled when they score a helicopter ride instead of having to ride the boat.  This one is Miss Debby...see?

It totally cracks me up when I hear the boat captains (picture big, burly mens here) call up on the radio in their big, burly voices, "This is Miss Debby," or "Lady Diane here."

 Remember how I explained that I work exclusively for one company...and another company, too?

This is the other company I work for now...Energy XXI.  I have a call sign and everything.  Makes me feel cool.

This is one field platform.

I'm standing on the helideck above the living quarters...the other sections are for production, so the guys don't have to sleep right next to the compressor.

This is on the helideck, painted up in the corner. 

 It means this deck has a 16,000lb load capacity and is 60' on one side.  My helicopter is only about 5,000lb.

    This was me on my first hitch.  I was shut down on one of the smaller platforms in this field (you can tell because it's covered in bird droppings...they keep the bigger ones cleaner than this).  I'm not sure why I took this photo, but now I'm glad I have it...as a reference point.  "Week #1".
  
This is me last hitch.  I think I look no different at all one year later...what do you think?

 So that's kinda It.  I realize I haven't shown many pictures of my work, and I thought y'all might be interested in getting a little run-down.  I have a plan in the back of my head to do a series on how I got to be doing what I do...maybe...one day.  Maybe I'll do Dave's "how I got to be doing what I do" first.  How bout it, hon?

Happy

I had to change bases midway through my hitch.  I am compensated for the mileage (at gas-guzzler rates, which is way more than I actually use.  Can we say YES!!).

See?  Even my fastfood Road Food Coffee was smiling during the trip.

But it still makes me sad.  I think that, despite years of fervent belief in my preference for unattached, nomadic living, I really don't like unattached, nomadic living.

I miss my Man and our home.

I'm currently researching volunteering opportunities in Cleveland.

Where/when do y'all volunteer?

Oh a Sailor's Life...!

My first assignment this hitch:

Turtle Watch

Busy on Hitch :-)

Yes, my hearties, VIGILANCE.

This is the Key to being a Great Helicopter Pilot.

This sign greets pilot, passenger, and mechanic as he/she steps from the office area to the ramp at PHI's Galveston base, where sit the awe-inspiring aircraft we operate.