Have some extra time on my hands so I will share a small story with you.
I was trying to save my planes in Palmer a a few days ago. As the snow was slowly ex-foliating my every thing that was exposed I thought to myself, self, why is it that I don't have any money, a hanger, a new car, etc. About that time I lost my footing and fell square on my ass. You know the type of falling on your ass that knocks the wind out of you? Since it was blowing about a zillion miles an hour outside, I started sliding on my ass. I slid out of the yard across a tie down, past my tank full of av-gas, though the dead grass, across the ice, under the fuel truck guarding my airplane and stopped against my ski, next to my beloved airplane. My gloves were gone on their way to Birchwood, who the hell knows what happened to my hat, the seat of my carharts were damn near on fire and I was mad. Then it struck me. The shovel I was using followed me to rub it in. It struck me. This is when I had one of those epitome things. If I didn't have winged toys I would probably have more money, time, kids that liked to play with daddy. I know I would have less hassle trying to relearn how to breath with that shovel damn near stuck through my ribs. But, what the hell, I thought as I was trying peel myself off my ski, with my zipper stuck on the end of the spring that holds the ski toe up. If it wasn't this it probably would have been power boating or country western singing. Some thing else I would have been equally bad at (except Faith Hill should have been mine. She is a stone cold fox), so I just got up, shook off the pain, and the grass, looked at my airplane then fell on my ass again. O.k. so this time I got up on all fours, thanked my airplane for stopping me before I did damage to the guys airplane 30 feet down and clawed my way back to my office.