I PASSED!!!

I'm now the proud owner of a mechanic certificate, complete with Airframe rating!!! Thanks to everyone who prayed for me over the course of these past couple weeks.

My Trial

My Airframe practicals begin again tomorrow morning at 9am. Last weekend wasn't too bad at all, and I have a very good chance of completely finishing up and getting my mechanic certificate (well, the temporary one, anyhow) by close-of-business tomorrow. I don't know quite how to explain how I'm feeling right now, except maybe to say that I feel caught between two realities. In one reality, the practicals are small potatoes, hardly worth even thinking about because they're just another step in the path on which God has placed me. They're an unfortunate way to have to spend an entire Saturday, but little more than that. In the other reality, the practicals are the hinge point around which the rest of my future rotates. So much is riding on the outcome of those tests, that I'd be a fool NOT to be nervous. And so I sit in the gap between these two realities, relentlessly buffeted by currents from both, but unable to completely pull myself into either.

If anyone wanted to pray for me tomorrow, I wouldn't object.

Well, they're clearly not THAT fast. I drive a Buick, for Pete's sake!

Some time ago, Jen and I were told about a snake that lives here in the desert, called a red racer. It's supposed to be a pretty shade of red/pink, and very quick (hence "red racer" instead of, say, "red creeper"). I saw one once, very briefly in our back yard. It was sunning itself on some rocks on the far corner of our back porch, and I startled it when I opened the back door. By the time I realized I was looking at a red racer, it was already long gone.

Today, as I was driving home after sitting in class for one measly hour, I got to see one for real. I was on Lee Station Road, driving through the pasture that the cows are currently in, so I was taking it nice and slow (the calves think they're dogs and insist on running into the road and chasing our car when we drive by). Suddenly, I noticed something long and reddish draped across the right half of the road. "Huh," I thought to myself. "What on earth is that? Wait a second. Could that be a-" By this point in my mental monologue, I had to look in the rearview mirror to confirm or deny my suspicion, since I'd just run over the mysterious length of pink something. The rearview revealed that the victim of my hit-and-run was now coiled up instead of all stretched out. Typically, old lengths of hose don't coil on impact, so I figured I'd probably just had my first real encounter with a red racer. Being the type who likes to poke dead things with a stick, I threw the car in reverse, got up close to the roseate bundle, and got out for a closer look. For just a moment, I was sure I'd killed this beautiful reptile. But then his black tongue flicked out for a sniff of me. Assuming I'd merely wounded the racer, I wandered off to the side of the road for a stick with which to examine him more closely. In the time it took me to bend over, pick up a stick, and turn around, the racer had recovered from his tire-massage and was beating a hasty retreat off the other side of the road. Naturally, I followed him til he started making his way under a little desert scrub plant. Then I reached down and stroked the end of his tail. Apparently he prefers being rubbed by car tires, because he picked up his pace considerably and got the rest of the way under the plant, post-haste. My only regret in the whole episode is that Jen couldn't be with me to see it for herself. At least my sexy new cell phone has a decent camera.

PS- I'm not sure why, but Blogger has decided to make it impossible to enlarge my posted photos by clicking on them. If you want a larger view of the snake and you happen to be my friend on Facebook, look for the photo there. It will actually let you enlarge it. Stupid Blogger.

The Deeply Unfortunate Return of "Angry Josh"

Where on God's green earth have all the Christian guys in the 25-35 demographic gone? Thanks to Facebook, I recently re-befriended a guy who was instrumental in my coming to faith in Christ Jesus. I've had a couple really great online conversations with this guy, and I can't help but look at our reacquaintance as a gift from God. But, at the same time, it's given me a much better appreciation for what I DON'T have, and haven't had for a very long time. Apart from my conversations with Facebook guy, I haven't had a truly good talk with another Christ-following guy my age in so long a time, I can't remember the last one. Certainly, I've interacted with other Christian guys in the not-so-distant past, but a conversation that actually means something with a guy who shares the frame of reference of my demographic, has become a sort of unicorn in my life: I'm always trying to catch one, but I don't even really know where to start looking anymore. I have no Christian peers here. When I go to church, I'm surrounded by Christians, some younger than me, some older, but there is a noticeable hole in the age range, and I'm smack in the middle of it. As far as I know, I am the only Christian guy, of ANY age, in the entirety of the Cochise College aviation program, so no schoolyard chums are going to meet that need in my life. So where the heck else do you look for a "bosom friend" (huh, I guess I DID get something out of watching Anne of Green Gables with Jen)? I know I've bemoaned this particular disappointment in my life before, probably often, but it's an unmet need that continues to cause an ache right in the center of me.

Along those lines, I have another question for the Christ-ones who occasionally pop by: Do you ever get tired, spiritually? I was outside a little while ago, still working on ripping out that shrub. I spent a couple hours on it, made good progress, but just got to a point where my weary body was done. My motivation dribbled out of me like the lifeblood from a gutshot bandito, and I found myself just sitting in the dirt with no more will to labor. Then I realized that's how I'm feeling spiritually lately. In my heart, I think I've been muttering, "Okay, God. I'm done. I've got nothing left. I'm tired of being 'nice' to people who could really benefit from a good verbal evisceration or a solid backhand. I'm so weary of slogging my way through "the aviation maintenance program that common sense, competence, and teaching ability forgot." I'm sick of living in America's armpit, far enough away from roots that my family treats me like a casual acquaintance instead of a son and brother, and no one here knows me. I've worked hard enough for one lifetime; I've jumped through all the hoops you've put in front of me. Just give me a bloody rest already." Does anyone else ever get to feeling like this? I'd ask some of my face-to-face Christian friends, but...

Between this and the shower lizard, I'm starting to feel like the desert Dr. Doolittle

Recently, our campus bookstore had an amazing sale on a lot of their merchandise. Most notably, they had a number of hardcover novels for less than $2 (and, in some cases, less than $1) each. I picked up two of them on a whim, thinking that even if I didn't like the books, I was only out a couple bucks for the experience (and I can always resell them for store credit at Hastings).

Last night, after we had gone to bed, I decided to try out one of the books. Maybe 30 pages into it, I decided I wasn't too crazy about the plot, so I would just skim through the rest of it and get the big picture. I tend to be a slow reader (I like to really take in the words I read), and I discovered last night that I'm also a slow skimmer. I made my "skim" decision at about 10:00. At 11:50, I was still making my way to the back cover. I generally don't stay up much past 10, but I knew I could afford to sleep in this morning, so I wasn't worried about it. Anyhow, at about 11:50, I heard a strange sound. I'd been hearing strange sounds for a while, but we sleep with a fan on, so I figured things were just moving in the breeze. The sound at 11:50 was different, though. For one, it was a continuous sound, not just a quick paper-crackle or rustle. For another, it wasn't a sound I'd heard before. Ever. It was almost like bacon frying, sort of an odd hissing-sizzle. Being the type of person who likes to know what's making the freaky noise in his bedroom in the middle of the night, I tried to pinpoint the sound and determined it was coming from a cardboard box about 3 feet away from my side of the bed. Well, it turns out that odd hissing-sizzle is what it sounds like when a four-inch centipede crawls around on cardboard.

I need to make absolutely clear, here and now, that I hate centipedes. Most of the other desert oddities we deal with don't bother me too badly, not even the rattlesnakes, but centipedes just freak me the crap out. So it was that as I tried to figure out the most expeditious way to dispatch the multi-appendaged wickedness, my muttered cursing woke Jen up. Jen's not such a big fan of centipedes, either, and I imagine waking up and being told there's a centipede in the room is probably an emotionally strenuous scenario, but she handled it like a pro. We both got up and watched the despised intruder for a few moments, then I grabbed an old sneaker and my hunting knife (surely, you remember my hunting knife from some of the photos Jen posted when we first moved to the ranch. It's very good for making bugs wish they'd stayed outside... and then dying.). The only other time I've had to deal with a centipede was when I found that five-inch charmer in our shower, and neither a shoe nor my knife was terribly effective against it (they're really the only bug-killing weapons I have, though; the .38 leaves holes in the floor). Fact of the matter is, centipedes dislike dying more than just about any other insect I've ever met. Tarantulas even go down easier than centipedes. MUCH easier. ("But tarantulas aren't insects; they're arachnids." Yes, thank you, Adam Veihl.)

Thus armed, I waited for the centipede to move to a spot where I'd have a clear shot at him with the sneaker. By now, he'd crawled off the box and, as we watched in growing alarm, he made his way under my dresser. We debated for a bit whether or not to move the dresser and go after him, but he resolved the matter by coming back out and heading across the floor. Bingo! I brought the sneaker down hard enough that my arm hurt afterwards, right on the front half of him. The impact was enough to kill that end of him, but not enough to even splatter his guts. For all intents and purposes, the centipede was still intact, though, mercifully, dead. Or so I thought. I'm no entymologist (again, that's Adam's field), but it seemed like after the front half of our intruder was dead, the back half took over. What I mean is, I poked at the front half of the centipede with my knife, and nothing happened. I poked at the back half, and it went crazy. Its back feelers started swinging around like the front feelers had done, and it was trying in vain to crawl away, backwards, as though the butt had become the head. Thankfully, the front end was completely stationary, so it wasn't going anywhere, but it was certainly animated. I put the tip of my knife through its butt, and then sliced down, trying to kill whatever was still driving it, but to no avail. It was still kicking, and it was angry. So what on earth do you do with a semi-undead centipede who has become impervious to stabbing and chopping? Glad you asked. Helpful soul that I am, I assisted my friend into his brand new Ziploc suit, and then I assisted him into the freezer.

Josh LaBo desert survival tip: When dealing with stubborn, hard-to-kill household pests, never underestimate the effectiveness of simple home cryogenics. It's the no-fuss, no-messy-gut-clean-up way to dispatch even the most diehard creature.

I checked on the centipede this morning, and I'm very happy to say the matter has been firmly dealt with. What's kind of cool is that, since he froze with his legs sort of sticking out, you can clearly see the spines on the end of each leg. I'm eager for Jen to get home so I can show them to her. Bugs are much less terrifying and much more interesting, when you can be sure they're dead. I took a few pictures of the bug in his gallon-size coffin, just before I put him in the freezer last night. I'm willing to bet they'll be showing up on Jen's blog before too long, so keep an eye out, if you really want to have a look at this most nasty and despicable of all God's creations. The part of this whole episode that impressed Jen the most last night, was that I was awake at 11:50 to find the horrible thing. As I said earlier, it's ENORMOUSLY rare for me to be awake much after 10, so we have to assume my book-skimming was really God watching out for us.

The Things You Find in the Shower

A couple weekends ago, I spent some time outside doing yard work (I'm working on digging up an ugly old shrub; no mean feat when the ground hasn't seen a drop of rain in a few months).

When I came in for the day, I was covered in dirt, so I turned on the shower, got the water just right, got out of my clothes, and just as I was about to step in, I noticed something...

Apparently, lizards get to feeling grimy sometimes, too. After waiting for Jen to take several photos of our unexpected guest, I struggled back into my work clothes, caught the little freeloader, and turned him loose outside.

If he looks a little traumatized in this picture, you'll have to excuse him. He did, after all, see me in the buff.

State of the Union

I guess it's right about time for me to post again. My wife was... kind (I guess) enough to point out to me that I have to post more, because I used to be funny. No pressure, right? On the other hand, by this point I'm sure no one even bothers to check this blog for updates anymore, so no one will notice if I fail at being funny in this particular post. Because, I have to admit, I can't do funny on demand. Come to think of it, I'm not particularly good at doing ANYTHING on demand. How disappointing for Jenny. :(

I miss flying. (See? That wasn't funny AT ALL.) I know I took that ride in the Super Cub out at NTMA a week or two ago, but other than that I haven't flown since January 15. That's a LONG time to go without doing the only thing that makes me even remotely cool (and even then, I'm working from a HUGE deficit). And I'm not sure when I'll get another chance to get back up in the air. I'm supposed to be doing some review work on my instrument rating, but with practicals still looming in the unknown distance, I feel like I really need to focus my mental energies on that. Plus, it's been extremely windy here in southeast AZ for the last couple months (ah, spring in Douglas), which isn't conducive to flying Spam cans (as one of my classmates calls the type of planes I usually fly). I will say, though, that I'm giving serious consideration to the idea of pulling some money out of my flight account in June, and renting a plane while we're in Michigan. The plane that I used to train in in Saginaw, is the same model (and even the same year, I think) as the smaller planes I fly out here at Cochise. I've got over 100 hours logged in that type of plane, so it shouldn't take any effort at all to get checked out in the one in Saginaw, if I decide to go that route. (Hint: this is the time to start begging for plane rides for you and your kids [if you have kids] if anyone is actually reading this post which, again, seems terribly unlikely). It would be bloody fantastic to FINALLY take my wife for a plane ride (no, she STILL hasn't been up with me). We'll have to think and pray about this one some more.

I've also had something else floating around in my mind lately. I'm not sure what to make of it yet, though.

On the AMT front, I'm STILL waiting to do my practicals. The good news is that there are only 3 of us left who haven't done them, and the examiner did two students at the same time this past weekend, so my turn is definitely coming. I'm going to guess that, if I pass, I will be a certificated (not "certified"; the FAA likes "certificated". They also say "practicable" instead of "practical", as in, "The pilot in command will land as soon as practicable." Weird, I know. Oop, I'm off on a rabbit trail!) mechanic with Airframe rating, by the end of April. In the meantime, we've started Powerplant. In fact, today marks the start of week 2 of Powerplant. I'm enjoying it quite a bit so far, but there's so little new information to occupy us for the next 3 months, that our days are a little... short. We're supposed to be in class 7:30 til 3:00 Monday through Thursday, but even with the thirty-minute morning break and the (roughly) half-hour we waste chatting at the start of class each day, we're still out for the day by 11:00. That's nice, because it lets me eat lunch with Jen. But it also sucks, because then I either sit around campus until 5:00, or I go home and have to come back at five to pick Jen up from work. Sometimes being a one-car family is just a little bit lame. There are worse things, though, I suppose. At least I've got my Pokerman (no, you're not supposed to get this joke; it's for my wife's enjoyment only. And no, it's not dirty. Shame on you for even thinking that!).

So that's what's new with me. I think I'll go study some more now. Nah, who am I kidding? I've only got about 40 minutes until I have to go get Jen. That's hardly enough time to study.