Huh?  I knew the day was coming, I just never thought it would come and go so quickly.  Yes, Gentle Reader, I turned 65 and had to leave the best job anyone could ever want to have.  On October 31, 2018 I flew 300 folks on a Boeing 777LR, Delta Air Lines Flight 546, from Atlanta to Los Angeles.  For. The.  Last. Time.

As terrestrial creatures, it is unnatural to spend more than a few moments separated from our planet.  I suppose that is why so many people find flying so interesting.  Like riding in a submarine a thousand feet below the surface of the ocean, we’re really not supposed to be here.  I mean, down there.  Er, up there.

The Pacific is a big ocean. (I know, Duh.) When I cross it, I fly for hours at 500 MPH and see nothing. And I mean: nothing.  If you think I mean nothing except for ships, you would be wrong. I am constantly looking for ships and such and on the rare occasion that I do spot one, invariably, my response is something like: Look there’s a ship! What’s it doing way out here?

It was just a normal rotation (the term we use for a series of scheduled flights) from Los Angeles to the Far East and back. I would be away from home for 11 days. Very routine in every respect. Except that once we were underway, it became difficult to ignore significant moments.