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TIME FOR A PASTICCIO. (I'm not particular. Call it a gallimaufry if you insist, Reader Dear, or even an olla podrida.) The fact is, I've got a little of this and small amount of that to tell you about.

Last week, here came in the mail an official visitor's guide to the state of Arizona. (That's okay, Arizona, I've been known to be tardy myself, on occasion. [er, argh, yes, okay--on too many occasions.])

On pg. 34:
"Enjoy our Native American and Western heritages under azure skies..."

There are lots of glorious photos, but I'd have to say--it all looked better in real life.
On the same day I got the guide, I took this photo of a tree right here in the east that was changing its colors under azure skies. It also looked better--gloriously better in real life!










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I harvested my pears yesterday, and recognized a whopping 300% increase over last year's crop. (Though quite a few were lost mysteriously, I'm still pleased with the four that are ripening on my kitchen counter.)



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Today my yard man and my twin and I went for a little drive to a little airport, where the two more daring of the three of us went for a ride in a little plane piloted by a seventy-seven year old man (He wasn't little). The day was a windy one and the price of the ride rather steep, just to help you further understand, Dear Reader, why I had the opportunity of bumming around the little airport lounge and finishing up yesterday's crossword puzzle [in the day-old paper I found lying there] while two more-intrepid people took an airplane ride.



I watched the little plane take off and tried to guess at exactly which split second it would be too late for me to change my mind and hop aboard,



little knowing I would soon be taking a flight of my own!
(Although, as the pilot of a WWII fighter plane, I made the decision to keep it on the ground [It seemed wise, seeing as how all potential passengers of this dual-cockpit plane were busy clambering around atop it; not to mention the fact that the sign on the side read "Prepare for Combat," an activity I distinctly wished to avoid!)















After my Amelia Earhart flight of fancy,
I got to see a lot of other small planes
(all on account of my twin being himself a plane pilot [nothing fancy about it] and therefore getting an in-depth tour of the place.




We got escorted to the hangers via golf cart (a pleasant little ride in itself) and
shown more airplane engines than I'll ever see again at one time
(only surmising here, Reader Dear!)




















I had a few other things to stow in this pasticcio, but time's getting short. It looks like I'll have to dump some baggage and take off soon.

(If you're loitering on the runway, Dear Reader,
it might behoove you to scramble off now!)




Cheerio!
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