Eddie taught me that it doesn't take a lot to be happy, even though you land a little left of centerline.
I have a box in my garage filled with odds and ends collected over a lifetime of flying, a collection so bold as to humble any hoarder. There are yellowed handout sheets my first instructor gave me to learn the components of the traffic pattern, books that surely just missed Oprah's book club ("Best Flying Vacations in Nova Scotia"), and of course, my very first little red jug, which met an untimely death after the cockpit heater burned a hole in it and caused a nasty, nasty mess. Everything that's ever meant anything to me and aviation is mired in that messy box.
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