Launching into a driveway...

Grandpa's bad rocket

Cael's good rocket

Marc's newest thing with the grandkids is rocket launching. He likes watching their reactions when the rockets take off, fly high into the sky and then float down again with the parachute fully deployed.
The only problem is the rockets — depending on the weather, the wind, the craftsmanship and the battery power — are unpredictable.
You never know for sure if, at the end of an enthusiastic countdown, the rocket will sputter and shoot off or if it'll just sit there, disappointing the crowd and the builder.
My brothers launched rockets when they were younger and my oldest son today puts on little shows for elementary school classes.
I remember my dad trying to help insure a successful blast-off by wiring the rocket to the car battery.
We had rockets that took off into outer space never to be seen again.
We also had a box full of pieces left after the rocket blew up or simply came apart for no apparent reason.
So when we took 5-year-old Cael to the park for a rocket launching we knew it was a gamble.
We had just spent part of a day in northern Utah where we had two brilliant launches and two complete duds for unimpressed grandchildren.
This was a chance to figure out what went wrong.
We headed to the park by a nearby elementary school. The sun was out. The winds were calm.
We handed Cael a green and yellow rocket and showed him how to press the ignition button on grandpa's command.
We taught him the countdown procedure. 10-9-8... and we were a "Go!"
The rocket took to the sky and looped over a little to the west. The parachute deployed and Cael and Marc ran over to catch it.
Success. Easy Peasy.
But the next try didn't go as well. The pretty little red and yellow rocket refused to lift off.
Marc tried new igniters. He adjusted the launchpad and wiring. He cussed.
Cael got restless and started looking over at the playground equipment nearby.
Then Marc decided to try a fresh battery and that worked!
The rocket flared and flew way up high, so high it couldn't be seen for a few minutes. Then it came down, fast and straight with no parachute out and no way to stop it.
It appeared to head into the nearby yard so we trooped over to find it.
We peered through the holes in the fence and into the trees.
We couldn't see it.
We walked around to the street and the house's front yard. I wrote a note explaining our plight and Marc stuck it in the door.
Then I saw a few pieces of red rocket on the side driveway.
It had a broken nosecone and part of the body blown out. (Apparently the engine was too big or Marc had forgotten to pack in the wadding. He swears he remembered.)
Back at the launch site we discovered a hole burnt into the metal launch plate. Wow.
Marc and I discovered a new appreciation for science and its rules.
Cael decided it's important to back the "good" rocket!

A fit bit fit...

British Airways has earned back my respect, though it took a while.
We were on our way back from Spain when we ran into trouble.
We were in a long, long line waiting to check in on Iberian Airlines (one of their partners).
A harried-looking man was working the line and didn't seem to be having a good day.
By the time we got to him, his patience was gone.
He looked at us, at our tickets and waved us away.
"You need to go to British Airways," he said and shut down his desk.
We trudged about 10 feet over and go into another long line.
It was getting late for us as our connection flight was going to board in about 15 minutes.
We got to the front of the line again.
There was the same unhappy man.
He glanced at the same tickets we'd shown him earlier.
He looked at me and my luggage.
I had a cute little red suitcase I had bought just because it was small and guaranteed to fit in the overhead bins.
"You'll have to check that!" he said curtly.
I started to protest.
"Go see if it fits," he said, indicating a baggage cage a few feet further over.
I picked up my case and started to fit it in.
"No! The other way," he said.
I turned it around. Pushed it. Looked at him for mercy.
He put his hand out for my credit card and charged me 75 euro which translates to about $85 in US dollars.
I didn't have time to argue further so I let him take my little case (which had thus far made it from the United States to England and from England to Spain and back without incident).
I fumed though, especially as I watched passengers board with really big carry-ons.
I'm known for being a problem customer so when I got home, I took care to keep track of my receipt and contacted British Airways.
I explained that I felt I was treated unfairly and needed some redress if I was ever to travel on their airplanes again.
I got the boiler plate replies: "This is our policy." "We have to treat everyone the same." "We can't make an exception."
I seethed.
I wrote again and pointed out that my little bag is within the required dimensions and we were flying internationally so we had one free bag allowed.
Again, the polite "We're sorry" replies.
Finally there came one that said basically, "Fine. Send us your routing number and the name of your bank and we'll see what we can do."
Then radio silence.
I figured I had taxed the PR person's patience beyond the limit.
I kept up my campaign however, advising them that I would not travel on their airline ever again.
I could see a $25 or even a $50 fee but $85?
I didn't see why I should pay for the guy having a bad day.
Today I received an email that said they would be returning and depositing my $86.16.
Only three months and 15 emails later.
I win.
I think.

Marry in the park...

The three raccoons that tripped along the road toward us were right at home in the park where the wedding reception was.
The rest of us were somewhat uneasy being in the middle of nowhere after dark.
Marc had accepted the invitation to attend the wedding for a co-worker.
It sounded like fun at first. The ceremony was in one canyon and the reception was in another.
We like an adventure so off we went, gift in hand on a sunny afternoon.
We found the place next to a pretty little pond and took a seat.
The sun started to set as we waited for the groom to arrive.
Apparently the traffic on I-15 had slowed him down and he was a hour late by the time he showed.
(Good thing it was his wedding day and his bride-to-be didn't get upset.)
The ceremony started and it was sweet with tiny flower girls and ring bearer boys and plenty of romantic touches.
But it was nearly dark when it ended and we hadn't had dinner.
We hurried back over to a restaurant and then started to try and find the reception.
The invitation was clear: head to Exit 134 and turn left to a park in the woods.
We tried to do that but the road we took was dark and lonely.
Marc figured we had missed something so we headed back into Salt Lake.
He wondered if we had taken the wrong exit and felt bad for missing the chance to wish his friend well.
We turned around.
This time we carefully counted exits and made sure we were taking off on Exit 134.
We again found ourselves on the dark and lonely road into the forest.
We turned off into a entry point to consult our GPS.
A tiny sign bore the name of the park we wanted.
We started off down the road and turned and twisted for a while. We found a pavilion but it was not the right pavilion.
We got back in the car but not before some elderly people in the same parking area asked for our help in finding the wedding.
We wished them well and agreed to let them follow us if they wanted though we didn't know where we were going.
At the end of more unpaved, windy road, we saw lights and heard music.
We'd found it.
All was well though the trio of raccoons thought we were nuts.
I'm pretty sure I agree with them.