In my last post I bitched and moaned about not getting off to see the airshow at Langley next weekend. We've been petsitting for my dad the last week, and Saturday afternoon I was out walking the dog, when I heard the unmistakable roar of piston aircraft engines, approaching fast from the southeast. I looked up just in time to see a B-25 Mitchell
flying wingtip to wingtip with a P-51 Mustang
They were flying really low, and when they were directly overhead, I could feel the rumble of the engines deep in my chest. I watched them from the moment they appeared over the roof of my building until they disappeared over the horizon. I see and hear jets all the time, but there's something primal about the sounds of the old machines. It also warms my heart when I think about the love and pride of the people who keep them in the air.
I'm still going to be miffed if I can't go next weekend, but I've been partially mollified.
Addendum: I completely forgot to mention that I talked to my supervisor on Monday, and we reworked the schedule so I'll be able to go. I've also managed to secure a camera for the weekend, so I'll be able to take (and share) pictures! I guess a girl can get a break.