I remember when this whole nightmare of construction began. Our friend, Cal Brabant (also an addicted pilot like my husband, Pat) came to visit. Pat was away on business and I had just cut a check for our Cessna 182's annual. There I sat whining about the cost of the annuals and bemoaning that, in an effort to save $50 five years prior to this annual, I had expended several hundreds of times more than the "saved" $50. This should serve as a warning to all spouses of those obsessed by the flying "bug."

Several years prior to this fated annual, I had asked Pat what he wanted for Christmas. As is the wont of most men, well most men I know, they are either difficult to shop for, or else their toys are just too expensive even to contemplate. Pat said (to my utter surprise--for once he knew what he wanted) that he'd like an electronic keyboard. I checked the prices, of such pieces of gadgetry, and found that, at our ever-faithful Costco, they sold for $200.

The more I considered this gift (the cost I found a little startling) the more I thought it a gimmick, a Christmas toy, which would soon be found collecting dust, silently aging, in some cupboard. I should have been delighted by that idea. I, now, know a whole lot better about saving though. I suggested to Pat that the fate of the keyboard might be silence and its joy fleeting. You know like a kid's Christmas gift forgotten ten minutes after unwrapping it. Pat reluctantly agreed.

I asked him to re-think his Christmas request. Was I totally mad? I must have been. There for the first time in all the almost three decades of our marriage--he had actually known what he wanted for Christmas--and what did I do? I quashed his desire. But fate stepped in and took its revenge.

"You know what might be fun? I think if you could give me a (please note 'a' lesson, meaning ONE) flying lesson--that may be fun," was what Pat said and I felt relieved. A flying lesson would be fun and probably cheaper than the keyboard. To save even further, our daughter Nicole would share the cost of that first flying lesson. We drove off to Placerville Airport, California and to our utter joy bought three lessons for $150. I had saved $50 and had given an unusual gift, which would not collect dust in the cupboard of Pat's choice.

Aaahhh! Would that I could have that Christmas again. I would satisfy my dear husband with his original request--an electronic keyboard. Even if it did become a dust covered, silent relic.

That first lesson lit a flame of passion in Pat that as yet has not been quenched. He went onto to get his instrument rating, commercial rating and became the sole owner of a beautiful Cessna 182--N3111S.

We'll not dwell too long on the distant shadow of memory of that "saved" $50. Flying, as a passion, opens a whole wide, expensive vista for spending. GPS was the latest gimmick available--so for our anniversary I bought Pat, a Garmin 100AVD, and although I was struck dumb by the cost I have never regretted it. How often during instrument flying (which has been at times like being in a huge carton of vanilla ice cream, all white and nebulous, and never as sweet) have I looked at that GPS and felt safe and known how quickly the airport should be in sight. The relief on seeing those jumping rabbit lights is far more satisfying than any experience I have had.

There's the rub! Pat can buy almost any gismo as long as he tells me "it's for safety" or "it prolongs the life of the plane." How does one say, "No" to safety or longevity of an expensive "investment." Needless to say, we became acquainted with "Sporty's" right fast, and its catalogue. Our daughters, Maria-Elena and Nicole have an unending source for gift-giving--and when all else fails even carbon-monoxide detectors are affordable and necessary. But the annuals and the new engine still bankrupt the most hearty bank account and most lavish spender. Hence all my whining and moaning.

Then, fate sends Cal to me. There I am alone with an empty bank account and filled with complaint. Cal blithely suggests that Pat should build a plane. "Kits are reasonably priced and there are fast-build kits out there now which make the whole process more viable." He says with confidence.

"What's a fast-build Kit, anyway?"

"Had a fast-build kit been available when I bought my RV6-kit I would have done a whole lot more wind-surfing than I have by this time," he went on (wind-surfing being his current passion next to, or perhaps, superceding flying at present).

The winning feature of the kit-plane versus factory-made was that Pat, as builder, could do the annual on his own craft. We could SAVE money that way. I should have known there and then--SAVE, aviation and me in the same breath--not possible. But I did see some other benefits. Oregon has months of that vanilla weather--Pat could be snug building his plane rather than itching to fly--it'd save my nerves. There I go again trying "to save."

On Pat's return I suggested that he build a plane from a kit for the following reasons:

To see this plane is to love it. The Lancair ES. Pat went with me for a test flight and it felt safe, steady, and smooth. The speed at which it flew was almost unbelievable to me. It flew with such ease that one could barely recognize that it was flying faster than the Cessna was capable of and without any sign of strain on the plane, or from the engine. Pat was delighted with the light feel on the control and, by now, was excited to bursting point. He glowed with excitement and anticipation.

All the folks at Lancair were friendly and informative. At no stage did they try to minimize the scope, time, and dedication required for the task of building a plane from their kit. They were careful to explain that it was a lengthy process but that at the end Pat and I would be thrilled with our new plane. I even signed a document acknowledging that I understood and was aware of the purchase. I suppose many a "garage/hangar-widow" has called Lancair to wail at their widowhood. T-shirts were given and bought, deposits given, contacts made and a date set for the arrival of the kit: the Ides of March, March 15, 1997.

Now, Pat had to prepare the "nursery" for the arrival of his new baby. He had to get the garage ready to accept, house, and manufacture his plane. It was October 1996 and he had a few months to get everything ready and those months flew by as he labored away in the cold of the garage.