South Coast Hospice Legacy
For almost a quarter of a century, South Coast Hospice and Palliative Care Services has served patients and families as life's journey nears its end. “Oh, the stories we've heard,” says the agency's start up Director Linda Furman Grile. “We've witnessed their lives as they share memories of good times and bad...funny quips, sad tales, witnesses to the bay area's history and growth - those we care for have whole libraries to leave us.” Now, we're asking them to share their Lullabies, Legends, and Lies in a book soon to be published. Here are just a few excerpts from their story.Nancy Devereux on “Learning to Fly”
Nancy's husband loved flying and Nancy loved to tag along, but had no interest in learning herself until one day as they headed out into the wild blue yonder it struck her, “What if something happened to Jack while we're up here? When I began my lessons, my instructor had more confidence in my knowledge than I did because I had flown with my husband so much.”
“On the day of my 11th flight, after completing 6 'Touch 'n Go's' my instructor said, “Nancy, you need to learn to land by the seat of your pants.” I had a tendency to bounce on landing you see. What I needed to do was fly 3 feet off the ground until I literally got that feeling of sinking in the seat of my pants. It is like landing intuitively. The last time I landed that day in the middle of the airstrip my instructor hopped out of the plane and said, “Okay, take 'er up.” I was surprised and shocked and didn't ask any questions, not thinking to taxi to the end of the runway first. I attempted takeoff from the spot I had landed. During the landings I had made, water had sprayed into the speed indicator. When I got the nose up, the speed indicator was not going up as it should and I thought, “Oh my God, I'm going to crash in the middle of Pony Village?” I calmed myself with self talk, “Get ahold of yourself Nancy!” As you may have guessed, I cleared Pony Village, but it did take a couple of attempts to land. It was pretty nerve wracking, especially when I saw my kids standing on the ground witnessing everything. The day ended with the destruction of my brand new white blouse. A triangle was cut from it as tradition required, name and date written on it, and it was hung in the pilot's room. I wasn't too thrilled with that. Well, I got my license, but didn't fly much after that. I think of the whole experience much like being thrown in the water and told to “swim.” (which, by the way, I don't do either)
From “Doc” Stevenson who served our County well comes a poem to tickle your funny bone.