3-10-09

Before my grandpa got his insurance taken away due to diabetes and old age, he flew a hot air balloon.  It was beautiful- the bright yellow balloon suspended against a light blue sky.  Neon multicolored diamonds circled around the balloon, but my favorite part about the hot air balloon is that my papa was the pilot.

I miss hot air ballooning.  It’s been apart of my life since I was born.  At my first balloon rally, I sat in a stroller sucking my thumb.  I don’t think I was one year old yet.  When I got a little older, around the age of five I think, is when I got to help out and become one of the crew.  I’d help my grandma hold the rope that keeps the balloon from rolling when inflating.  It was my one and only job, and I was so proud.  When I put on my gloves and flights of fancy crew shirt, I’d strut around like I was the hottest stuff in the world.  When I got a little older, I realized that I didn’t do much when I was little.  My grandma is the one who did most of holding.  I did it on my own, and man that thing would pull.  The cocky hot stuff feeling never went away as I got older.

The best part of ballooning, is after when we’d have to get all the air out of the thing.  All the grandchildren would take off their shoes and roll on the balloon.  I’d get lost in the massive mounds of air pockets, and I wouldn’t know where I was rolling until all of a sudden I’d roll off the balloon.

I’ve only been up in a hot air balloon once when it wasn’t tethered.  It was during a balloon rally in Grand Forks.  My papa was only taking up one passenger and there was room for one more, and I asked him if I could.  He held out his hands and my mom lifted me into his arms.  When the balloon took off it was a weird feeling.  It wasn’t like what you hear about the feeling of floating, because my feet were firmly planted on the floor of the basket.  My mom asked me if I thought it was cool, and I like a dork replied, "No, it’s hot!"  I could see all the different hot air balloons up in the sky flying with us, and I pointed out to my papa where my house was.  When we landed the other guy in the balloon cut his knee on one of the propane tanks.  It was pretty gross.  I remembered what my papa had told me about not locking my legs, so my landing experience wasn’t bad.

Pilots are funny at balloon rallies.  They’ll all get together and brag to each other about "dangerous" flights they’ve had and things they’ve been through.  It’s basically like fishermen getting together and sharing fish stories.  A good many of them also exchange little pins that look like their balloon.  I have a few of them myself.

After most ballooning adventures, we’d go out to eat at Paradiso.  We’d get caso and I’d scarf down the majority of it.  Papa would talk about how the flight went, and a lot of times he’d end up arguing with my mother about how to give/follow directions.  I miss it, and I’m thinking maybe I’ll have to get my pilot’s license some day to keep the tradition going.