However much it has lessened over the years, during this visit home, I found it alive and well. When my brother finally flew in from San Francisco, I gave up my bed and resided to the couch. It's a big couch and I'm in the middle of the action until everyone turns to sleep for the night instead of company. I get to read for however long I want; watch Christmas movies until an ungodly hour; stare at the beautifully decorated Frasier Fir--and then the downfalls include having to get up and unplug the Christmas tree lights--which is inconvenient when nestled in the couch with a book in your hand; I also have to tend to the outdoor lights someone forgot to turn off and lastly, I'm closer to the one who makes the sound of a Cessna plane coming in for a landing, conveniently located in my parents' bedroom.
I hear my Dad's intermittent snore and I have to laugh in wonderment: Does he dream he's a pilot when he subconsciously hears this noise? And what of my Mom? It must be the reason why she wakes up at night with the most hilarious delusions carrying over from her sleep, causing her to sometimes scream bloody murder at what was just, oh say, a little red-headed elf with suspenders running in place by the door of her bathroom laughing and saying, "Come on! Come on!"
How she sleeps through the sounds of an engine rumbling next to her boggles my mind. Over 36 years of marriage and more than that of togetherness, I can only guess that she must've become accustomed to the ups and downs of being co-pilot.
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