The pinks in the morning sky began to lighten as I sipped my first coffee of the day, greeted by a cardinal staring at me from the tree just outside the window.
Birds began to chirp and stir as the neighborhood slowly woke up.
Spring brings with it these small, beautiful moments—quiet, breathtaking in their simplicity, emerging gently after winter’s more muted beauty.
There’s something about the early hours of a new day that feels like a reset.
A fresh slate.
Anything is possible.
Lately, we’ve been caught up in the kind of spring cleaning that goes far beyond dust and boxes.
We’ve been moving and organizing in the hangars and home as well these past couple of weeks, making better use of the space we have.
The restorer’s love for “a place for everything” helps reduce visual clutter and gives the mind a bit of breathing room, even when surrounded by the tools and projects of daily work.
It takes some thought—what’s used often, what can be tucked away until later—but the calm that follows is worth the effort.
Spring cleaning hit us hard this year. What do we need? What’s no longer necessary? What are we ready to let go of?
The act of purging and rethinking has been surprisingly freeing.
I didn’t realize how much I needed it.
A weight lifted with every drawer sorted, every shelf made intentional.
There will always be “stuff”—that’s life, especially for the restorer and me. But mentally letting it fade into the background has made room for the projects and passions we really care about.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve talked to Sis, our 1947 Beechcraft Bonanza.
She’s been a constant in my life. Her engine’s drone lulled me to sleep as a baby. She felt massive to five-year-old me, with Mama and Dad flying up front. That airplane was home. Safe. Familiar.
Dad joined Mama in heaven some time ago.
As a little girl, I always dreamed of flying Sis myself.
But Dad was hesitant—Bonanzas are high-performance, complex aircraft.
With over 200 horsepower, retractable gear, cowl flaps, and a constant-speed propeller, they’re not exactly beginner-friendly.
So I built time in simpler airplanes, gaining experience and learning patience.
When the time came, insurance required 25 hours with an instructor. Dad and I agreed it was best to fly with a trusted family friend who was both a Bonanza pilot and an instructor.
That experience changed everything. I gained not just hours, but confidence. Flying Sis didn’t feel intimidating anymore.
It felt right.
It’s about planning ahead and being ready to slow down—a Bonanza’s nature is to go fast, to cover ground with purpose.
But the real trick is knowing where you’re going.
That part isn’t Sis’s job.
That’s mine, the pilot’s.
Learning to fly her reminded me how important it is to be slow and patient when it matters.
To really listen—especially to ourselves.
With time, confidence grows, and that inner voice becomes easier to hear.
It drowns out the noise of what others think we should do, and helps us understand what we need to do.
I remember talking to Sis as a little girl, teddy bear still in hand. She listened as I chattered away.
Years later, I sat with her again, tears in my eyes after Dad passed. She was there, silently supporting me, just as he had.
I was determined we would fly again—like she had with my parents, even before I was born.
Timing rarely looks how we expect it to, but the years between then and now gave me what I needed.
These days, my conversations with Sis are lighter, more specific.
Happier.
I’ve taken time to slow down and listen.
That space gave me a confidence I’d forgotten I had.
Writing again, listening to that inner voice—it helped me make peace with imperfection, with simply being where I am.
Life will never be perfect.
Perfection is an illusion.
But life is amazing—even if it takes time, effort, and a bit of stillness to realize we already know where we want to go.
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