Many people think the year ends on December 31st, and the next one begins on January 1st, but I know from experience that the year really begins on the first day of school in the fall and ends on the first day of summer after school is over, with a two-week break in the middle for the Holidays.
Unfortunately, the government and its money-schlepping agency, the IR of S, strongly believes in the traditional calendar, so today, I find myself rummaging through my hangar’s detritus and junk in search of deductible items and a clue on how to end this year of flying on a high note.
Speaking of high notes — the fat lady hasn’t sung yet – this will happen when the choir voices their songs at the Christmas Eve service. Our singing group’s Diva isn’t all that portly, cooks a mean green bean casserole for the potluck dinner, and doesn’t sing half bad.
If you ask me, this is not a bad metaphor for my past year of flying. It was not too fat, was sort of tasty, and was not half bad.
My logbook does not include entries about big adventures unless you count various forays into local cookouts, fly-ins, and national parks near grass strip airports.
I did not fly through tropical storms, hurricanes, or blizzards; the only inversions I have experienced were voluntary aileron rolls or the occasional intentional spin.
I did not build a plane, wreck a plane, buy another plane, or get another rating for any kind of flying machine. My year was a non-event if you base its merit on what I accomplished in the world of aviation.
Heck, I only had to file one NASA report!Yet, the past twelve months have not been a waste. I have had more than my allotment of contented days sitting on the warm grass next to my taildragger while eating fly-in food. Many runways in various states have felt the wrath of my main gear tires as they smote a mighty blow on their surfaces.
None of my students have killed themselves in an airplane, and all of them have miraculously passed their check rides without too much drama.
Friends from my old airline world and my more recent re-insertion into the general aviation ecosphere have graced me with their presence and have put up with my almost constant opinionated blather on such riveting subjects as crosswind landings, unleaded avgas, and airport lobby snack vending food.
Doom was predicted often during the last year, yet I somehow managed to avoid the aeronautical end times through a canny combination of luck, skill, and the ability to ignore reality and live in my own little happy flying bubble while the world crumbled around me.
Now, my hangar next-door neighbor and personal tax accountant, Nigel, and I are making a list (that we plan to check twice) of various professional and semi-professional write-offs for our flight operations for the past year.
Nigel led off with, “chocks?”
I don’t see why not, I said. The government can’t expect our airplanes to hold themselves in their parking spot by themselves. Since somewhere around half of my flying is considered professional, I guess I can deduct two out of my four chocks this year. Oh, and throw in a couple hundred for one and a half tiedown ropes.
“How about your ice machine, blender, and refrigerator/freezer?” Nigel asked.
Entertainment expense. My students would never endure my post-flight debriefing by drinking Lukewarm water after a flight, and they could suffer lightheadedness if I am unable to offer them a post-flight smoothie along with some snacks.
Oh, yeah – deduct about eight hundred dollars of snacks and put down about a hundred bucks for my hangar interior design upgrade. I paid good money for that Budweiser bar clock with the moving horses.
Nigel shook his head and continued the list of questions with, “Training expenses?”
I am glad you asked that, Nigel. Let’s see. I did my CFI renewal this year, or should I say CFI recurrency. No more shiny and new instructor certificates heading my way. The new rules are in effect, and after twenty-four renewals, I enter my fifty-first year of instruction with the same old plastic in my wallet.
Does weapons training count as a deduction? I asked.
Nigel said no, but in today’s environment, I think some shooting range expense should be an approved write-off.
This should also be true of the surfing lessons I took at the beach last summer. Maybe someday I’ll be stranded after an airplane mishap (see how I worked my airplane in there?), and the only way off the island would be to surf my way to rescue.
I could tell that Nigel was tired of my razor-sharp accounting wit, so I promised to work on my list of deductibles on my own and forward them to him before the middle of April.
The sun was setting on the end of the calendar year with a very cold pinky-russet hue, and my mind wandered from preparing my upcoming “opening offer” to the IRS to more holiday-related thoughts.
I was thinking of the thousands of pilots out there just beginning their Christmas trips. I hoped they have smooth rides, no reroutes, and get bonus pay for being away from home, although I know from my fourteen Christmas trips away from home that more pay will not happen for them.
I was grateful for the half-century I’ve spent flying so far. It will probably be remembered as the best half-century of aviation history.
My gratitude goes out to you, my readers. It is nice to have an audience for my aero ravings, and you are a nicer audience than most.
The partially deductible hangar doors were shut and I locked my padlock hoping to see my airplane on the flip-side of the holiday.
