Logbook entry: transition from Rex's hospital room in frozen, snow-buried Salt Lake City to warm, rain-drenched Anchorage

Six days before, at 8:30 AM, I had been sitting on a jet approaching Salt Lake City. It had been dark when I boarded that jet and I had been extremely tired, so I had not opened the window shade. Now, I opened it. Even though I actually knew this, I was stunned to see that it was light out at an hour that would still be dark in Wasilla. I was also a little amazed to be looking at Utah, which right now looked a little bit like Alaska.

My parents moved out of this state about the same time I turned one, yet, from wherever else we lived, our lives had somehow orbited around Utah, which held my mother's heart. She always wanted to return to Zion and, right after I grew up, they did and in Zion they died.

And somehow, even though I have done what I can to put distance between myself and this place, I always wind up coming back sooner or later. Never to stay for long, though. I don't want to die here, either. Yet, wherever one goes, one might die. 

I could choke on pie.

Right here, in Utah.

This time I came back for my brother, Rex J. Hess, Jr. who, on my second morning here, had closed his eyes to go into his third open-heart surgery knowing full well that he might never open them again, but that if he didn't have that surgery the end of his time living on this earth was guaranteed to come shortly.

As I have reported, the surgery went well. "Our miracle man," one of the nurses said of him. Mac and Pak had left in the morning and now I was going. Only Mary Ann, who lives here, would still be near. 

I said my goodbye, drove to the airport, where Mary Ann met me and helped me get another airplane, an old one, a family heirloom willed to me, onto the jet. I will tell the story in a later post. I will also try to tell at least a few other stories from this trip as well and introduce Mary Ann by picture as well as her husband Greg and at least a few of the other people involved in this trip.

After an extended goodbye with Mary Ann, I soon found myself on the Delta Airlines jet, headed toward Seattle under the waxing crescent moon.

This is one of those pictures you should click on so you can see it a little bigger - if you are on a computer with a descent sized screen. If you are looking through a smart phone, it won't do much good.

Then I was at Sea-Tac International Airport, riding the train from the "S" gates to the "C". A woman responsible for my security rode with me.

After a three-hour layover, I found myself sitting at an Alaska Airlines jet window as the left wing got deiced.

Shortly after I sat down, I heard the "yip" of a small dog up further up toward the door. I thought someone had already sat down with a dog. I had the "A" window, a man took the middle seat and then this woman sat down in the aisle seat with her coat zipped up. The jet took off. In the darkened plane, I read about 50 pages in a book about a story-telling cat I had downloaded for free into my iPad, then got so sleepy I had to close my eyes. 

Usually, I stay awake, but this time I fell asleep. Then I heard the "yip!" again. The dog was right there, with the woman in the aisle seat. We had flown almost all the way to Anchorage together and I had not even known it!

I must have been really tired!

Then we were on the ground in Anchorage. By Salt Lake City standards, it had been very cold down there and they had experienced a huge snowfall. I hear its cold all the way across southern Arizona and even Death Valley. I landed in a very warm Anchorage. 

I drove home in Jacob and Lavina's Chevy Tahoe in a hard, driving, rain. I did not drive the Escape because the airplane I had brought on the jet would have not fit into it. The roads were very slick. 

Margie drove the Tahoe back today so she could babysit. Yes, I just got home and now, once again, she is gone and I am here without her.

Comments

[Nancy]

So glad you are back safe and sound in Alaska and that your brother is doing well. Waiting to hear more about the airplane.....

[Mrs Gunka]

Glad you are safely back home and brother is recovering. I'm looking out my patio door and the thermometer is reading -14. You can have this Alaska weather! We are 35 miles east of Denver. I'm ready to go to Fiji! Stay dry and warm!

[Kathryn]

It is 19* here, with a windchill of about 4*. Cold, but not unexpected for this time of year. We have no snow, which is odd, and doesn't help the drought. The Mississippi is closed here to barge traffic because the water is so low.