The weekend trip to Aroostook County, Maine, ended Feb. 19, 2024, when my sister and I joined a full flight of passengers flying from Presque Isle. Scheduled for 6:15 a.m. EST, the jet took off late due to deicing of the wings. Travel to Maine had been sudden, and unplanned; the ravages of old age accelerate, and we can’t know how long Dad will last.
As the aircraft lifted off the ground, I wondered about the abnormally low amount of snowfall; chuckled thinking about my father’s absolutely adorable and friendly Shih Tzu dogs; and longed to see more wildlife outside the Solarium windows.
Thinking back more: For lunch the first day, my sister prepared homemade beef and moose stew with dumplings. Oh, she can cook. The next day, she grilled moose burgers. Dad warned that they might be a tad dry. Oh, yes, but they were tasty nevertheless. Moose hunting was illegal during my growing-up years, making the meat something new to me. What I missed eating: Traditional Saturday night baked beans and red hotdogs.
My sister and I separated in Newark, New Jersey—she going on to Florida and I to California. I napped during the first half or so of the flight. Jetlag finally caught up with me: I got out of bed at 3:15 a.m. EST, which ironically—with the three-hour time difference—is around my typical bedtime on any previous night (e.g. 12:15 a.m. PST).
I roused somewhere over the Rocky Mountains, which you can see from the Featured Image and companion—both taken using Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra and composed as shot. Vitals: f/1.7, ISO 12, 1/1150 sec; 23mm (film equivalent); 2:09 p.m. (according to metadata, but time zone uncertain). The other: f/3.4, ISO 32, 1/1250 sec, 115mm (film equivalent); same time as the other.
Oddly, today my phone served notice that Google Maps had generated a four-day timeline, attesting to 5,645 flying miles roundtrip. Really? I was sure it would be more.