Utah

Last Monday, on my way back from Alaska, I wound up in Salt Lake City. With a few hours to kill. I had been up all night. I considered sleeping in a chair at the airport. But I was chatting with a ticket agent, that I think remembered me from my Detroit days. He told me how to kill a few hours in Salt Lake. He said the Mormons run a van every hour to "Temple Square" in downtown Salt Lake. It's free, and not usually crowded. From Temple Square, one can walk to other downtown sights and restaurants. So I caught the van for the ride downtown on a beautiful Utah day, surrounded by purple mountains. There was a driver, and a tour guide, and one other passenger along with me. Our tour guide pleasantly chatted with us the whole time. She asked about our religious backgrounds. She told us about Salt Lake City and it's climate and geography. But mostly she talked about the Mormons. How they trekked from Illinois in the early 1800's. How Brigham Young led them as their prophet. How the blight of crickets nearly wiped them out in their second year at the promised land. But God intervened and sent seagulls from California to eat the crickets and the settlers were saved. We were dropped off at the east gate of Temple Square. And we were placed in a "tour" of the temple. The "tour" was the two of us tourists being led around a bit by two young Mormon missionaries. We were taught that the Mormons always have a living prophet to lead them. When he dies, one of his twelve disciples is chosen to be the new live prophet. He is sort of supernatural, like the Pope. I was tempted to ask how many wives he had, but I kept silent. We saw pictures on the wall in the beautiful visitors center. Of the live prophet. Of Brigham Young. Of Jesus Christ. The large picture portrait of Jesus Christ was the most Caucasian depiction of Christ I have ever seen. Jesus looked absolutely Scottish with long red hair and a pasty white face, and very handsome by western standards. We were shown a very lovely model of the temple. This was when we found out that we could not actually enter the temple. Even a Mormon can not enter the temple unless he meets certain criteria. We were shown the first chapel which had the original pews from 1845. It was amazing. All too soon our little tour was over. Our guides, the two young missionaries, strove to get us tourists to sign up to have a local Mormon back home come to our house and convert us to the one and only true religion. I gave them my address and phone and smiled a lot, but I stopped short of setting up an invitation for the conversion. And I told them the truth. That I was 61 years old. And a slow learner with ADHD. And still seeking my relationship with the supernatural world. They said that I must pray more and God will answer me. Sage advice from two twenty year old girls. With the tour over, I wandered around on my own. Just for fun, I approached the temple as if to walk in the huge locked west doors. Of course some volunteers approached me and we chatted. It took forty years of hauling granite, block by heavy block. Forty years of volunteer stone cutting. The temple is perfect and an amazing artifact. A miracle. I stared at it for a long time. There was more to see. But I didn't see it. I slipped away from temple square without seeing Brigham Young's house which is the jewel of the tour. Without seeing the rooftop gardens which are a wonder. Without seeing the oldest and finest grand hotel in Salt Lake which the Mormons bought and restored to it's former splendor. I wandered away from religion as I have always done. I headed to the worldly part of town. I was short on rest and had no energy to learn. I found a lovely Italian restaurant. And a table in a lovely dark corner. I had a long cool meal with lots of caffeine. My thoughts were of missing home, and my dog. And what an adventure Alaska had been. And how utterly thankful I was that it had all happened. And the Mormons who were pioneers crossed the country in a different way than I did. Eighty thousand of them walked from Illinois to Utah. Six thousand died during the journey. Every church in the Mormon system is completely paid for before the first service is held. I had a second diet coke and got out my American Express Card. My journey will soon be over. I 'll probably never find the Supernatural. But once in a while I may touch it.