Cedar Sentinels and Parking Lot Princes

The maps app assured me that the 80-mile drive ahead of me would take no more than an hour and 15 minutes, but I knew it was lying to me. The last time I drove this route the world was still quietly in the midst of a global pandemic. I had cruised down an empty interstate and into a ghost town. It had been a few weeks before a jackboot-clad leg put a knee against a begging man’s throat and choked the life from him, a few weeks before the city had erupted into tears and righteous anger. That drive had been pleasant, the city quiet except for the whispers of hope — nature is healing. <h2>I was drawn to make this dreaded journey to pick up my younger son.</h2> He was flying into Sea-Tac that morning. Knowing I wasn’t up to driving all the way to the airport, he had opted to take the light rail to the station in the north part of the city. That would shorten the drive by 20 miles and save at least an hour of my sanity. As I grow older I become more like my grandparents and less like my parents. In the spirit of my childhood country drives with grandma, I tuck a couple of sandwiches and some fruit into a picnic bag. Nostalgia mixed with thrifty necessity. I leave early, in part because I know the app is lying and in part so I can have time to decompress and enjoy lunch after the rigors of city driving. So I can be refreshed when my son, who has been gone for three weeks, tumbles into the passenger seat full of stories, light, and laughter. <a href="https://medium.com/middle-pause/cedar-sentinels-and-parking-lot-princes-9e2a711cdf30">Click Here</a>