The last leg

A week ago, I returned home from Chicago. It was a breeze.

I got to the airport in a timely manner. My first flight boarded and left on time. I had a Goldilocks layover in Seattle- not too long; not too short; just right. I landed in Portland on time and my bag was one of the first on the carousel. As I exited the terminal, the bus to long term parking was waiting. I got to my car and was home when I expected to be. I dropped off my very heavy suitcase and went to pick up Lucy.

And that is when the breeze ended.

After a happy reunion, Lucy and I got into the car for what should have been a 20 minute drive home. But it wasn’t. As soon as we got off the side street and onto the major street that would begin our journey home it was clear something was wrong. It took 10 minutes to go one block.

I stayed calm and turned on the radio, seeking news about traffic woes. There were many, but they were all on the highways. Where were the details about street traffic? I stayed calm, talking to Lucy, who had curled up in the passenger seat as she was wont to do, giving her pats and cuddles.

Another 10 minutes, another block. What to do?

Looking ahead, nothing seemed to be improving, so I made the decision to go a less direct route. I had several options and chose the one that seemed most reasonable. I think other people had the same idea. The next ten minutes moved us along, but not exactly in the direction I wanted to go. At least we were moving.

When I finally turned the direction of home, the traffic was still slow, but moving. The closer I got to the Burnside Bridge, the better things became.

Once I was over the bridge, we were travelling at the speed limit and were home shortly afterwards.

As she always does, Lucy took a big drink of water, glad to be home. And I drank in the joy of being home, with a whole summer stretching out in front of me.