An anxiety filled day – at least part of it

I can’t believe that people who work in genuine Seattle actually live in West Seattle, and actually claim to like it, and actually make that awful trip everyday. It seems like a nice place, so living there is fine, I suppose – but getting there! A nightmare! Well, I will confess that getting there is usually not that hard, now that I have mastered it. I have developed a secret route that avoids all freeways and their concomitant lane changes at the last minute – when you finally realize you are in the wrong one. I go along a back road and along under a freeway – on an almost dirt road – and then whip up onto the bridge to the other side at the last minute. This route is generally stress free and traffic free. Coming back is the problem. There are NO SIGNS. And also no logic, as to the necessary lane for reversing my clever route. You would think I could just memorize which lane I need to be in, but I can’t. Nor can Rebecca. We have freeway-stress-induced-memory-disability. FSIMD. I have gotten so confident about my ability to get there, that Rebecca and I decided to go to a West Seattle yarn shop, and take our chances about getting back. We were making our way, and were almost at the secret entrance to the dirt road leading to the West Seattle Bridge when …….. see pictures. Aaaaaargh!!!! Apparently it is no longer going to be a dirt road. What to do? This is one of those places where if you miss your turn, the next opportunity is miles, an I do mean miles, further on. So on we went, our turn now being non-existent - Becca full of confidence, me full of anxiety. She, who had actually worked at the yarn shop, and so was familiar with the territory, guided me. We were at last able to turn around, and finally got near the bridge. There were cryptic little signs saying "West Seattle Detour," but these signs gave no real information, like, for instance, which way to go. Eventually we were on the bridge, but …. we were going the wrong way – back to Seattle. I was all for abandoning the trip altogether, and going to Chinatown for lunch. "No," she said, "we can drive to Beacon Hill. We know how to get onto the bridge from there." So we did. Finally, we were across, and Becca said, “You were supposed to turn back there.” “You were supposed to tell me,” I replied. “I thought you knew,” she responded. One thing about me is that I never know unless I have been there hundreds of times, and I had actually never been to the newly located Yarn Shop at all. When we finally arrived, me totally shattered, I let her pick out my yarn (and what she selected was lovely). When we returned to the car, a bird – and it must have been a giant pelican – had pooped on it. Sigh. Happily, the return trip was uneventful, we got in the right lane, our lunch was good, and we had success grocery shopping.