Road Trip, 5

Vancouver, Washington, across the expansive, wind-blown Columbia River from Portland, Oregon, was our next destination, to visit our niece and her family, including two industrious, creative, well-mannered boys.

They have acreage atop a hill, with a view of Mount Hood, and are building a house, themselves. With the adventurous spirit of pioneers.

In the woods, attached to tall evergreen trees were cables, used for a swing. I watched the boys swing, very high, and couldn’t resist doing so myself, to feel the G-force of gravity tell me not to forget the “unseen.”

After an early dinner of lasagna, Doug and I drove to Cle Elum. And I will confess that I was speeding through the desert of mid-Washington state. A policeman stopped me, I apologized for driving over the speed limit in a passing lane up a hill. He asked for proof of insurance and, to my shock, we had it not in the car. Good grief, I thought.

Not that this is an excuse but the car just wasn’t in my mind during covid because we stayed home and I failed to keep paperwork at the ready.

Anyway, the policeman asked me questions and told me that he had relatives in NYC. We don’t live in NYC but you know how it is? If we live in New York, we must know everyone else who lives in NY. He visited NYC. It was very big, he said.

So, I ask, was the policeman bored? I don’t know and it isn’t proper form to wonder, but the man let me go with a warning. God bless him.

And I realized I could be more forgiving. Kindly.

At my sister’s ranch, I was able to call our insurance agency and they texted me a proof for my phone, to show the next police-person who pulled me over but I didn’t go over the speed limit anymore. The agency also snail-mailed me a copy of our insurance which went into the car glove-compartment. At the ready.

“And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.”–Matthew 6

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