Wed Jan 25, 2023 – 12:37 pm EST
(Robert Malone) — I begin writing this essay while stuck in Frankfurt for an extra day (thanks Lufthansa!), once again frustrated in our attempts to return to a degenerating Imperial Capital from an increasingly autonomous but dysfunctional “Garden.” Jill and I sit on a grey morning in Terminal 1, Gate Z66, awaiting a seat at the back of an aging German-owned 747.
I remember childhood years when my family lived in a modest newly-built middle class housing tract home in Bellevue, Washington, and my engineer father worked as a subcontractor designing and selling instrumentation for the new summit of aviation design – the Boeing 747.
The future was bright, king salmon and local oysters were plentiful, and the potential of the Emerald City was somehow embodied in the image the World’s Fair “Space Needle” with its futuristic rotating restaurant. My father started building a boat in the garage while visions of Lake Washington danced in his head. The future certainly looked bright, running on tracks made of graphite and glitter.
As a young boy, trying to navigate third grade while being tracked as “gifted and talented” through an innovative
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