Screw It!

IMG_2732

This is the first time I have been so brazen, but the need be. When I was preparing dinner the night before last, I realized the need to screw caps on and off. I was actually consumed by counting the number of screws it takes to screw off the cap and then, screw it on again. Stop reading, go to your pantry or refrigerator and take out a number of screw on and offs. Count them. Soon you will be consumed by counting and don’t let this happen to you, but if you add up the screws for a day, that’s a lot of screwing.

For example, in the above photo, if you are quite relaxed you get about 80 screws. Skip showed me that if you become more aggressive and work harder at screwing tops on and off, you can reduce the number of screws. Who wants to work too hard and some of you may or may not want to add to or reduce the number of screws. It is entirely up to you.

Now, if you are up to it, you can go into your bathroom and find plenty of screws. The best places for adding to your screwing numbers is in the pantry. Look in the garage, lots of screwing opportunities there too, right?

Arthritis sets in when you grow a bit older and you will find screwing harder. It takes longer, too. If you are not in a hurry, you will find screwing in older age quite practical.

Frankly, this screwing issue keeps me up at night worrying about how much I have to screw all day, in the bathroom, the kitchen, the den and dining room. Look around; you have a lot of screwing to do, too. You probably, and I probably, should not let it keep us up at night because screwing is just a natural part of life.

 

LEARNING TO RIDE THE WAVES

6a00d8341bf67c53ef015436bed476970c-800wi

Recently there was a newsworthy video for television shown on an early summer morning. For a summer morning it was dull with a surprising inland fog. Instead of turning my chair to our buff side garden, I turned it to the television. It was lucky for me to be tuned in because at that moment, I saw a man riding the biggest wave in history.

As one ages, at any stage, there are ruts and pitfalls. You want to be able to help yourself out of the rut and avoid the pitfalls. I think if I learned how to ride a wave, the philosophies gaining that skill would move me up and out again. I would like your comments as well, but here is how I see it with my limited experience, no Internet and a blank page.

Certainly a pre-requisite to riding a wave would have to be learning or knowing how to swim.  Got that covered. Then, I assume you would have to learn how to approach the wave, a strategy you would employ each time you rode any wave.  I say any wave because not all waves are the same or come from the same direction.  You would have to begin an observation program and in observing you would understand and be better able to predict wave behavior. Predicting wave behavior, or any behavior is paramount to success anytime in your life.

In learning to ride a wave, technique is something to ponder. Here is where you will use your observation skills and watch other surfers. You will learn the art of observation and technique. You will spend much time reading about the waves, talking about the waves, learning where to be when the wave comes, how to use your eyes to help your position on the board and learning which side right or left depending on the kind of wave you will be encountering.  All of this observing, reading, talking, and predicting will prepare you with skills you will need to accomplish any task you set. Riding a wave is not the only task that requires the aforementioned skills, but rather life is a combination of skills and I do believe once you learn to ride a wave you will be more equipped to enter all phases of life.

I approached the learning how to ride waves topic because I think it will give me strategies for understanding, observation skills, balance, and the technique required will give most of us the confidence to face much of our life issues.   I think it will offer awareness, an acceptance, and a faith in gathering a new view. I know I will gain the love of truth and forgiveness for my inadequacies and this knowledge will help to fill in the holes. Studying how to ride a wave will gather a rectification for righteousness because of its purity, and its reality with nature. Realizing its fluidity will add grace.  My study will be purposeful and add a justification for existing.

Can I now ride a wave? Maybe or maybe not, but through the study of riding waves you and I can approach life with more self-reliance. Whether you or I ever ride a wave, is not the question or the answer. It is the skills we gain on the way, which is the art of essence.

P’s Comment on the See Me Now Blog made me think!

IMG_2510

.

(If you wish to refresh your memory scroll down and read the See Me Now posting and the comment from “P’)

The comment made by “P’ is this: “When you are behind a rock, what happens if you look behind you and a whole new aspect greets you? Are you still hiding or do you use the rock as a backdrop for something more exciting?”

My answer will take years of looking at the rock as a backdrop for something more exciting, but here is what I have seen so far:

I thought you would be interested in this morning and how “P’s” words created something special for me. I went out early before we went to work 6:40 a.m. to be exact to give the quail some left over popcorn.  I looked up to see a full moon hanging in the sky (facing west) I am all caught up in the hanging moon that forgot its timing, then, I remembered what “P” said and turned around behind the backdrop of the moon and towards the east. Oh my wonder, there was the sun coming up, of course.  So, I think I was one of a few, maybe the only one in my area to witness a full moon and the sun together this morning. Perhaps there are many places in the world where this occurs, but not here.  What a treasure. So again, I thank  “P” for his astute Blog comment.

More kudos for “P.”

This afternoon I was on my way to a luncheon at Mimi’s Café, 7.0 miles, about a 20-minute ride. Shortly after leaving my house and entering the roadway, a car turned in front of me and I slowed to let a car turn into a side street.  Then, a little further, there is an alley way and another car turned in front of me. I slowed once again.  If I would have taken “P’s” advice I would have seen the rather aggravated blond bombshell shaking her fists and moving out and around me on the left, passing through double yellow lines dictating no passing. She was trying to make the go signal. Even though she drove fearlessly and tried her best, she was not successful and I pulled up right in back of her. She was flailing her arms and hands. She had broken the law, put my life and hers in jeopardy and caused me quite a scare, but I pleasantly waved and smiled.

The blonde wild-haired woman turned left, I turned left, right on her tail. She drove to Corbin Ave in a rush and turned right. I was right behind her. We drove on in semi tandem for 7.0 miles. She wove in and out of lanes, trying to shake me loose. No, no Blondie, I’m still in back of you. She stopped at the first red light, glanced in her rear view mirror to find me there smiling and waving.  I can feel this woman beginning to worry. The next light that stopped us found her right across from me in the adjoining lane. Blondie is shrinking and sweating in her seat.  I know she is wondering why I am following her.  I am not following her; I am going to my appointment at Mimi’s. I am still smiling and waving.

Actually, I am very proud of myself. I am driving properly, within the speed limit, have not changed lanes every few minutes, yet I am stuck to this wild sweating woman driving a silver bullet with the emblem to let me know it is a Mercedes. I thought to myself, don’t care what you are driving, I am right here in your sights, smiling and waving. You are sweating and worried.

About five miles have been covered and I have not lost any ground. She has worked herself into a bit of frenzy by changing lanes and dodging cars, still trying to shake me. I am enjoying myself and my realization that I am driving like a law biding hot-rod driver is thrilling. I am up on her and nearly miss my turn into Mimi’s parking lot. I turn my way, go on my appointed rounds and know that wild Blondie, the miserable law breaking, dangerous driver, is still looking in her rear view mirror wondering when I will show up.

So, this is not about me seeing in back of me, it is about someone seeing me when they look back. Glory today is performing a job well done in someone’s rear view mirror.

.

SEATTLE: THE WOW FACTOR Day #1

IMG_0876

When you realize you are going to the home of the first Starbucks you know you are in for a treat. You have read that the first Starbucks resides at the Pikes Place Market, the “soul of Seattle”. We got settled in our digs at the waterfront and headed off to Pikes Market, right? Doesn’t everyone do that first? It seemed that everyone in Seattle was at the market because there was shoulder-to-shoulder traffic in every spot in and around the market. It was electric, inspiring and the soul of Seattle refers to the taste of the market. Everything is the top of the top in quality and taste.

Shoulder-to shoulder traffic

Shoulder-to shoulder traffic

My new favorite potatoes are the Rainbow potatoes. You can have fun with a bag of those.

IMG_0911

IMG_0907

Rainier Cherries: The cherries in Seattle were the most delicious I have ever tasted and plentiful. A handful a day keeps you quite regular.

And Not your mother’s beans.

IMG_0913

How about some Elephant Garlic?

How about some Elephant Garlic?

Everyone knows they throw fish across the market stalls in the Pikes Market to get your attention and they do. There is no photo because of the massive crowds surrounding the event. Following are a couple of delicious looking possibilities in the fish market.

IMG_0904

IMG_0903

IMG_0901

Where Starbucks was born:

IMG_0889

We did not have the desire to go into this Starbucks because of the crowds, but seeing Starbucks birthplace reminded me of my recent experience in a crowded city center establishment; the ultimate tourist experience. I must admit I am not a youngster. I do not have the Starbucks thing down. I know you go to the counter, order, and give them your name, an alias. Never give your real name, so I said my name is Alias.  Starbucks ethics. You don’t want them to yell out your real name and have someone follow you, yelling your name causing you a stir.

I did not see the line, old, nearsighted, unfamiliar with protocol, whatever, I went in the front of the line that later I saw snaked out the door and into the street. I wondered why people raised their eyebrows, but did not understand until I sat down and got the proper perspective. Sitting in shame, I hear them call, “Alias.” Nothing registered, again, “Alias.”  Oh, that’s me. Sheepishly, in my most old lady persona, I approached the counter to retrieve our drinks.

Heck, it all tasted as good as if I would have waited properly in line and given my real name. But, deep inside I am sorry for my Starbucks behavior and you can be assured I will check out the line and place myself properly on all other visits.  I will continue to use my new Starbucks name, “Alias.”

CHIHULY MUSEUM AND GARDENS: http://www.chihulygardenandglass.com/?gclid=CJW03tiTirkCFeqDQgodew4ASA

We were privileged to enjoy the Chihuly Exhibition Hall, Glasshouse and Gardens before our revolving lunch at the top of the Space Needle at Sky City Restaurant with an unbelievable 360-degree view.

IMG_0948

Dale Chihuly is a native of Washington and can still be seen supervising the blowing of glass in his studio. His work is distinctive in the field of blown glass. He became world renown and in the interim he had a car accident, which he recovered from and was still able to blow his glass sculptures. Again, he was injured. This time it was in a bodysurfing accident involving his right shoulder leaving him unable to hold the glass blowing pipe. He hired helpers to do the work he outlined and said when he was able to step back from his work,  in the view. there appeared a new dimension

The first time we became familiar with Chihuly’s work was at the Bellagio and the MGM in Las Vegas. We walked into the lobby and saw everyone staring at the ceilings. We did the same.

The Chihuly Museum in Seattle is well worth the visit and includes a special delicious melting feeling, as if you are melting into everything that exists and that you hold meaningful. Now it is your job to pull the melt apart and examine what it means to you, personally.

I have included a few photos that look so yummy you feel like licking and biting.

IMG_0943
IMG_0920
IMG_0923

IMG_0934
IMG_0927

The Sky City Restaurant is at the top of the Space Needle and the views show Seattle’s intricacies, vitality, and spirit.

Normally you would pay a fee and be elevated to a perch high above Seattle, but for just a few extra dollars, you can sit in the revolving restaurant, scenes changing every few minutes and dine on gourmet food. We chose the few dollars more and here are some of the views:

IMG_0953

.IMG_0955

.

.

.

.

IMG_0956

IMG_0959

IMG_0960

THE TEA PARTY

6a00d834ca4c4a69e2011168399952970c-320wi

As we drove into the citrus groves, we realized by the fullness of the fruit on the trees. We knew that the Sunkist fruit pickers would soon be by to pick and all of the yellow and orange globes. The trees, after a short hibernation will start the cycle of fruit production and in the spring they will show the fullness of fruit all over again. What a beautiful setting for Alice and all of her friends.  You bet Alice was there; what’s a tea party without Alice.  All of her friends were there, but we were so heavily camouflaged that who would know who was who?  This was a very special tea party celebrating the eminent birth of baby boy Tash.

All of the ingredients for a tea party were set up and the partygoers were politely attacking the food. The egg salad sandwiches were plentiful; the cucumber and watercress sandwiches were harder sells.  The turkey croissants with cranberry sauce are an American addition, perhaps, but delicious. British gentry would approve.

Scones you ask? Oh yes, and none have ever looked or tasted better. I wished that I had armed myself with little plastic bags at the bottom of my purse for take home sneaks. The conversations between mouthfuls were satisfying, informative and there was camaraderie in sharing the event.

I put clotted cream and lemon curd on top of a crumpet and actually wept as the flavors singularly combined. Weeping over food is usually not my forte.  I had a second helping all the while delighting in finding a clot in the cream and a tang in the curd. Having an affair with a huge chocolate covered strawberry was luscious and the licking and lapping was certainly forbidden. Then, it happened. There was a tiny yellow stack about the height and width of my ring finger. I just popped it in my mouth, and then another followed by another until I realized there were chocolate stacks as well. They were my next ecstasy.

I needed something to drink, so I looked to the beverages. I thought I had poured lemonade, which as I think back would have been a disaster. It was grapefruit juice. Now that is a way to cleanse the palate I did not know existed. How clever.  After a few swallows of grapefruit juice I was ready to start with another round, changing my choices somewhat.  Oh Alice, there is heaven on earth and magic, too. The only thing I missed having is THE TEA.

I will have to go back to that tea party time and again in my mind and when I do I will sample all of the teas. I will experience the eye tearing clotted cream and lemon curd. I will have an affair with my chocolate covered strawberry yet again. I will not be shy at the dessert table and I will taste the frosted cookies and the raspberry tarts. I will remember that tea may not be the most important part of a tea party.

is-1      10257486-fancy-victorian-style-tea-set   13503566-tea-cup-background-with-spoon-illustration

THE WEARING OF MY MOTHER’S CONSOLATION RING

IMG_1194

What does consolation mean?  It means a source of comfort to someone who is upset or has been disappointed.  In this light, my mothers ring, the ring I now wear to honor her, is what I call her consolation ring because I believe it gave her comfort in her disappointment of not receiving the ring she thought was going to be hers.  In spelling out the details I may reveal too much and I would not want to do that at all.  So the ring she was to receive will remain a mystery, but the one she did received as her comfort, made her feel proud and important.

My mother was a woman of strong character in the respect that she would never hurt anyone, she would always smooth over the truth to make all things right. She loved openly, honestly, fiercely and was a true friend to everyone. When my father recognized my mother’s disappointment in the alternate ring giving, he wanted to consol her, but she wanted to console him even more.   She told him things that relieved his besieged mind and let him know that she had already won the prize. The prize in her mind was my father and all that he represented in her life. She told him that she was gloriously happy being his wife, having his children, living their lives together and there was not a ring in the world that could change her love for him and her happiness being with him. My mother never made trouble for anyone and she stayed constant and quiet about the events revolving around the ring. She said no more about it. She was convinced it was all over.

My father on the other hand, decided that my mother, since she was not offered the ring I have discussed, should have the ring of her choice. He made an appointment at Donovan & Seamans Jewelers in Beverly Hills, the finest jewelry store on the west coast at that time. At the initial ring meeting, my father had in attendance, the store’s top designer ready to work with my mother to design something especially for her and something that would express her ideas of what her ring would encompass. At the meetings hence, the designer and my mother worked together to produce the consolation ring, which now has become a symbol of my mother and father’s love and respect for each other.

Each diamond in the ring represented an idea my mother had and wanted the ring to convey.  I know my mother wanted something to represent eternity, something never-ending, and the ongoing relationship of a couple’s love and union. She wanted her ring to be a reminder of their commitment. She asked that there be an element of magical powers worked into the design, and she believed that it should be round with no beginning and no end showing wholeness and a completeness to her life. She wanted the ring to embody strength, health, and willingness in all things presented, plus she wanted the ring to show the esteem in which it was designed and given to the wearer. She insisted that her ring carry the power of protection and peace. She wanted the designing and the wearing of her consolation ring to symbolize love, unity and the bonding together of people on their journeys through life with an abundance of tranquility and harmony.

My mother’s consolation ring continues to divulge lessons and give inspirations that have caught my attention time and time again.  The lessons have changed my viewpoint on the life affirming secrets revealed as I gaze into the consolation ring.

This ring is all and more than my mother, my father and the designer hoped. When I am gone, I bequeath all that this ring is and can be to the new receiver with my love and the blessings of your predecessors.

My Partial Knee Replacement Changed Me Forever!

I had knee replacement surgery recently and am still recovering. You don’t get over it so fast and it is not a piece of cake.  When you walk unaided and the horrible pain that put you in a wheelchair is gone, you are full of tears of gratitude. A friend in London asked if I were going to write about my surgery experience. I nearly bit off his words because I was scared to pieces and too fearful to think about it. Besides who wants the gory details? Not me.  But I did have several experiences worth a mention.

Coming out of anesthesia is a weird trip in itself, but for each of us it is different.  Mine had reduced me to a child calling for my mommy and daddy. I did so want to see them waiting and caring for me.  I wanted them to be there like they always had been. Wanting them was a strong ethereal moment that has not left me.  What did I want to tell them, and what did I want to hear from them?  Did I want them to make it all better?  Did I forget that they are gone, or did I want to bring them back from beyond to tell me how they are doing there? Did I want to be the child, or did I want them to see me now, see that I have accomplished many of my dreams and still looking for more?

The time spent healing and time spent on my own true wavelength is rare time that normally most of us are too busy to ride this wave. As soon as some of the swelling and pain from surgery started to subside, my usual friendly ailments arose and lay side by side with my new frailty. My new wave length became a prominent state of being for a while.  I began to mourn for my youth and who I used to be.  I mourned all of my fears in Technicolor. As I mourned for who I used to be and fit new puzzle pieces of who I am into the old mold, I came to reexamine all that I understand. I became willing to take what I have become and go with it. In a different light, you see the changing hues as a positive addition to the composition and become a little closer to whole.

I could surely go dancing right now, but I think I will wait a little longer to make sure I can fit all the steps into the right synchronization of the timing and be able to adjust the tempo of the overall effect. After all, the knee joints are mandatory for just the right articulations of bowing down and giving thanks for the new ability to navigate the earth on my own.

My Sorority Reunion

A Fantasy Photo because the real one is out of reach.

I graduated a U.C. school a long time ago.  The school remains nameless to protect it.  It scares me to even write a date let alone conjure up what all that those many years mean.  I am sure they mean as many things to as many people who are still alive and still have a memory to remember those days.  We scheduled and held a sorority reunion on a lovely, warm, October Saturday afternoon.

Many people who were invited did not come to the event.  I know exactly how they feel; they would rather a Mac truck hit them than attend anything like a reunion.  As I said, I know how they feel, but I feel differently.  Of course the day of the event and some days leading up to it, I hated my hairstyle, worried that I hadn’t maintained my acceptable appearance, my weight was not what I wanted it to be, but hasn’t been for years.  I worried that they would have accomplishments way greater than mine, or that they would have nothing to say to me and I, nothing to them.

Worries and or no worries, the reunion came to pass and many of us from long ago were there.  The ones that did not come won’t know and the ones that did will take away what they needed.  I needed to see that everyone was the same person, with the same hopes dreams and desires even these many years later.  Nothing much has changed; everyone at the reunion was in tact.  The singers sang, the leaders led, and the talkers talked while listeners listened. The doers did and the watchers watched.  Most tooted their own horns while a few shy ones got their horns tooted by good old friends.  Everyone was happy and friendly.  I thought of our dearly departed Judy and how much she would have loved being there with everyone.  After the event, I wanted to call heaven and talk it over with Judy.  She would have loved, absolutely loved some of the stories.  Since she is not here and I can’t call heaven, so I will tell you.

At all of the reunions in the past, one of the gals who will forever remain nameless, goes around secretly and takes the purses of people she wants to sit at her table.  She strategically places them on the chairs surrounding the table that she deems hers.  Every year she takes mine, but this year, she did not, others took my place.  I was surprised, but realized that she, like a mother bird, lets her fledglings go when they are strong enough to fly.  I was thrilled with my new table and made new friends from the old.  I was after all, forty-nine years stronger and able to fly on my own is such a good thing.

Another lady realized that she needed to come to the reunion just to make peace with her self.  Some wanted to use it as a forum for advertising things of a business nature and other venues.  Others wanted to tell of current updates on volunteer and charity opportunities.  One family donated a wing to the new university hospital and wanted us to know.  Some wanted to reconnect with people and others wanted to relive youth and be with their oldest friends.  And probably those who were initially hesitant about attending this reunion realized perhaps this was the event they wouldn’t have wanted to miss.  As songs were sung and hands were held, many wonderful memories were shared along with jovial reminiscing.  Who can argue with that?

THE MEANING OF THE PUNCH BOWL, THE EIGHT CUPS, THE LADLE, AND THE ACT OF HATE

After fifty-one years of married collecting, we have begun to give away some of the long saved acquisitions we have amassed. It is easy seeing bags of interview suits, of long ago fashions, of clothes with sizes belonging to another time and place bagged and headed for the charity shop, but to see the little antique treasures all boxed ready to go isn’t so bad if you think your kids will take them. Most items get passed over and no one wants them. I digress a bit, but found some handkerchiefs from generations and generations ago. So, I ironed them up and put them in envelopes and sent them to my descendants. Hope they enjoy the gift of antiquity…each got 5 or 6 absolutely gorgeous old time handkerchiefs, more beautiful and stitched beyond anything of today.

Are we moving, downsizing to go to a one-story house, no, just cleaning up before the real clean up, the real downsize, the real end.

Today was a lucky day. Our son came over and actually said yes to the boxed, never opened, never used punch bowl set. Oh happy day. He wanted to open the box and enjoy the beautiful set in our presence. When he opened the box and began to unpack it, nearly instantaneously, he realized something did not look right. He noticed a small hole drilled in the bottom of the bowl and upon further inspection he noticed a small, precisely drilled hole in each cup and on the ladle as well. The perpetrator left no surface untouched, or should I say hole free. This act of hate took a long time and a great amount of deliberation.

Before I discuss my take on this, let me tell you how we were able to figured out how we became in possession of such awfulness. Skip worked for a liquor distributor a long while ago, and when they would have sales meetings they would have perk parties. You would draw a number and when the number was called the gift was yours. We figured Skip’s number produced the boxed punch bowl set as the prize. The way we figured this out was because his old boss’s name was written on the bottom of the box.  Had we not been able to see a name, we would have been in the dark as to where, how and why we came to own this gift of horror and hate.

Was the boss such a horrible person, and what could he have done to promote this intensely and passionately hostile act?  Whoever perpetrated this had such deep emotional dislikes directed into each precisely drilled hole. Not one hole, two or three, but one into each piece to be used in the set. Thank goodness we were able to piece together the name and to whom this act was against or it would have plagued us forever. Free from the blame or the designation, we took the damaged punch bowl set to recycling so it can become some benefit in its new form. Hopefully in the melting down process and during the rebirth of this set, the new item will be infused with liberty, independence, affection, autonomy, self-determination, responsibility, trustworthiness accountability, most definitely love, and the right to live free from doubt and fear.  From the depth of hate, and hostility there is hope in renewal.

You really do not want to know about my 5 1/2 hour experience at the DMV, but I am going to tell you anyway.

Even though it is 107 degrees in the shade, even though the lines, nine of them are out of the door and spill into the nearly filled parking lot, even though I had an appointment, even though I began to sob and lean deeply into my cane and even though I dragged my ass from window to window for over 5 hours, there was no escape.  There was no escape from the lines with only one person helping the deluge of people, there was no escape from the many and varied languages spoken at high volumes all around you, there was no escape from the heat, there was no water and the lines to the bathrooms equaled the ones you are waiting in to have your picture taken. It was the kind of terror I experienced when I was nine months pregnant and I realized that I had to do this, it was my baby, I had to have it; and this time as well, there was no other way out if I wanted to participate as a driver in my state, in my country. I and I alone had to navigate this maze.

Without further ado, I did pass my test missing only one.  No I am no winner, I studied beyond the bell. I knew every question backwards and even the ones stated in their tricky manner, except the one where I may have made an error on being polite. Nope, you can’t even be polite, just legal.

I paid $31.00 for my license renewal, but would gladly pay $100 if it would gain enough revenue to open one more line for photos, one more line for information, one more line for appointments, one more line to get and take the driving written test, one more line to correct the test and another line to take the driving test. There are nine or ten booths to take your money, and your vision test, which takes minutes, but only one line for each of the other services.  Imagine the crowds descending from the open easy booths to the funneling; huddling crushes of one line for each of the other the services.

Several much younger and stronger folks just sat down or lay down in line.  I used a chair with a handicapped sign on the back and pulled it around for a while.  I am waiting in another type of line for a partial knee replacement.  If I had known the extreme physical challenge of the DMV experience, I would have come in a wheel chair and had someone wheel me through the process. It would not have cut down the time because no one will let you in line for handicapped, everyone in that building waiting in line was in pain and felt sorrowfully handicapped. Dragging the chair did help me through the ordeal.

When I had waited in all of the lines and all of my tasks were done, they put all of my collected information into a computer at the end of the last line.  Mine would not go through.  Everyone before me had theirs go through. I began to melt down. The gentleman was very apologetic, but nonetheless, I had to go back to window 1 and start over.  That is when I opened up the floodgates and melted down to jelly.   I was assisted through the second time at the head of the lines. I can’t wait to see my second photo after 5 and 1/2 hours in a sweatbox. Of course, by the time I got to my car at the end of the long, long parking lot, I was proud of my accomplishment at the DMV facility because I was still alive, barely. It takes several days to get over an experience like this at any age.

There is no one to listen, but I do believe that you might be interested to know that the written test is given in every language imaginable, and people walking out of the DMV that day passed their written driving exam, but will they be able to read merge, and end of divided highway?

Since I realized that all of my immediate America was in this building, huddled together for a common and individual cause, I looked around and drank deeply of ethnicity. They all acted very nice and accommodating to each other. People who didn’t even know each other, and some that did, helped each other and took turns standing in line for one another while the other rested in some chairs provided. When there were no chairs, they just slumped into the wall and ultimately the floor. I thought I was the only one suffering so greatly, but as I looked around at these faces, they were all commonly suffering for the same singular goal; the right to drive in California, in the United States of America. The young, the old, those in the middle of the road and all those in between had pain and standing for long periods of time hurt, plus the whole experience was daunting and painful. It was good to know I was not alone.

A good observation to report is that all of the people working for the DMV behind the counters, with the floods of people staring at them from the other side, never ever lost their cheerful, high spirited approach to their job and the people they served that day.

Previous Older Entries Next Newer Entries