Author: Joy Hurt

People have lost their minds. Plan and simple. Living in a small desert town on a dusty wide spot in the road, I have a hard time comprehending the actions of many these days. Case in point. The Love Boat that needed assistance from the Coast Guard because of an onboard fight in their nightclub.

In recent days, a cruise ship was bobbing along the seas in international waters headed towards the east coast of the good old USA. What lucky people to be able to enjoy the luxury of a cruise, right?

Once, in a lifetime long, long ago, I went on a cruise. Newly divorced with two very small children, I spent $440 on a one week singles cruise to Mexico. The catch was that I would bunk with three other singles that I didn’t know. At the time, being 20-something, that wasn’t as horrifying as it would be today. It was simply a way to take a much needed vacation. Single motherhood was taking it’s toll. At the time, I had two boys, age 4 and 2.

During that week, the world was at my fingertips. All meals were served at a set time. My roommates were celebrating their graduations from Cal Poly. Three adorable women that had spent the last four years of their lives studying engineering. We bonded immediately, they being quite sure I was the true Goddess of fertility for producing two children. I was equally as positive they were the Goddess Dream Catchers on the brink of having the corporate world at their manicured fingertips. The truth was somewhere in the middle on both accounts.

During that week, we sunned our bikini clad bodies by the pool. We drank and ate way too much. Sightseeing at exciting ports, we met new people. We snorkeled and saw all the sights. We danced at the nightclub while flipping our long and luxurious hair. In short, for $440, I felt human again during that one week of splendor.

I can assure you of this. In our wildest dreams, it never crossed our minds to get involved with an onboard fight at the ship’s nightclub. In fact, during the cruise, I never heard anyone raise their voice in anger. Everyone knew how to behave. But, that was the 1900’s. Things were different then, weren’t they?

Watching the children of today on news footage, I can only wonder if their parents are watching proudly from home. When our kids were 18, we were proud of them because each one struck out on their own to make good lives for themselves. Pretty sure they never incited a riot anywhere. They were too busy serving our country in the Air Force, working, and going to college. By the way, we raised five people to adulthood. We’ve remained proud of each one for their numerous accomplishments and contributions that have make our world a better place.

Looking at protesters ruining cities and causing fear, I can’t help wondering, “What’s the point?” The issues they’re fighting about are often nothing that even concerns them.

Right to choose? Hmmmm. I’ve had little right to choose when it came to some recent medical decisions. As far as I know, my body is still my body, but that surely didn’t matter when considering real medical reasons why the vaccination isn’t right for me. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t throw a punch in a cruise ship night club if I wanted to right now. Non-vax-ers are forbidden, and will remain that way for the foreseeable future.

Children are breaking things and revolting much like the two year old that throws messy tantrums. Except, these aren’t children. They’re young adults that are ruining a very nice, calm way of life for others. These actions are taking away our right to choose peaceful, clean, cities that were once beautiful places to visit, live, and work. Now ruining expensive vacations for others, crazy actions caused the need for the US Coast Guard to get involved. ON A CRUISE SHIP FOR GOODNESS SAKES.

I hope someday to take a cruise around the world. I have it picked out. Three months of bobbing, dining, and sight seeing. Wondering if the restrictions on people like me will ever be lifted, I now have another consideration. If they are, what do I pack for personal protection? Mace? Brass knuckles? Should I brush up on my karate moves? A cruise ship is the last place a person should worry about being part of a fight in a nightclub. Such is urban life and warfare. I’ll take my chances with the rattlesnakes here in the wild, wild, west.

For now, back to the reality of painting. Two more days to finish the job. Covid just broke out at the church. Staying in is a grand idea right now. At least, if Oliver decides to start a fight, I think I can still win. No US Coast Guard protection needed here at Winterpast.

More tomorrow.

Plus. Minus. Plus. Minus. Plus. Minus.

All day long, “What If’s?”, “Should I’s?”, “Why Not’s?” and “Am I OUt of My Mind?” cloud my thinking. Really? All I want to do is finish painting my hallway. Thoughts of moving into a new classroom after being retired for five years haunt me. Yesterday, everything became real.

My morning started like any other, although I’d overslept for a job I don’t yet have on quiet Monday morning. To stay on track, each evening, I write down my plan for the next day. Assigning times and activities, I have a written To-Do List all prepared in case it’s a day I need to be on auto-pilot. As a widow, those days pop up and I need a pre-designed plan to guide me through. These days, those kind of days don’t happen too often anymore.

6:30 AM. Water the plants outside.

Simple, until it became complicated.

Winterpast sits in the middle of lush gardens. In the desert, this is selfish and extravagant. I have my own personal oasis. Now, I didn’t plant it. I maintain it. In fact, under my watch, several trees have died or been removed. I’ve limited the water in some areas, shrinking my green footprint. My yard remains California green. This takes a lot of water in the summer.

I own two complicated sprinkler systems that I needed to learn. Nine stations feeding water to old tubing and even older emitters. The back station quit last year. Installing a new box, it still didn’t work. I believe I have failing solenoids. What a curse! Sounds like a dreaded disease.

Yesterday, when I turned on the back up system, (now leaking in all the wrong places), water didn’t magically spring to life where it should. Water in — No water out = Big leak underground.

There are many things I can do well. I’m finding I don’t mind a ladder as long as I’m not higher than the fourth rung. I don’t mind trouble shooting minor car problems. I can hang doors with the best of them.

But, I need to draw the line at digging. I can no longer be the human mole and dig. Oliver could help me with this one if only there were a stash of dog bones involved, but the heat gets to him, as well.

Calling Mr. B, Gardener Extraordinaire, I always feel I’ve failed. Really? Why can’t I fell the tree? Why can’t I dig holes in the cement we call desert dirt? Why can’t I fix the sprinkler system?

Why?

Because I am old, frail, and able to pay Mr. B to do it for me. End of story on that.

Mr. B will be arriving tonight and we’ll start the process of finding out what the heck is happening to the water. Whatever it takes, whatever the cost. When Mr. B is done, I’ll have an automated system in the back yard that waters daily, right on schedule like me. My solenoids will not longer be failing. If I need to be up and functioning, my watering system will be.

So, after an extremely frustrating morning in which the haunting of the future took a backseat to the rantings of the present, my phone rang. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen begging me to pick up.

“Hi, this is Janice. I’m calling from the little elementary school one mile away from you. The cute one that you think of often. The one you applied for. The one in which we’ll give you the keys to Room 10. The one where you’ll lovingly teach your kiddos from August until May. That one. When can we meet?”

Well, the conversation wasn’t exactly like that (except in my mind).

Mrs. Principal would like to meet me next week on a special morning. Now things are very real. “Go Big or Go Home” VST used to say. We always went big and I have no intentions of stopping now. Being Intelligent, Resourceful, Intuitive, Seasoned, 1 part Mary Poppins, and 2 parts Amazing Teacher, the eyes in the back of my head will slay them. The job is mine to accept or refuse.

I suspect the hauntings of possibilities will be intense today. That’s okay, because the more I think, the faster I paint.

Stay tuned. The story is starting to getting interesting around here.

More tomorrow.

Last night, I did everything I normally do before falling to sleep. Arranging my materials for writing this morning, I carefully put my glasses on the nightstand. I even got my phone plugged in for the night. But, somewhere, I omitted the important step of setting the alarm. Luckily, my back-up alarm never fails. I can count on Oliver.

In 22 years of teaching, I never missed the bell. I never even came close. In my first days of teaching, I made it a point to be at my desk by 5:30 AM every day. That wasn’t the most convenient or easiest, as I still had kids and a husband at home with ranch work on the side. Arriving so early, the school was quiet. There was time to think and put the finishing touches on our day. Morning work was placed neatly on each desk. The copy machines were empty and there were no teaching friends to talk with. The day unfolded in such a great way, and by 3:00, I left with the kids.

Being on campus early, I discovered that parents liked to meet at the beginning of the day better than after school. It meant they didn’t need to clear an afternoon during their work day. All in all, it worked for me during my career. But, I was 40-something and it was the 1900’s.

A friend recently asked me about my choice to return to the classroom and what it meant for all my new found activities and friends. Just what will I do without Thursday Bible Study and all the impromptu lunches I’ll miss? What? No shopping trips with friends? Or fall trip to Mount Rushmore and Yellowstone?

Twenty-seven years have passed since I bought my first shiny whistle. Almost three decades. That being said, 3rd Graders haven’t aged a day. I locked my door for the last time May 26, 2017. Five years is a long time to rust up. It didn’t take the Tin Man but a few overnight thunderstorms.

Hmmmmmm.

This morning was my first good jolt that there is no back up alarm except Oliver here at Winterpast.

Once he was retired, VST was the best support system a woman could have. He would start the pellet stove a few minutes before I got up. Making sure that I had on all pieces of clothing, (none being backwards), he even checked for matching shoes. He made sure that I had a good breakfast and drove me to the front door of the school. After work, he was waiting in the parking lot to take me to dinner. All without complaint, 5 days a week. All I had to focus on was teaching.

Now, if Oliver only had thumbs he could probably do more to help. But, at best, he is an amazing alarm clock. His small noises start about 3:50 AM every morning. Little suggestions that it is getting close to his breakfast time. By 4:00 AM, he is insistent that “IT IS TIME FOR BREAKFAST, MOM-OH”. This morning, he didn’t wake up until I did.

These days, I’m in training for the physicality of the classroom. I’m sharpening my mind for the demands of college, as my course starts in less than two weeks. I’m organizing my life and collecting items for my new classroom. I’m considering my current life of retirment and analyzing the plusses and minuses of re-entering the work force. My beloved readers, I’m freaking out just a little. What am I about to do? What will I gain? What am I willing to I risk? What could I lose? Helping children on their academic journey is the obvious WHY in this situation.

So far, my new morning schedule works well. Up at 4:00AM. 1.5 hours for writing and then my day can unfold with an ETA arrival time at work at 7 AM. So far, that’s a comfortable time frame. But, add late nights of grading papers and worrying about kiddos. Add a couple missed alarms. Yikes. The wheels could fall off my train quicker than they’re falling off the brand new recalled Toyotas.

As VST would surely remind me, a contract has not yet been signed. There are many more days of summer left in which I’ll make a decision that’s right for me. I don’t want to look back three years from now with regret that I didn’t fake it until I made it. I also don’t want to look back at a disastrous attempt that failed.

Plus-Minus-Plus-Minus. My favorite way of considering and making a hard decision.

Today will be full of painting and door hanging. As June 30 creeps up on me, I won’t miss my goal. The hallway is almost done. Painting is a great time to decide if I have what it takes to go back to school. All prayers for wisdom are welcomed.

Have a wonderful Monday. More tomorrow.

Know yourself and you will know what to do.

The birds are showing ultimate respect to Sir Oliver these days. He patrols the yard making sure there are no ground dwellers. If you have a toad or bird problem, Oliver’s the guy. The Exterminator.

The birds around here should remain mindful that Oliver is a master at figuring out how to achieve his goals and get what he wants. He will only need to practice tree climbing for a short time and they’ll need to choose higher ground or a different yard.

When he’s on the prowl, they sit comfortably on the tiniest branches. They aren’t worried about the branch breaking, because they know the strength of their own wings. They don’t think or believe they can fly. They just flap their wings and DO IT. What a great gift!

These days, I’m testing my own wings. Testing the things I KNOW and the things I’ve BELIEVED to be true. There is a big difference there.

I used to believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny. Both of them, one in the same, died on April 8th, 2020.

I choose to KNOW someone worth knowing now. The King of Kings. Not just a belief in human doctrine. A deeper knowing in my heart that brings comfort on the saddest days.

When I find myself standing on the fourth rung of the ladder, I still depend on my legs to hold me upright. I wouldn’t want to trust an old, rusty ladder because I’m not blessed with wings. As a human, we still have the duty to choose our branches wisely while using our brains. Some branches in life are just to fragile to hold us securely. Some break unexpectedly, leaving us scrambling to find a new perch.

It’s good to know when to fly for our lives, even if the day is windy and the journey difficult. The next place will make it all worth while. Then, we’ll appreciate the fair weather days that much more. That’s called Faith.

Have a wonderful summer Sunday.

More tomorrow.

Gold-medal athletes don’t become so in a day. It takes years and years to accomplish their goals. Many times, they fall. After each failure, they simply get up and continue on. So it is with me and my painting project.

I scheduled my progress for a woman of 50 years. In my mind, I’m her. Spunky and spiffy. Ready for a great challenge. Able to take care of any project I choose to tackle.

The reality is that I’m a 1955 vintage model. Most days, I’m motivated, but stiff and slow to move in the morning. I peek around noon and then decline in my enthusiasm until bed time. That being said, I do start my day at 4 AM.

Why, then, is this painting job whipping me into a puddle of sore muscles while the doors seem to be multiplying?

Yesterday, I felt victorious as I carried in a freshly painted door under my arm, careful not to scratch or in any way ruin the paint job. Once in the hallway, I realized there was a tiny little problem with the reinstallation. The hinges were about 1″ lower than their seats on the door jam.

Now, in my hay day, I’d have hoisted that door, held in in place with one arm and put in the screws with my free hand. That ship sailed into the night around year 50. So spoiled was I to have my hunky husband, VST. As you already know, he was strong and always at the ready to help a lady in distress. Yesterday, there was no hunky guy to come to the rescue. Oliver would have loved to help, but he was busy patrolling the yard for toads and random birds.

What to do? What to do?

I decided if the holes were too high, the door needed to be raised. With the help of 4 copies of my large print “Daily Bread”, the holes were at the correct height and and the screwing began.

Yesterday, I carried two freshly painted doors from the garage to the hallway and then rehung them! Gold medal for the lady!!!!!

Champions have some traits in common.

They know their abilities, strengths, weaknesses, and delusions. I am well aware that I won’t be painting the 12 foot ceilings in the family room and kitchen. Beyond my God-given abilities. But, I also discovered that I’m quite capable of taking down heavy doors and transporting them to the garage. After painting and carefully returning them to their rightful places, I rehung them. I’ll take that as a win.

Champions compete with themselves. If I did two doors yesterday, I will do two doors today. If I set a goal to have two rooms painted in June, on June 30th, I’ll be celebrating victory. Defeat is not an option. I may not be able to walk on July 1st, but two rooms will be freshly painted.

Focus is key. I’m finding that anything is a more attractive thought than painting. Truly, the toilet rings are fascinating me at this point. But, until all the doors are back on their hinges, I will remain true to the task and continue on.

With a belief that this is well within my ability, I will remain tough. Such an opportunity have I to increase my upper body strength and balance. I have a game plan. I will succeed.

All that being said, I am pretty whipped this morning. Wish me the best.

Whatever your Saturday holds, find some humor throughout the day and enjoy your minor successes. Life is a challenge. Accomplishments are proof of our efforts. Stay the course.

More tomorrow.

I am blessed to have really strong girlfriends. That’s a good thing, because I’m too young to sit in a dark corner in a heap of spent Kleenex. Strong women figure things out. Sure, we may be down a little at times, but we just adjust our course and keep going. Strong women are great traveling partners. My strong women gals consist of those that know the workings of jet engines, patch up sick children, build neighborhoods one house at a time, and hold broken hearts in their arms. They make people feel better with a new hair style. They come together to learn about God and each other. Strong women with amazing lives.

Miss Firecracker is one such gal. And, she’s my best friend. We met at a dinner for our husband’s service organization. Just two strangers on the arms of their handsome guys. We were lucky enough to sit at HER table. Once WE started talking, we’ve never found a subject we couldn’t mow down in short order. We don’t need to agree on everything (and we don’t, sometimes), because we respect one another. So, we talk about all the things we do agree on and leave the rest in a heap in the corner. All the while, laughing until our sides hurt, or helping each other to get through the tears.

I moved to my little wide spot in the desert on Miss Firecracker’s recommendation. She had lived in the two towns VST and I were considering. When Miss Firecracker lives somewhere, she doesn’t just hang out in her back yard or stay inside with her blinds closed. She explores a place and knows things. She showed me the mustang on the mountain just outside our town. An old mining scar, hundreds of people drive by it each day never noticing. To Miss Firecracker and I, it’s THE mustang. I think of her every time I’m driving to the Walmart to the East.

Without missing a beat, she told me all the wonderful things about my new town. To the outsider, this place is a dismal, sandblasted truck stop town. But to those in the know, it’s the best place in the world. My town is a chameleon that blends into the desert so well, many miss seeing it for all the wonderful things it is. I moved here and discovered she had been right on all accounts.

Miss Firecracker taught me about shortcuts and the best places to hang out. Tee Pee Bar and Grill used to be open long into the night. Now, it’s only open until 2 PM. Well, heck, Miss Firecracker moved away and there was just no reason to go on. Oh, the wonderful meals we shared as we held things together, two being stronger than one. She stayed until she couldn’t any longer. And then, she moved away.

Miss Firecracker is the only woman I know with the guts to buy the biggest, blackest, shiniest SUV on the lot, keep it for 9 months and then trade it in on a sleek, sexy race car. She is the only person I know that decides to travel to Florida to have afternoon wine with friends, making reservations to jet off for her getaway. She is always on the fly, never losing her sparkle while leaving a trail of smiles wherever she goes. She has laughed away age and pain. I am quite sure she doesn’t own a rocking chair of any kind. Not her style.

There are some women in the world that are born heart friends. Through our travels, if we run into one or two of them in a lifetime, we should consider ourselves lucky. If they happen to be strong women, we are truly blessed. Miss Firecracker and I are true heart friends of the very best and strongest kind.

Recently, she lost her true best friend, Chewie. He was her guide through very dark days when her sweet guy, Bailey’s and Cream, passed away. Bailey’s and Cream was the other reason I chose my dusty little town on the wide spot in the road. He was one of a kind. Brilliant, debonair, crusty, hard as nails with a heart as soft as a marshmallow. He was intimidating in his knowledge of everything industrial, electrical, and engineered. Truly brilliant. I was looking forward to getting to know him better, but Covid took it’s grip on any chance for BBQ’s making visits of any kind impossible.

Bailey’s and Cream passed away 4 months after VST. He rests in the Northern Nevada Veteran’s Cemetery. When life gets too confusing, I visit by his niche at the columbarium and think about what he would advise. Before I’d finished unpacking, four friends became two strong women holding back tears over dinner at the Tee Pee Bar and Grill. Two hearts have supported each other through thick and thin. I hope we’ve seen the thinnest for awhile.

Well, Miss Firecracker’s life is now thick with things to do. Boxes to unpack and sort. Treasured belongings to cry over and new things to assemble. Her brand new, shiny, gorgeous luxury car sits in the driveway of her beautiful new home with her very own door that locks. For a year, she has been living out of a suitcase. I hope the explosion of her belongings into her new space brings a sigh of relief.

You are home, Sistah!!! Enjoy every peaceful moment in your new space. Make it all you. We have another thing in common now. We own “She-Sheds” that just happen to be our very own homes. Congratulations!!!! You earned it!!!!! Now, ENJOY!!!! Cheers!!!

More tomorrow.

Things are hopping here at Winterpast. The girl is BACK!!!!! No longer do I look at the ladder, Sigh, and put painting off for another day. My painting schedule says that I will be finished with the hallway and laundry room by June 30th and I’m right on schedule.

If you haven’t painted a room in awhile, be ready for a rude awakening at checkout. I remember painting The Dun Movin’ House in Virginia City. At 3,300 sq. feet, it only took me six years to finish the entire interior and most of the exterior. Only 8 years ago, paint was $17 a gallon. Yesterday, I paid $48. It IS a wonderful product that contains both primer AND paint, but one gallon doesn’t go very far. I remember when painting was a cheap decorating option. Not any more.

Roaming around the hardware store while they were mixing my paint, I remember the hours and hours I spent with VST doing that very thing. We were always the couple people smiled at. Two Senior Citizens holding hands as they walked through the aisles deciding on the next big project. How may times I helped select clear redwood boards for the deck or MDF (Medium-Density Fiberboard) to trim 33 windows. VST taught me so much about home repairs, the only thing keeping me from most of them is that I’m not as strong as he was. That man could single handedly lift a cabin to replace a beam. I know. I witnessed it.

After my purchase of supplies, I returned home to begin painting the doors which I had moved to the garage. After setting up my painting station, I unwrapped some small rollers. Whizz rollers. If you are in the middle of a project yourself, I can recommend them. They come in a variety of sizes and are made of a material similar to low pile fleece. In a matter of minutes, two doors were covered and drying. Excellent coverage, with little wasted paint.

While painting, I was startled by THE NOISE. My heart sank. Sort of like a belch. More like internal, gassy rumblings it sounded like a “pre-explosion” noise. Gosh I wish I was a city girl that didn’t know about this stuff. Those glamorous types must lead such a protected life. Anyway. Back to the noise.

The noise persisted every time the hot water heater came on because, it was coming from the hot water heater. My hot water heater needs a good flushing. Flushing ISN’T just for toilets.

VST taught me something very important. Many household problems are related to water. Think of it. Leaky roofs. Broken pipes. Clogged drains. Mold. Rumbling hot water heaters. If I hadn’t been painting outside, it would’ve been easier to ignore. But, spending time in the garage listening to the rhythmic rumblings, I realized one thing.

My list of “Must Do’s” for today has changed a little.

1. Purchase Home Warranty.

Hot water heaters have also increased in price.

After a day on and off the ladder, the hot tub was a great way to end the evening. Unsettled weather continues, with the winds whipping evening-cooled air across the desert. I’m hoping for one rip-roaring thunderstorm, but will be grateful for beautiful desert evenings that make me so glad “Nevada is Home” to me.

Whatever summer project you find yourself accomplishing, take time for some lemonade and rest in the shade. Be respectful of the ladder. Carry On and Get Things Done.

More tomorrow.

The cutest wire formed into words hangs over my kitchen table. I put it there so each and every day I can remember my best friend, CC. She’s the one that gave it to me as a housewarming present two years ago. Two words. “CHOOSE HAPPINESS!” That’s something everyone in the world needs to do right now. Just sit down and be truly grateful for the blessings in our lives. Face it. No matter the trials we face, we all have an abundance of things for which be thankful.

You can’t buy a jar of “Happy” through Amazon. The biggest jackpot at the local casino won’t do it. Even living in the best house on the best street in the most wonderful desert town won’t do it. It sprouts from within. Very quietly at first.

Happiness strikes a chord in our heart when we find THE ONE THING we are supposed to do with our lives and do it. I’m finally healed enough to go on with my journey. MY ONE THING is teaching. It is a passion. A fire that never went out, but instead, was dwarfed by the flames of grief, sadness, and loneliness that have consumed me over the past two years. Burning brightly now, it’s guiding me to new opportunities just outside my door.

No one can leave a box of happiness on your doorstep. It doesn’t come when it is demanded or expected. It just happens.

There is no measure to tell you when you’ve found enough. Like a painter’s hands, a a drop turns into a smear and pretty soon, everyone who sees you knows you’ve been painting the hallway. You might not even see the joke until you look in the mirror. Internal happiness oozes out like that and friends begin to notice a change.

“This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.” _{George Bernard Shaw}

Now, isn’t that is just the best quote ever?

I intend to be thoroughly worn-out before I am thrown into the scrap heap.

I refuse to waste another moment as a “feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making me happy”.

I choose to be a force of nature.

What affirmations! The only person who can turn on the happy is me. It’s a choice.

On Sunday, I had the most wonderful lunch with three couples and a mom and daughter. Each individual couple carried heavy burdens. One couple would enjoy their mother on this earth only a few more days. One couple shared only three legs between the two of them. Everyone had scars from Covid. I was the “Plus 1/2” that no one wants to be. Each one of us had reason to dominate the table with tales of woe. But we didn’t choose to do that.

Instead, there we sat after church, brand new friends enjoying each other’s company. For two hours, we laughed, enjoyed our meal, and got to know one another. Even the daughter, who had ever right to be very unhappy due to the 50 year age difference between us, added humor to the lunch, enjoying little conversations with everyone at the table.

The man that had the best attitude of all had just had his leg amputated a few months before. With an infectious attitude of kindness and gratitude, he had us all laughing with his amazing attitude during this most special lunch. It was an afternoon I will remember and hope to enjoy again next Sunday.

So, make a choice today. As VST would always say, “Fake it ’til you make it.” We all have our “somethings” that are unpleasant and painful. If we truly take inventory, we’ll see that the basket that holds our “beautifuls” overflows into a colorful puddle that can look a lot like happiness.

More tomorrow.

Small town living is usually laid back and quiet. Fergettaboutit at the local DMV.

There was an old woman who loved to be rude. Got out of bed. Came to work in a mood. She worked at Window #3. There was no window #1, and at Window #2, there was a runny-nosed woman that looked like she was dying of Covid. The Shrew at Window #3 was my best option. But, let me start at the beginning.

Needing to renew my Nevada driver’s license, I’d studied until I was dreaming about white broken lines and crosswalks. Pedestrians jumping from the sidewalks. Intersections with green, yellow, and red blinking lights all going at the same time. I had down the correct answers for every question thrown at me and I was ready.

Yesterday, I dressed as if I was going to church. I washed and dried my hair carefully. By 6:45 AM I was out the door and on the long lonely road to the town just south of here, a 45 minute drive (one way). Of course, there was a little road work that blocked part of my route, but I arrived 15 minutes early to find out I would be the first in line.

#001 at the DMV is a primo spot. I probably could’ve sold my place in line to those not so punctual. This DMV is located in an old strip mall. There are four folding chairs outside the front door for the first lucky few. Other than that, old red X’s on the ground speak to a time when we all social distanced.

Yesterday was a new federal holiday. Maybe in New York City. Not in the desert towns of Nevada. The DMV did not observe said holiday and would be opening at 8 AM. This might be what put the woman at Window #3 in such a foul mood. Cantankerous. Desert hard. Windblown. Plain spoken. This woman was attractive until she spoke like a drill sergeant.

When the doors finally opened, there were four people behind me. I took the number from the machine. I will frame it.

June 20, 2022 — Nevada Desert DMV — #001.

Woman #3 immediately started shouting orders to the masses.

“Driver’s Licenses — Fill out the form on the table to the right — COM. PLETE. LY.”

As I filed out the double-sided form, the man who just needed a random form was taking a verbal beating from Window #3. I was praying for Window #2 until I saw the heap of used tissue sitting on her side of the plexiglass. I switched my prayers to Window #3. I would shower this woman with some random kindness.

Ten minutes had passed since I finished the form when my number was called.

Ah the sweet sound of #001.

“# 0.0.1. Report to Window #3. NOW.”

Walking a few steps to the window, she grabbed the form and immediately snapped at me.

“YOU didn’t sign the form. It’s not COM. PLETE.”

I had had enough. Period.

“On Page 2, the form clearly states that it will become invalid if not signed at the counter in front of a DMV representative, does it not?” Using my best 3rd Grade Teacher tone, she backed it on up.

That woman’s shriveled quicker than the legs on the Wicked Witch of the East when hit by Dorothy’s house. I was no Dorothy, but I certainly wasn’t going to take any rudeness from this State Employee.

Quicker than I can remember you must not park closer than 50 feet to a train track, she had entered my application, given me the eye test, taken my picture, and charged my credit card $17.25. No tests of any kind. My transaction was completed in less than 15 minutes. A record for any DMV visit I’ve ever had.

As I walked out the door, the woman continued to bark orders to her minions and customers. Her days must be tiring, causing grief to the masses.

All I know is this. For four years, I have a valid Nevada Driver’s License. It could outlive me. Time will tell. For now, that is an unpleasant activity checked off my list. In two weeks, I return to college, and with any luck at all, I return to work on August 9th. Life is what you make it.

Remember, don’t let the Witches of the East get you down. With a little tough love, they shrivel up.

More tomorrow.

On my way to a brand new day here at Winterpast. So many parts of my life are being renewed at this very moment. From the gardens and their fresh green leaves to my Teaching Credential, I’m resetting life one step at a time. Today, it’s the Nevada Driver’s license. Mine expires in December, 2022. Much easier to navigate the roads when it’s not the middle of winter.

In 2015, VST and I were like comets shooting out from the bowels of California. Although we had a beautiful house on top of our very own mountain, life had become unbearable for us. We were fleeing just like millions of other Californians who know a bee is not a fish and other important facts.

Wanting to stay close to the kids, (who aren’t kids but amazing adults), we decided on Virginia City, Nevada. A tiny little place just outside the Biggest Little City in the World. One of the first things that we needed to do was establish residency with new driver’s licenses. An easy fix, we had the proper documents in hand and plenty of time. After all, we were both retired for the first week we lived there.

The DMV office was similar to every other office in the land. No one goes there to hang out and enjoy a cup of coffee. This DMV had something not yet seen in California. Direct texting about appointment times and place in line. Yes. It was a glorious introduction to Nevada to sit in our car and wait for the text alert that we were next. We were giddy with delight.

Until.

VST presented all his documents. Success.

His eye test was finished. Eyes of an eagle.

I was next as we were a two-pack.

My documents were flawless. Perfect.

And then.

The eye test.

At the time, I was wearing one contact lens that provided 20/20 vision in the left eye. The other contact was for reading. At the time, a 2.25 correction. What girl wants to wear glasses anywhere if contacts are available? Right?

Don’t let vanity slay you at the DMV.

No wrinkled eye chart 20 feet away on the wall. Nope.

A digital device that you look through, up-close and personal. The 20/20 eye did great. All the little letters were in on the screen as plain and clear as anything. It was the other eye that caused the problem.

“Okay, read the letters.”

In my perkiest new Nevadan, old Californian voice I said, “I’m ready. Turn them on.”

“The letters are there.”

“Uh. No. They aren’t. Turn them no please.”

After a few exchanges, VST looked into the device and then at me with a most horrified stare. The letters were visible. The machine was set to make them invisible if a dope was wearing a 2.25 corrective contact lens. It would mean a return trip on another day with the dopey glasses.

“Next.” The Nevadan ponytail behind the counter enjoyed that one a little too much.

The next day, wearing my glasses, the test was a complete success and my driver’s license was issued, good until my birthday 2022. At the time, that seemed an eternity away. In reality, I would teach two more years, helping 113 more kiddos. 3,300 square feet of house needed painting. Balls to attend. Curbside parades for every tiny celebration. And, one husband to love until he died. The most precious days of my life were ahead.

Fast forward to today.

Glasses? Check.

Necessary documents? Check.

Prepared to take written test, if presented with one? Check.

Money for licensing fees? Check.

The only thing that can ruin this is my nerves. Limiting the coffee, I’ll set off on dusty roads heading south. A 45 minute drive to review the rules of the road in my head. Leaving early, if I’m not one of the first 5 people in line at 8 AM, I’ll feel the defeat before the battle.

Have a wonderful day, whatever you do. I don’t plan to celebrate anything today except my very new and wonderful Nevada Driver’s license. I wonder what the next 7 years will hold????

More tomorrow.