Category: 2022

New horizons always hold excitement for me. Traveling over the years, the best part of the morning is before the sun even comes up. Everything is new and ripe with potential as the day begins. That’s how I’m finding my life right now. Exciting, unpredictable, and brand new.

As the story of my future here at Winterpast slowly unfolds, I’ve chosen a path different than the one I’ve been on for the past two years. It’s leading right back to that 8:00 bell and a room full of beautiful 3rd graders with the jitters in their legs. Needing to dust off my whistle, this teacher is headed back towards the playground of life.

Last night, eyes wide open in the dark, I thought of all the ways VST helped me my last two years of teaching. It was, indeed, a team effort. Both up at 4:30AM, I left the house by 6 AM every day, with classroom preparation ahead of me. He waited until he dropped me off at school. Faithfully at 3;30 every day, he waited again in the parking lot for a tired teacher to roll on out to the car.

Each day, dinner was already planned. Patiently, he waited for me to correct papers from daily lessons and watch me tumble into bed. All the while, he longed for his own opportunities that never came. While remaining hopeful as he waited, he built things. Outrageously beautiful things, all while helping me.

In the dark, it crossed my mind that I will remain irrelevant if I don’t spread my wings and take a chance. There are children that need to discover the beauty in writing. They need to know that math is really fun and science is the most interesting part of the day. They deserve a safe place to spend their days. I deserve another chance to learn more about the world. Molding in the darkness of irrelevance isn’t me.

After experiencing the devastation of the last two years, times have changed. The days are really long here at Winterpast. The quiet solitude is becoming a bit of an annoyance. It’s time that I find a purpose outside of these four walls. There are kids that need a teacher just a few miles from my front door.

It’ll be up to me to round the bases for the 185 days of the next school year. Up to me to pack my own lunch and navigate snow and wind as I travel to a tiny little school in a very out of the way place. I’ll be on my own when I need to discover ways to help every child in my classroom. Having my own in-house psychologist was pretty handy when confusing situations arose. VST was always there to listen.

At a church function yesterday, I spoke to the pastor’s wife. As I told her I had applied to her little school, and only hers, she brightened.

“Have you interviewed? I’ll call the principal right away and let him know he needs to call you. Come, let me introduce you to the librarian. She also attends our church. ” Just like that, I know two co-workers. There are no accidents in life.

Later in the day, the Pastor’s wife and future co-teacher texted to tell me the following:

“Two minutes after I sent a text to my principal, he responded. He will be getting in touch with you on Monday to set up an interview.”

Technically, I’m now on summer break. It’ll be a short one, as I return to college on July 8th. The 2022-2023 school year begins on August 9th. My 22nd year of teaching. The formality of an interview will come and go and then, I’ll know three co-workers. By August 10th, I’ll just be one of gang looking forward to a wonderful school year full of amazing growth and adventures. There’ll be no time to bask in my moment as the new kid on the block. Teaching isn’t like that.

College coed. New teacher. Home owner. Gardener. Church girl. Friend. Mentor. Oliver’s Mom.

Descriptors of me in a very new and exciting life! My, how quickly time change everything, bringing with it the first chapter of a brand new life. God is good all the time. All the time, God is good.

More tomorrow.

Let me begin by telling you I LOVE THE WIND. The stronger the better. There is nothing better than hunkering down in the worst of winds with a good cup of coffee and a book. Better yet, a windy nap under an overcast sky. On my favorite days, the wind blows at around 10 – 12 miles an hour all afternoon. Unless of course, nice hair and driving are involved. Then, wind is not my friend.

On the high desert plains, wind is a part of life. It’s one of the many reasons I love my home so much. Desert winds age or break everything. You can hear them coming like a freight train, much like huge waves at the beach. They always carry things away, leaving the air fresh and clean.

Yesterday, I came to know why some people fear the wind. During the storm, Oliver and I cuddled up on the couch, but not in a good way. A way that felt like we should really be in the bathtub with a mattress over our heads. A “tornado’s coming” kind of way. The winds yesterday exceeded 50 mph.

Here on the high desert plains, things are built to withstand winds. Winterpast has stood strong for almost 20 years. With the finest vinyl fencing, there is no wood or weather rot from sub-standard cedar that is sold today. Nope. This fencing is made for our winds and weather, while wooden fences become rot and then break. That being said, my fence did have one small break. The winds were that strong.

When the storm began, it seemed normal. Windy, but not terrible. On my to church, there were a few dust-devils, very common here. Nothing said, “Storm’s com’in” to me. Leaving the service to go home, the weather had changed with a dust storm upon us. Sand can ruin a perfectly good windshield or paint job. Not a place to leave a nice Jeep sitting out for the day. I scurried home.

Once inside, the winds howled. Around 4:35 pm, I lost power.

Losing power around here is always a time for me to catch up with my loved ones. Living alone, we all agreed that I should have a “Help! I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up” button. The system is marvelous. It came with a waterproof shower button, an “Away From Home” button, a wrist watch for sleeping button, and a pendant. In any sort problem, whether from an errant dust rag, a power outage, or a real emergency, all my kids and my dear friend, CC, are alerted by text.

“Something’s wrong with the crone. Give her a call.” They all call me immediately to be sure it was a false alarm.

It’s always nice to reassure them that I am just fine.

The power was out for 2.5 hours yesterday. Pretty sure that Nevada Energy pulled the plug on us. I can’t blame them. Earlier in the day, a downed power line caused a fire in the biggest little city just to the west of me. I’ve lived here at Winterpast 26 months. This was the first and only extended power outage in my time here. That’s pretty darn good.

I learned that I have depend way too much on the internet to fill down time. My 100 watt light bulbs are necessary for my weak eyes. The soup I wanted to eat needed to be microwaved. My “Verizon Hot Spot” doesn’t work well in a storm. Everything that seemed fun at the time involved electricity. I also learned that 50+mph winds scare Oliver and me.

This morning, it’s time to go walk the fence line and look for damage. I’ll call the gardener and ask him to come prune some broken tree limbs. There’s new leaves to rake before summer comes knocking on June 21st.

Have a wonderful Monday! I’ll be back tomorrow.

The other day, another “news” article further confirmed my decision to move away from the crazy state of California. It was a beautiful place to grow up until it wasn’t. Over the last 8 years, I’ve never looked back once, but only wished VST and I had moved much earlier and much further East.

The article stated that California lawmakers have now rewritten biology and settled it once and for all.

BEES ARE FISH.

In the 2,000’s, elders have been forced to accept many, many things. The craziest of trends are better left undiscussed. Something that was called this is now called that. Names of mountains are changed to be less offensive to some. History is rewritten with lightning speed. But this, I will not accept or teach.

Bees are and will remain animals that are insects. They will never become fish, unless you live in California. I won’t teach my students that a bee is anything other than the insect that it is.

The classification of animals is something kids love to learn about. I remember a young mom that came to my room in confusion. All the animal groups were confusing. Mammals. Reptiles. Amphibians. Birds. Insects. She had all animals placed in only two groups. Animal and human. Not everyone understands that basic biological facts place each creature into a group of their own kind. Bees share traits with other insects, not fish.

California’s change in classification began with an important issue. Bees are in danger. We need bees in our world to pollinate some (not all) of our food plants. They are very sensitive to pollutants and pesticides. Bees are wonderful little creatures. Their numbers are declining. They need protection. Fish have much broader protection through environmental laws. That being said, bees will never be fish.

All insects are invertebrates. That means they do not have a vertebral column. No backbone. Bees are insects. Therefore, bees are invertebrates.

There IS a group of marine invertebrates that ARE fish. Animals like jellyfish, clams, and other sea creatures are included here. They are fish. They are invertebrates, having no backbone. My personal favorite’s are the cnidarians. Jellyfish are in this group. A kindergartner could explain that a jellyfish and a bee are not similar in any way, except that they are both animals.

The loophole in the California law is this.

Insects are invertebrates.

Some fish are invertebrates.

If some invertebrates are fish and bees are invertebrates, then, a bee can be a fish. Simple. Sound the gavel. In California, a bee is now a fish. Put a nice news story on television that bees are now fish and the mother sitting at the kitchen table helping her child with homework will be even more confused.

Farm in the 1900’s was simple.

Respect living things.

Leave everything better than it was when you found it.

Water the garden twice a day.

Watch for tomato worms.

Ignore the bees and they’ll leave you alone.

Use the right bait and we’ll have catfish for dinner.

Do your homework.

Follow the rules.

Get to bed early. There’s lots of work to do tomorrow.

Say your prayers before you go to sleep.

Pretty easy.

I never needed to watch for the attack of underwater honeybees while swimming in the river. The beaches of Santa Cruz were never posted with warnings of incoming swarms of underwater bees. Bees buzzing around the fruit. Fish stayed in the rivers and streams until we caught them for dinner.

I’m going to finish painting my laundry room today while watching a lovely movie from the 1900’s. Things were so much simpler then.

More tomorrow.

Driving down the highway in my little town is informative. There are signs advertising goods. Signs for small businesses like the Roundtable Pizza or Auto Zone. The flooring store always has a catchy message. This week it said, “Honoring our High School Heroes — Town Parade Down Main — 6/14 — 7pm.”

Finally, someone was honoring our Champion softball team and cheer squad. It was about time. These type of events make their way into my datebook. Born in the 1900’s, I don’t keep a calendar on my phone. I prefer a large daily calendar that has lots of space for notes. Writing in pencil, there are plenty of erasures for those things that get canceled, ignored, or re-scheduled. When I arrived home, I penciled in the word PARADE – 7PM on Tuesday, June 14th.

Parades really aren’t something I love or even like. This parade would be different. Honoring our high school students was a worthy cause. Pretty sure that parking wouldn’t be a problem, I contacted a girlfriend to see if she wanted to join me. She jumped at the chance and we decided to sit in front of Subway under the shade of the Jeep while enjoying a parade and dinner.

Pop up parades aren’t elaborate. There are no clowns throwing candy or marching bands. No car clubs or dancing horses. Yesterday was no exception.

Arriving early, it was fun to sit on Main Street and watch the traffic zipping by. There was a time when taking an hour out of the day to wait for a parade to roll by was unthinkable. Watching all the commuters returning home from work reminded me that once I return to the classroom, I’ll be back in that group of racing rats.

I did hope I’d really seen the sign at all. Could I have imagined that there would be a parade on a random Tuesday night at 7PM? If so, it would add to the fun of the night. Visiting with a girlfriend over a Subway sandwich is never wasted time. The nice thing about being old is that you can get away with not always getting dates and events just right. Eyesight or hearing play tricks on us sometimes.

My friend showed up right on time. After working all day at the hardware store, she was tired. As we caught up on the week’s events, our laughter was good medicine for the two of us. Both widows, we traded notes on the perils of widow’s fog and how deafening silence can drive a woman back to the work place. We both agreed that we hope we are able to work for many years to come.

Right on time at 7PM, the distant honking horns signaling the beginning of the parade could be heard. Coming from the East, flashing lights approached as a caravan of two vehicles slowly rolled up Main at a snail’s pace. The parade consisted of the town firetruck followed by a pickup pulling a flatbed trailer. Atop the trailer sat the 2022 Nevada State Champion Soft Ball Team and National Champion Cheer Squad. Not bad for our tiny town.

This parade seemed to be a private affair held for two old women that honked like there was no tomorrow while waving like loony old bats. Different generations of women exchanging a cheering moment. We were the only people that had come out to cheer our teams. Just like that, the parade was done. And so was dinner.

My entire evening took 45 minutes out of my day, but gave me much to smile about. Small town fun is so different than city life. A memory was made for a tiny little group of people on June 14, 2022. It didn’t make the papers. It wasn’t a national event. Just a little bit of fun that was advertised on a sign off a dusty highway on a wide spot in the road in the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.

Look for some summer fun in your town. Remember to check the billboards. You never know what you’ll find.

More tomorrow.

Churches are made of really great people going through different phases of life. My church is no different. Just last Sunday, our membership grew by one little boy weighing 9 pounds something. This little guy is a brother to two others who would be waiting for dinner the night he came home. Baby brother’s are a fuss about nothing when the Biggers want to eat. Little’s can just nestle in their cribs and wait. Biggers need to eat.

Everyone at our church is cared for in time of need. Through the grapevine, people know who is sick, sad, or hungry. The storage pantry is the size of a small grocery store, stocked with everything from diapers to donuts. If someone comes in need, the church helps. It’s what we do.

Last month, the church pantry fed over 600 people on $300. Rather like the story of Jesus feeding 5,000 people with five loaves of bread and two fishes. Our pantry is open to anyone that needs food. Lovely and so needed in our small community during these hard times.

Last week, organized women got to work. The new baby was coming on Sunday at noon. Surgery had been scheduled for weeks. Mother and son would go home on Wednesday. The little family of six would need to be fed until Mom felt better after the “baby extraction procedure” as the Pastor called it to the delight of a church full of worship-ers. Volunteers would deliver a meal a day for one week.

A very persistent leader didn’t stop until she had seven volunteers. I took Wednesday evening.

My kitchen and I are friends some days and foes on others. I need to be in a real mood to cook something deliciously wonderful. The children, aged 3, 4, and 10 and their dad wouldn’t really care about French cuisine. They needed food for dinner. My go-to is always Subway. You can’t go wrong with a sandwich. Subway has kept me alive through some very tough days.

Standing at the counter, I had to be mindful that kids are fickle. What if turkey was the one thing they hated more than tuna? What if roast beef was worse than “abocado”? ABOCADO??? Avocado would be the kiss of death. In the end, I ordered three children’s meals and a footlong turkey (hold the onions for the breast feeding mama). Smother it all with ranch dressing. Add chocolate milk and cookies with a bag of chips on the side. A bag of apples for snacks. Call it dinner.

The Sandwich Architect smiled when I told her about the new family. I watched her as she added extra meat, veggies, and love to the meal. Not every day you get to prepare a feast for a special homecoming. She understood how special this meal was.

Dropping off the sandwiches at church, I mentioned to the Pastor that I was concerned the kids might not like the sandwiches.

“Ahhh. Not to worry. Mikey and Carl have an agreement. Mikey will eat the bread. Carl will eat the meat. Sadie will keep hers neat and tidy. Dad will be relieved that dinner isn’t something he needed to cook and mom will be grateful she’s off for the night. They make it work at their house.”

Smiling, I remembered back to the days when my kids were creative at meal time. Bless Mikey and Carl and their little agreement.

Brand new baby brother and the little family are settling in to their life as a six-pack. Everyone is doing well. Today is a new day. The way these women at the church cook, the family will get a home cooked meal with all the trimmings tonight.

How can you help someone today? Random acts of kindness make everyone appreciate their friends all the more. The world needs love this very moment.

More tomorrow.

My new Bible study group is the happiest spot in my week. Every Thursday, beginning at 9:15, the women begin to arrive. Everyone comes together from different situations in their lives. Some struggles are minute to minute, while others are long battles with years of mourning and grief. Leaving our public masks at the door, we come to learn more about the Bible and each other.

Yesterday, gals brought in items for the food pantry. Everything from dog food to a watermelon. People bring what the spirit moved them to buy. Bread. Eggs. A little chocolate. Non-perishables. A can of this. A bottle of that. Shopping for someone’s time of need. A very nice thing to do.

I’d almost decided to take care of my Driver’s License appointment at the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) office located in our county’s seat. If you aren’t a rural type, a county seat is an administrative center, seat of government, or capital city of a county or civil parish.

My county is spread over 2,024 square miles (Think of a square with 45 mile long sides). 2,001 sq. miles of that is land. 23 square miles of that is water (Think of a square with almost 5 mile sides). My town is the largest, even though the county seat is 45 minutes away. The population of that vast amount of land is under 60,000 people. Our highest peak is 10,565 feet. That kind of gives you an idea of the expansive area in which I live.

Yesterday, I decided the DMV could wait for another day. I needed my girlfriends more than a driving test. That can wait until next week. I needed the friendship of 15 of the best gals in my town. Laughter. Gasps of astonishment. A few tears. And, hugs. Plenty of hugs.

The meeting is supposed to last an hour. It never does. It starts 30 minutes early and ends 2 hours after that when the day calls us out the door to other responsibilities. Some ladies continue on over lunch, while others, like me, return to a quiet home.

Yesterday, in the most gentle and beautiful way, we practiced the art of conversation and compromise. All being of different backgrounds and all very strong willed, some of the class doesn’t like the curriculum, while others need it. The current curriculum is a college level course about fundamentals of the Bible. Some of us need that foundation, while others are further along on their spiritual journey. Some women prefer book clubs, while others prefer a class that is prepared by Bible scholars.

The leader of our group sat by, quietly nervous. Blind in one eye with poor vision in the other, she had prayed long hours over the choice of her curriculum. To hear that it was beneath some was hard to hear. In the classroom, you can please some and some will find fault. Keep your eye on the goal and carry on. ‘Aint nobody gonna please ’em all.

In the end, we decided to carry on and leave the decision for another day. The general agreement was that we all have one thing in common. The Bible is a very confusing manuscript. Coming together to study The Word brings it to life.

I’m happy for another week. Tonight, the preparation for the big church yard sale tomorrow is in full swing. Friday night activities in a small town vary from house to house. From BBQ’s to a drag down main, everyone will be out tonight as the weather’s fine. Next Wednesday, we step into summer and the desert will turn up the heat. One last spring weekend is upon us with unseasonable cool temperatures.

Whatever you do today, enjoy a little happiness. Whether it’s in the garden or sneaking a favorite snack. Do something that brings you a smile.

More tomorrow.

I am worthy.

I am worthy of my life and all the good that is in it.

I am worthy of my friends and their friendship.

I am worthy of spacious skies, amber waves of grain and purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain. (I am worthy, too, of the fruited plain.)

I am worthy of a degree of happiness that could only be referred to as “sinful” in less-enlightened times.

I am worthy of creativity, sensitivity, and appreciation.

I am worthy of peace of mind, peace on Earth, peace in the valley, and a piece of the action.

I am worthy of God’s grace and mercy in my life.

I am worthy of all my love. _{Written by Peter McWilliams}

**Today, be grateful for all the blessings you have. You’ve earned everything wonderful in your life. Enjoy the peaceful and bright Saturday that is the last one of Spring 2022.

More tomorrow.

How is it the the year is flying by, but time at Winterpast is at a standstill? The laundry room project, which in my youth would have been done in an evening, crawls on at a snails pace. Each time I clean the floor for the last time, there is more trim to touch up, or an additional spot on the wall that needs a touch up. Then, there it’s time to wait for the paint to dry. Again.

So far, the products I’ve chosen are wonderful. With the Sherwin Williams paint factory on the outskirt of town, the paint we buy here is the freshest and best quality. Comforting, as I’ll never be painting this laundry room again. In fact, this may be the last painting job I tackle before summer arrives.

Miss Firecracker’s engines are revved up with brakes locked waiting for the green light. For one year she’s been in the process of building a house in California. Her brand spanking new and gorgeous bachelorette pad awaits final inspections. Talk about practicing patience!!!! The worst part of having a new home built is the last week, when everything is finished except the final inspections. Of course, the inspectors are all at the donut shop discussing whatever inspectors discuss. There is nothing more upsetting than being one inspection away from the first night sleeping in a new home.

I envy her new paint job. An entire house of finished painting. How lovely! No ladders or aching shoulders from painting a high ceiling. Just shiny new and every detail her own choosing. Congratulations to Miss Firecracker. How I wish I was there to help you move in and celebrate.

While I’m not complaining, the weather here has been intense and unpredictable. This morning, the heater is humming with the temperature hovering at 45 degrees. Last night, it sprinkled. With our total yearly rainfall estimates at 5″, any rainfall is significant. A few more days of nice spring weather, and then summer will be here to stay. Time to fill Oliver’s pool and enjoy the desert evenings.

Waiting takes patience. Patience is hard to come by sometimes. Especially when nothing much is going on. That’s the situation I find myself in now.

Terrible for a writer’s mind.

Sometimes life in the desert is a little too quiet.

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.

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.