In light of all the political and other issues that have happened this week in our nation, I have decided not to address them here.  I'm sure there are plenty of bloggers who can write on these issues with more eloquence than I.  But do make sure you visit Heather's blog.  There was a marathon fund raising for her yesterday (the 18th) and what an out-pouring of love for this woman and her family!  Great job, bloggers!    http://www.especiallyheather.com .   Do remember to pray for her.  Thanks! 

Now for today's blog -

I had a most unsettling experience yesterday morning. It all started out so innocent (as most unsettling experiences do). Dh was home so I announced I was going to the DMV to renew my license. Simple enough. I dressed nicely and went down the street and around the corner. As I turned into the driveway of the Department Of Motor Vehicles, all the horrid memories immediately flooded back ….

(rewind)

It’s the year 1973. I’m about 10 years old, waiting in line at a DMV in Santa Ana, California. Looking around the enormous room, I see people, 2 rows or more deep, lined up along all four walls. Babies crying, assorted foreign languages chattering and sometimes yelling around me (this was Southern California, after all).  Oh, how I hated it! Where did all these people come from and why were they here? Why was I here? Why did I have to be dragged along when a family member needed a license or a renewal? Then, THEN, there are the employees (my apologies if you or someone you know works at one of these places). It’s been my experience that DMV employees are the same, no matter where you go. It seems that they really don’t want to work there so why should they be pleasant or helpful? This is a hard line to take but, like I said, this is my experience (gosh, I know I’m offending someone here, I’m so sorry!) You take a number, like 782, and wait, and wait, and wait to be helped. Then, when you are helped, you are told to go to another line and wait some more. AHHHHHHH! I just know the Twilight Zone was created with the DMV in mind.

(fast-forward)

It’s the year 1978 and I am finally getting my learner’s permit!!! We take a number (I think they were up to 1023 by now) and wait. And wait. Finally, we reach the front and, guess what? We need ANOTHER piece of documentation to prove that I exist!! AHHHHHH!

Here’s another true story. When I finally go in to test for my license, I was standing at a counter, quietly taking my test when I heard shouting. There was a man nearby, also taking the written test, shouting to his friends to help him with the answers. And no one cared! I vowed to never step foot into that building again. And I never have. Did you know that you can go to ANY DMV you want? You don’t have to go to the nearest one. I searched my area for another DMV and finally found a pleasant building with semi-compassionate and somewhat helpful people, in the city of Fullerton. It was well worth the drive. I walked into the place and stood there in awe. There was no one there. No one, except (of course) the DMV employees who really didn’t want to be there.

So now, back to the present. I walk into our tiny DMV, located along the bay (the same bay I see from my living room and our hill) and after taking Number 34 (there were 4 people waiting!) I sat down to watch the bay. (This is the bird watching part I refer to in my title.) I saw the first Artic tern of the season and nearly jumped out of my seat (that’s another story). Now, this DMV is really just a mini-version of the one in Santa Ana, depending on what time of day you are there. I swear they shipped the same employees from Santa Ana to work here. Except that one of the workers is the dh of a friend of mine (she doesn’t know I blog). Though this time, I didn’t have to wait as long but it did give me some quiet time to pray for Heather. My number was called, I did what was necessary, forked over the fee and then, I had my photo taken. Oh, my, gosh. When I took a look at my photo on the license, I said to the employee, “I have to look at this for how long?” All she said was, “Sorry.” Geesh!

I stumbled out to the car, took another look at the photo and sighed. There was a lady walking by and I wailed, “This is the worst picture they’ve ever taken”. She laughed and said, “Oh, no, mine is the worst!” I got in the car and actually started to cry.  There's this horrible glare on my glasses.  I mean, I look like a lizard, you know, with the eyes that go East-West?  I know it’s just a photo but it’s a bummer to know that I’ll have to display this card, like, to lots of people for the next 8 years!  I was still crying when I got home and everyone wanted to know what was wrong. I was ashamed of myself for being so petty. My husband took one look at the photo and started laughing (he’s still laughing behind my back at present, saying things like “Think Marty Feldman” or “change your blog to call me Igor”! Oh, that man!!) My sweet son, Alec, said it was a great photo (I love this boy). My daughter quickly drew a pretty picture to cheer me up. Aren’t kids great?

It dawned on me that there’s something wrong here. As Americans, we love the freedom that driving an automobile gives us. But think of all the hassles we have to deal with just for the privilege of driving. Is it really a freedom? Think of all the money and time spent on learning the rules of driving, buying and maintaining a car, insurance, registration, licensing, not to mention the price of fuel ($3-plus for a gallon of gas). You have to wonder if there isn’t a better way.