As you've noticed, I'm not like most bloggers, slavishly writing on a daily basis. I was dragged into the blogosphere kicking and screaming. A lot of people wanted to know, repeatedly, what it was like to not only go through divorce (my husband had a long affair with one of my best friends) but then move from my home of 25 years in Wisconsin to California.
So these odd thoughts of moving and change swirl through my head as the woman behind the counter hands me the written test (What?! I have to take a test? I don't just get the license?) and tells me I can only miss 6 out of 50. Oh dear. I take the test and of course I miss 6 and of course it's just before 5 p.m. Yuck, I'll have to come back tomorrow. The nice woman behind the counter hands me a book and says, "Here's your homework for tonight, study up and I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"Didn't you study?" Hannah said when I tell her that I flunked. Of course I didn't study. Who studies for a driving test at my age, for goodness sake?! That's for first timers. Besides, I didn't really believe I'd have to take a test. So, now I studied, went back, retook the test and only missed 5. Whew. At first I was excited to hand over my Wisconsin Drivers License. Then, I looked at it while she processed my test results. I felt like I was turning in 25 years of my past, my friendships, my good years, my bad. I still have yet to figure out how to stay connected with the good parts of the Midwest and leave the rest behind. In the end, she just punched a hole in my old license, handed me a piece of paper and told me this was my temp until the real thing came in the mail. After all that---they mail you the driver's license?! So much for instant gratification. At least I know the picture is half-way decent. Aloha.
So these odd thoughts of moving and change swirl through my head as the woman behind the counter hands me the written test (What?! I have to take a test? I don't just get the license?) and tells me I can only miss 6 out of 50. Oh dear. I take the test and of course I miss 6 and of course it's just before 5 p.m. Yuck, I'll have to come back tomorrow. The nice woman behind the counter hands me a book and says, "Here's your homework for tonight, study up and I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"Didn't you study?" Hannah said when I tell her that I flunked. Of course I didn't study. Who studies for a driving test at my age, for goodness sake?! That's for first timers. Besides, I didn't really believe I'd have to take a test. So, now I studied, went back, retook the test and only missed 5. Whew. At first I was excited to hand over my Wisconsin Drivers License. Then, I looked at it while she processed my test results. I felt like I was turning in 25 years of my past, my friendships, my good years, my bad. I still have yet to figure out how to stay connected with the good parts of the Midwest and leave the rest behind. In the end, she just punched a hole in my old license, handed me a piece of paper and told me this was my temp until the real thing came in the mail. After all that---they mail you the driver's license?! So much for instant gratification. At least I know the picture is half-way decent. Aloha.
License to Escape
Sure, the idea of escaping to the nice warm climate of California after your marriage dissolves sounds good, but really, the paperwork is hell. For once you settle in, the State of California wants you to chip in and pay your fair share (especially since they have major fault lines in their budget). So today, I braved the air-conditioning and went to the DMV to get my California driver's license and register the truck. Now, back in the Midwest, a birth certificate was all you needed for a driver's license. Here, they get personal. "We need a chain of names," the man behind the counter said. Maiden, Married, Post-Divorce. I panicked. I distinctly remembered putting the marriage certificate, with all its fancy filigree and calligraphy, through the shredder. If my husband couldn't be faithful and didn't even want to rescue the marriage, why keep the piece of paper? "Well," I said " I don't have my marriage certificate any more, I didn't think I'd need it so I shredded it." So the nice young man launched into another explanation of the chain of names and how I'd have to contact the state of Illinois to get my marriage license (I would rather drop the whole idea and keep my Wisconsin driver's license until it expired in 2014). I could feel my heart rate speed up to about 120, my face flush and my head pound. This is getting way too complicated. All I wanted was a stupid driver's license. Why does everything in my life have to be so hard? So, I search desperately through my folder. Birth certificate, check. Name change Wuellner to McSweeny, check. Oh-My-God, there it IS, the administrative photocopy of my Godforsaken marriage certificate. Proof that 23 years of my life may have been spent in vain in the frozen tundra of Wisconsin. I have now completed step one of Lord knows how many to earning my California Driver's License. To be continued...
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