Rainy Day O'Clock

I started my morning off at my local coffee haunt. I spoke to my brood of locals as I unpacked my jar of raw honey and prettied up my joe with a glob of it and then a sprinkle of cinnamon. I usually don't get to take too much time to sit with them and just chat so I did. I had nowhere to be in a hurry at that time and it was pouring out. One of them is a musician, always sitting with a gigantic book the size of a large print triple bible in front of him. It's always open like he's reading it but I'm pretty sure that I've never seen him reading. He is usually talking to each person that walks in. This is how I saw him moons ago and I must admit that I can be hard to warm up when a male speaks to me that I don't know. I can never tell what the intention is. Once I deem the male is not going to take my commradarie as a bedroom token, then my smile softens, my laugh is louder and I will make sure to have subsequent conversations. I've deemed my group at the coffee shop as 'safe'. As one comes in and joins our conversation, another leaves it. We speak to another former airplane pilot who recently learned that he has diabetes. He says his wife jumped on board immediately to help out and change their diets, but not before almost beating him. We talk about an inflammed spot on his leg for a bit and ponder what it can be about. Then he brings up the flight that went down recently. The musician, the pilot and I try to come up with reasons for various questions that the whole thing presents. The pilot states that a pilot will never intentionally fly into a thunderstorm and that the most dangerous thing is ice. He says that a body will sink first and then float two or three days later after it is bloated. He believes that the plane did not explode in the air high up or else the blood boils. I've never heard of this and I stopped him to hear more about that. Our blood boils? He says it does at high altitudes, that the boiling point is lower...due to air pressure...yadda yadda (I can't remember everything and I don't want to misquote him). Interesting, I didn't know. Oh - that's what it was - we were trying to figure out if these poor people had to suffer. If they had to plunge down and then drown, still being alive. He says no. The topic moves on to another man who joins us and talks about his cacti for sale. I give him every excuse as to why I don't need one right now. He counters it. We change the subject. He has a farm and today he felt would not be a useful day to do much with it. A farm? I'm intrigued. El and I talk about things like that. We both adore the richness of modern life with internet and shelter, clean, accessible running water and heat. We both adore the idea of a load of lush land, animals roaming, raising our own hens for eggs. I always throw a goat and pig in there although the pig would simply be our pet. The goat would work it on the grass, keeping the need for a constant manicure down.
Recently we've added the thought of my older daughter, Miz Eye to the mix. If we had that, we'd welcome her and her boyfriend to come live there as well with their dog. Such a peaceful and colorful thought. I think we share good ideas and build on them so nicely. And sometimes I know that we watch each other at work on daily life things and have learned to step back and really watch. Many times we adopt things from each other. Years ago I wouldn't give up My Way for anything, even if it wasn't convenient. Now it takes me mere hours before I think I like his idea better and that I'll upgrade. Then I wonder if he hasn't perfected that one simple things for years, just for me to see it and use it. I hope he also takes something from his frazzled and scattered bride, even if it is simply inspiration.

It takes a day off work to exfoliate the last 10 years. I should be iconicly shiny when this day is over and my shedding of old names has completed.

When I got married in 1997, I leapt at the chance to change my name and do my part to be a 50's housewife. Ok, a 50's housewife that wore the pants in the family, earned the household pay and arranged for strong people to carry hubby to the car once he was one moment to passing out at the bar. Even after divorcing, I left my social security number under the old name. I had simply moved my maiden name when I originally changed it to the center and voila - it seemed easy enough to follow the name trail.

When I married the second time, I didn't realize at first how jealous, inthinkably possessive and fragilly insecure my suckling husband was. Yes, maybe it was because he was young or maybe it was because he already was unhappy, having tried to kill himself before he bounded into my life with a transparent ball and chain on timer, waiting to slowly become more and more visible and exposed. Many ridiculous episodes ensued bringing these to light but one of the many self perceived boo hoo indulgences was due to tax time. I had to file under my first husband's last name.

I would personally think to myself, oh well, we're getting money back right? File under the woman's name across the street! Who cares - just bring home the return! Not that I don't understand that this could be a momentary lapse in happiness for some people. Especially folks who don't want to remember that their mate is not a freshly squeezed virgin right off the tree. I mean sorry, but I do have two kids. That kind of blows any sense of denial out of the option box. This is the kind of thing that could ruin two days worth of peace in the house in my 2nd marriage.

I have changed these things now because it needs to be done. Because I am tired of calling a credit card company or utility or doctor's office and having to play the match game with names. Am I under Smith? No? Try Jones. Wait, try O'Jones, no apostrophe. I've lost all surname dignity at this point and have decided to cut my list of non essential things that I care about, slightly short of keeping this one.

As I sat inside at the DMV this morning, I saw actually how good natured our DMV employees seem to be. Unless they knew I was going to blog about DMV employee behavior today and someone whispered "A spy among us!" when I walked in. One employee was especially kind to an elderly woman who was very put off that she had to run out to her car and retrieve yet another document to bring the total weight of her paper stack to about 5.4 lbs. The DMV woman assured her that no way, she did not want her to have to stand back in line again so just come right back to the window.

As I sat waiting to have my photo re-taken, I could hear the voice of an elderly man say beyond my veil of sight, "How's my hair? It's my last one!" with a good natured tone.

I didn't realize before handing my license over that I'd already seen it for the last time as they needed a new aura to go with my name change. I remember the morning of the prior photo. It was during the marriage of my self imposed slavery, trying to give every form of food available to a being who was thirsty instead or simply didn't have a mouth. My smile in the photo made me look playful, hair tossled...deceptively happy expression. Now my license proudly takes my two toned hair (growing out all the red and allowing my natural blonde to come flowering back out now that my transition from old self to newer version is at a different phase) and allows me to fully embody that alcoholic mom look.

From there it was off to the bank where really, the only option was to close out my 10 year account and open a new one. A bank account that I'd started with my first husband, although his name was never on the account. ("When you get a job honey, THEN mama will let you hold the debit card...."). When Number Two came along, I put him on my account. They make it so easy to get married, add names but ending things isn't as easy as a flaming bonfire. I bid adieu to the account that spanned the last ten years and all that went with it that needs to be carried away with the next wind.

Going to social security after that was even better. "Here is my marriage certificate from the first marriage but this is the divorce certifiate from my last marriage". My thought process was basically that I'm not in Utah (sorry Utahians) and I should hope that this sporadic paper trail will piece together my identity.

Wonderful, all done finally. Now today I will spend time on the phone calling various direct debits to change my information so that they can continue to get their monthly payments......or WILL I?