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I (heart) the Vermont DMV

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Is it possible to love a government agency? I say yes, yes, yes! The Vermont Department of Motor Vehicles is terrific.

First, they have a good web site where you can conduct a lot of your tedious motor vehicle related business. If you prefer to deal with real people, your town clerk can handle simple DMV tasks, such as car registration renewal. Sometimes, you need to see a real DMV person, to get a new photo on your license for example. In those cases, they have mobile van units that appear regularly at a VFW post near you.

Sometimes, a person does something truly backward, like let their car registration expire. For over a year. In this case, a trip to Montpelier is required.

I have prior experience with the DMV in three other states and none of it was what you might call positive. New York was the worst — long snaking lines, gray-faced bureaucrats. They had it all. That was a long time ago. Perhaps things have changed. I’m pretty sure they didn’t have a web site in 1979.

On Wednesday I took a friend up to Montpelier to renew his car registration. We got a late start and were pleased to discover they are open late on Wednesdays. The drive took about an hour and we arrived after dark. I wasn’t sure where the office was located, but I figured State Street had to be near the big domed state house and, sure enough, the DMV was right across the street. Bonus — we got movie star parking right at the foot of the stairs.

Once inside the building, we realized we had left my friend’s wallet (and identification) at home. The clerk who greeted us ascertained the nature of our business, gave us the appropriate form to fill out and assured us we didn’t need the ID. We did have the expired registration and were able to complete the paperwork quickly. I got a numbered ticket from the clerk (A75), turned around and saw A75 was being called to Window 8. If I had to complain, I could say it would have saved time if she had just told us to go to Window 8.

At Window 8 another pleasant DMV employee quickly processed the paperwork, printed the registration and handed it over. It took less than 3 minutes. In fact, we were walking out through the beautiful Vermont marble lobby (built in 1949) less than 10 minutes after arriving. I had put a couple of quarters in the parking meter thinking I could always come back out and put in more if necessary. Ha.

All in all, it was much more rewarding than your average administrative chore. Now I’m trying to think of a reason to go back.

Family, Philosophy

Giving Thanks

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It is a week past Thanksgiving and I’m finally getting around to posting something about it. Most of my family was here. We had a good time, ate a lot of good food, and had at least one hysterical laughing jag. We have much to be thankful for.

It’s easy to be thankful for one day. It’s much harder to maintain a consistent attitude of grace. Yes, it’s lovely to have a four-day weekend, but then too soon it is Monday morning and the furnace is busted, the coffee machine spewed hot coffee and grounds all over the counter, the email has piled up, and the phone starts to ring. Suddenly that glass is half empty again and it’s hard to remember how good we have it.

So we muddle through and think sullen thoughts about how short that weekend really was. Until something brings it back into perspective — a beautiful choral concert or a visit with a friend calmly facing the start of chemotherapy next month.

I’m jolted back to the realization that I can get that damn furnace fixed or even replaced if I have to, the coffee is all cleaned up now, and I’ve managed to wade through those emails and phone calls. They don’t count. All that counts is the quality of this moment. Right now.

Family, Music

High School Musical

I am currently sharing piano duties in a production of “Jesus Christ Superstar” at my niece’s high school. Hanging around the school has brought back memories of my own high school musical experiences, and other general high school memories. Also, this particular choice of musical is steeped in 70s culture.

Compared to my niece’s school, I went to a big, anonymous suburban institution. There were some 700 kids in my class alone. My younger brother graduated with 900 in his class. My niece’s school has 150 kids total by design.

I’m not particularly nostalgic for high school. When I was about 23 years old I felt immensely relieved that I was no longer subject to the vagaries of high school popularity. It wasn’t bad, but I was perpetually ill at ease during my four years. I was quiet and moderately well-liked. I had a few good friends, a “safe” boyfriend who wasn’t likely to break my heart, activities I enjoyed. But I never really relaxed into anything.

How does one get to be so wary? Is it some kind of survival instinct? Empirically, I was never treated badly. I was never elected prom queen only to have a bucket of pig blood poured on my head for a joke. I’m sure someone must have been a little bitchy to me at some point, but nothing stands out in memory. I had no excuse for hanging back so cautiously.

This week of rehearsal immersion has been a lot more fun than I remember high school being. There’s an enormous co-operative spirit that is uplifting. And the music really does rock.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man