I recently returned to L.A. for the sole purpose of renewing my California driver’s license. I hope this will be my final foray into the famous (or infamous) California Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV). Under California law, drivers of a certain age no longer qualify for an automatic renewal. It is now required to take both the written and vision tests, which I last took five years ago. I am still having nightmares over that day.

First, I was traveling and had to wait until two days before my birthday for an appointment at the DMV. When I checked in, I was turned away immediately because the name on my driver’s license didn’t match the name on my Social Security card.

I hadn’t changed my name at Social Security when I married Daniel, as I used my maiden name for work, paychecks, and IRS filings. However, I did change my last name on my driver’s license (a BIG mistake). My license was automatically renewed three times, each with five-year terms. After fifteen years of automatic renewals, the world of identification tracking had changed. As a result, I had one day to go to Social Security to have my name updated to match my driver’s license. Remarkedly, it was easy, quick, and painless; I was ecstatic.

With my updated Social Security card, I zipped back to the DMV early the following day. I took the test and had my license with less than twelve hours to spare before the old one expired. It felt like a success.

Unfortunately, I should have proofread my temporary license. The last name was misspelled, which I didn’t realize until I completed the paperwork for a mini-split I bought for my house. Luckily, it wasn’t an issue for Pacific Power, but I knew there would be a day of reckoning at the DMV, and that day is here.

I was not concerned with passing the written or driving tests on this trip. I was worried about dealing with DMV, which never admits it made a typo. I will have to accept the DMV’s spelling of my last name until I finally make the official move to Washington.

The trip was quick, but I had time to show off some of my garden bounty. My carry-on luggage had a large zip-lock bag filled with sugar snap peas from my garden. I came very close to picking my one large yellow zucchini, but I was sure it would be a squashed mess by the time I landed, so it was giant when I returned.

Somehow, a slew of bright yellow California poppies is growing in every corner of my yard, including the raised bed vegetable planters. I can’t tell the poppies from the cucumbers; all their leaves and stems are entwined. Now I see a field of yellow flowers and hope there’s no cross-pollination, and I end up with very peculiar cucumbers.

While Daniel is working in Europe, he expects me to mow the lawn with our heavy, stinky, noisy gas mower. I haven’t told him that shortly after he left, I bought an electric mower (he had threatened to throw it away if I bought one). I was never great at obedience. The good news is when he asks if I am using our mower, I can honestly respond, yes, I am. If he ever asks if it’s the gas mower, I’m sunk, but right now, I’m a mowing hero!