Baking -- at 9 a.m. on a Monday morning!

Baked cranberry bread this morning. Crumbly, but yummy.  Need to address an electrical issue so that we can re-heat coffee in the microwave while the oven's on--without blowing a fuse.

NC DMV

At the DMV in New Bern, it takes a half hour for you to get your customer service queue ticket, which may or may not be issued in the order in which people actually arrived and huddled or sat.

Then it takes 2 to 3 hours before you can meet with a DMV representative.  More than one person said, "I feel like I've won the lottery!" when his or her number was finally called. (Can you imagine being an antsy 16-year-old waiting to take your driving test for that long?)

Time passed.

Tim and I had all our documentation to get a North Carolina driver's license -- Social Security card, passport, Mass. license, birth certificate, proof of car insurance, proof of residency. We breezed through the vision and traffic sign identification quizzes.  However, we hadn't realized we also needed to take a multiple-choice test on traffic laws, violation consequences, and safe driving practices. 

Tim passed. 

I did not.

Which meant going back to the DMV the next day (after giving the manual a read-through), waiting a half hour for a "ticket," and then waiting, again. I did have two good novels with me, though.

One woman came in and perkily inquired about the process.  "Well, I'll just wait here a few minutes and see how it goes," she said.  "A few minutes?" someone chuckled.  Indeed, after more than a few minutes, the newcomer said, "Well, this is just a waste of my time. I might as well be picking my nose"--and ducked out the door.  "Jest don't flick it at us," came from the back of the room.

This time, however, I sped through the test and missed nary a question.  I am now a licensed NC driver.  Next step is registering the cars, since you have to have a driver's license to do that -- but the temporary paper one won't do, we need to wait until the plastic one with the photo comes in the mail.

Last night, we went to the community theater comedy  production of "Noises Off."  Admirable energy and craft.

Today, someone I'd phoned about doing some upholstery called me "Miss Jeanne."  I think I'm in the South!

Eagles and hot dogs

Yesterday, from the back yard, I saw big birds soaring on updrafts, following in the air the course of our creek.  At first I thought they were turkey vultures, a common sight in Massachusetts; then I concluded they were bald eagles -- at least one was, with a white head and a white underside on its tail.  They were too high up for a photo. The others weren't as distinctly marked -- maybe juveniles.

During a stroll downtown in the late afternoon, I sat on a bench in the sunshine and enjoyed my first Joliet Jakes hot dog.  The "Stubby Dog."  Yum.

Santa Claus, salons, and a cockroach

Blogger's eye view.

If you read a previous post, you'll know that another customer beat us by milliseconds in claiming a rug we'd had our eye on at the local furniture clearance center, Branch's.  She was going to take it home on a trial basis. Well, the next day I got a call from Jim ("Jim," like "cat," is two syllables here) who said, "Ah'm Santy Clows today," pleased to announce that our rival had brought the rug back. So, I drove the Big-Ass Truck out Highway 70 and picked it up. It looks like it was meant to be in our dining room. Now, if only we had chairs....  Well, at least there's something soft to sit on, underneath the table.

Most women I know get nervous about switching hairdressers.  There's always the danger of going in for subtle highlights and coming out a bleached-blonde scarecrow.  But I felt confident about Juanita because of two coincidental recommendations a year apart.  At the downtown New Year's Eve fest last year (80-09), my friend Chris had asked a smartly-turned-out local who did her hair.  "Juanita, at Split Endz."  I'd forgotten about that when, at the risk of being accused of stalking, last week I tracked a different (gee, or maybe the same...) woman into the locker room at our health club to ask her who'd styled her well-layered bob.  "Juanita, at Split Endz."  When I walked in, it was like the greenhorn walking into a saloon in an old Western, when the tinkling piano quiets, conversation ends, the poker players pause in mid-deal, and all the cowboys' heads swivel to squint at the stranger blocking the sun at the swinging door.  It was a small, square room, with ladies in smocks and Medusa-like locks with foil on them perched all around.  A long pause, and then "May I help you?" "I'm looking for Juanita," I said, a la Clint Eastwood.  "That's me," she said. "Could I make an appointment for tomorrow, or the day after?"  "Honey, I'm booked then and for the next week," she said. Juanita must have quite the reputation indeed. "Want to go with one of the other girls?"--very saloon-like. So young Amy, who grew up in New Bern and likes cats, gave me a good haircut.  It's not from the hand of Juanita herself, but it's Juanita Certified.

This was a better experience than at another salon where I went to get a manicure for my moving-box-battered hands. There was a resident chihuahua, in a sportscar-themed doggie bed at the owner's (one presumes) station. So, the sign asking customers to not bring pets inside was probably more out of consideration for Spike than for sanitation. I waited 20 minutes past my appointment time. My assigned manicurist was aflutter because her next client (after her mother) would be the first drag queen she'd ever provided with acrylic tips.  Unfortunately, even with many delays in service, I didn't get to see the performer himself to judge whether he would rival the pros I've seen in P-town and Key West.

Yesterday, we had rain in the morning but it cleared up beautifully and the thermometer hit 70 degrees. I was inside most of the day, though, sorting and stowing. Finally got out late afternoon and saw the movie "It's Complicated" which was great. Only $5, too.

This morning took a walk first thing -- temps were 20 degrees higher here than in South Hadley. It is sinking in that ordinarily at that hour I would've been going through the routine of getting ready for work, probably running late, precoccupied with pending appointments and deadlines. Today, instead, I passed ducks on the pond across the street sounding like annoyed Brooklyn guys saying, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah." A single Canada goose flew overhead and landed there.

When I got back, Maggie was by the front door intensely interested in something behind a lantern on the floor.  Eeeww, this is not a good sign.  But, it was only a cockroach as big as my thumb. Disposed of offending vermin.  "Good girl! Mighty Hunter!"  Rationale for having a cat in The Swamp.

Another is that cats are good interior decorators. Maggie helped lay down the rug.

Tim should've brought her with him to High Point, furniture capital of the world, where he is doing some scouting on his way back from Atlanta. When you visit, we may have dining room chairs.

"Flop that Sucker Open"

“We’re going to do everything we can to flop that sucker open, to have the band there and to have the planes fly over on [February] 26th."
 -- Hugh Overholt, a New Bern attorney and retired Army general who represents this district on the state Board of Transportation.

Link to Sun Journal story about new bridge that will help ScribeGirl and Tim get to Captain Ratty's and SkySail

Sheepish

Okay, so I couldn't find the paddlers meeting. Which was right downtown, but I didn't figure that out. So, my initiation will have to wait until the second Tuesday of next month. If it involves going in circles, it'll be a cinch. So I came home for pizza and a glass of wine.

...and THEN, cheese dripped from the pizza onto the oven floor creating a Burning Incident which set off the ceiling smoke alarm which startled Maggie the Cat so completely that she catapulted (so to speak) from the kitchen island (okay, okay, so an animal was sitting on the counter....), knocking over the wine bottle before evaporating, while I tried to disconnect the Device, which took longer than one would think, but then so did hunting for the paddlers meeting which was Right Downtown....

Docked

I spent all afternoon writing a book review for the Historical Journal of Massachusetts, which is published by Westfield State College. I enjoyed reading the book -- a biography of photographer F. Holland Day -- and once I made myself start, I enjoyed writing the piece, book reviews being a new experience for me.

Meanwhile, because we're looking to refinance, an appraiser stopped by the house, and spent a long time wandering around outside measuring and taking pictures.  The schnauzer from down the street, Cinder, barked and barked and barked at the guy. Cinder runs free and thinks he owns the whole neighborhood.  So then the guy comes inside, and says curtly, "Is that your dog?"  I thought he wanted me to put a muzzle on the mutt, who's harmless but perhaps intimidating. So, I started to explain, but then the appraiser began jotting notes. I realized he'd actually asked, "Is that your DOCK?"  No difference in accents -- just misheard.  Which could've detracted from the value of our home -- he could've docked us for no dock.  Although perhaps Cinder did that for us anyway:  "Folks, we knocked 50 grand off the worth of your place cuzza that darn dog always carryin' on."
Tonight I'm off, solo, to a meeting of the Twin Rivers Paddle Club.  As in canoe and kayak paddling. 

But the chilly weather won't allow for any paddling for some time yet, no doubt.