A gallon for the butcher and a quart for Tom and a bottle for poor old Father Tom

A very pretty day today, and so clear I could see the mountains in the next state over when I drove along Quimby Ridge.

Tomorrow is physical therapy, and I guess, since I’ll be in the neighborhood, I’ll try to renew my driver’s license, since the state was kind enough to send me a reminder.

In order to renew my driver’s license, it says here, I have to bring two forms of ID.  My driver’s license does not count as ID.  One of the forms of ID must be either a certified copy of my birth certificate, or a passport.  Well, OK; I have a passport.

The second form of ID must have my address on it.  Acceptable pieces of ID include:  a utility bill; the registration for my car; a lease; or a deed.  WTF? I’m renewing an existing license, which I have used numerous times as identification over the last six years.  I’m not trying to do anything subversive, like, oh, register to vote.  <fe>There I could understand the need for extreme caution.</fe>

Also in today’s mail comes the joyous news from the Social Security Administration that I have accumulated enough “points” to retire at 62/66/70, and! to be eligible for Medicare, and! for my family to receive survivor benefits in case the increasingly insane political discussion does me in.  Huzzah.

I also learn from Social Security that they are figuring my annual income going forward based on 2011’s earnings.

Falls over laughing

The other interesting thing — I tell you what, these forms are fascinating — is that Social Security started counting my wages in 1968, even though I started working in 1965.  I had to have a Worker’s Permit, which held me to a certain number of hours during the school year, and I think kids were paid at a different rate.  Also, I guess, kids had no Social Security withheld from their pay.  All that future earning power — thrown away.

What else?

Ah!  For those who had asked — we hear from Madame the Editor that, yes, Necessity’s Child will make an appearance as an eArc, but!  It hasn’t been scheduled yet, so, yanno — stay calm.

Everybody stay cool.

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My grandmother lives on Heath Hill, among an old stand of mixed wood.

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