On the spur-of-the-moment last week, I suggested we go to the DMV to get a photo ID for Peter.

“Why do I need one?” he asked.

“Because your driver’s license isn’t valid anymore,” I said.

“Why’s that?”

“It expired last year.”

“Why?”

“Because you decided you shouldn’t drive anymore. You kept getting lost.”

Inside, I was relieved there weren’t many people waiting. I completed the form for Peter to sign.

“Why are we here?”

“You need to have a current photo ID. You might need to prove who you are.”

He laughed. “Will I get a driver’s license?”

“No, this is only for identification.”

“Whew! That’s good. I get lost when I’m driving.”

“You get lost when you’re not driving,” I said.

“Good one,” he said, and laughed again.

After an hour’s wait, we were called. A nice young man took Peter’s information, then frowned. “Where were you born, Mr. Clarke?”

I waited to see if he would answer. He usually defers to me. A little smile tugged at his mouth and I knew he going to answer in a Cockney accent: “Bouhn in England, in’t oi, mate?” I cut him off quickly. “He was born in London…England. He’s been here on a permanent visa for almost fifty years.”

The fellow conferred with a co-worker. I knew what was coming. “Why didn’t you renew your license last year, Sir?”

“He can’t drive anymore, he has dementia,” I said. But that didn’t fully answer the question. They needed a current photo ID, even though he still looks like the photo on his license.

“Current U.S.passport?”

“He’s a British subject.”

“Current English passport or green card?” he asked.

“Not with us.” So much for spur-of-moment.

He looked at the clock. “If you can go home, get them, and be back before five, I can take care of this today.”

We made the round trip in record time. True to his word, he called us right away, and within minutes Peter had a temporary ID, with the promise that the permanent one would arrive within days.

And it did. When Peter looked at it he said, “Can I drive with this?”

“No, it’s just for identification.”

“Whew, that’s good! I don’t think I should drive anymore.”

For once I didn’t argue.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I stumbled across these haunting lyrics  to “Cobweb” by The Coral, an English rock group. If my husband could sing, or if I could, we’d sing this:

There’s a place where the creatures play
I’m going there at the end of the day
Who knows what I’ll find
In the cobwebs of my mind

There’s a face in a photograph
In the attic, beside the map
Closer to the tide
In the cobwebs of my mind

 

 

 

 

From the watch-house to the marshes
Following the signs to Colwyn Bay
And ships from Eagle’s Way

We stick together through the thick and thin
Let’s go out, that’s where I begin
Now I’m lost inside
In the cobwebs of my mind

There’s a place where the music plays
I’ll meet her there at the end of the day
Who knows what she’ll find
In the cobwebs of my mind

When she moves her beauty falls
In the garden the masters call
She knows where I hide
In the cobwebs of my mind

She reads my eyes
She reads my eyes

 

Header photo: Cobwebs envelope our beriberi.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist.