Wear your stuff
Today, the mailman dodged the remains of Tess’ pirate birthday party (how on earth is she 4 already?) and walked the pirate plank to the porch to deliver an electric bill, 2 Visa card applications, a reminder to donate blood, a New Yorker, a Sun magazine, a note from a prisoner in Minnesota who reads 37days, and an envelope from the Department of Motor Vehicles.
Inside that envelope was the best Mother’s Day gift ever (except, of course, for the having- given- birth- to- two- wise- and- funny- daughters part, but perhaps that goes without saying): a license plate that Mr Brilliant had ordered for me.
My very own 37days license plate, declaring itself to the world – and mainly to myself. A thought carved into metal plate. I so love it. Mr Brilliant and Tess put it on the car for me, her chubby dimpled hands tracing the letters, and there you have it, a pledge to the world, an announcement, a reminder to me of what is behind 37days, an impulse so pure that I dare not lose sight of it.
I have long guffawed at the idea of vanity license plates. And now I have my own, and love them. Like those people with "visualize using your turn signals" or "I never thought I’d miss Nixon" bumper stickers, I find myself announcing my alliances and beliefs in passing.
Thank you, baby, for the very best gift. And, while falling far short of the license plate thrill, the very second best gift would be a handcrafted 18K 
wood opal ring by Tony Malmud at the Spirit of the Earth Gallery in Santa Fe, the one that looks like a bottomless ocean on a ring finger. They have my size on file.
No pressure. I’m just sayin’.
(That’s all to say that I love, love, love my gift from the DMV, baby. MMB).
