Before I forget, Kim's posted the new Change of Shift. I'm honored to be included, and look forward to having time to read the other posts.
Yesterday's snail mail brought my official diocesan preaching license, good for three years and signed by none other than the Rt. Rev. Katharine Jefferts Schori, who I believe will only be here in Nevada for another two weeks or so. I took my preaching exam, a take-home essay test, in June, so I'm very happy to have the piece of paper saying I'm fully legal. My mother had a funny comment: "You mean you've been preaching all this time without a license?" But it's okay, because I had the equivalent of a learner's permit; I was supervised by a mentor who read all my homilies before I gave them. Now I can fly solo.
And, just to prove that we should never take our licenses for granted, or abuse them, I got my second-ever traffic ticket yesterday.
In a school zone.
There were no kids out at the time -- which is part of why I zoned out even with the little yellow flashing lights -- so the very nice cop who pulled me over just wrote me up for speeding without the school-zone part. I like cops, who have a difficult job for which they're often underappreciated. Anyone who teaches can relate. I always thank police officers, even or especially when they're ticketing me. (I once heard a cop explain that the two most dangerous parts of their job are domestic-violence calls and traffic tickets: they never know what the driver will do when they walk up to the car.) I was careful to thank this cop after he'd given me the ticket, so he wouldn't think I was trying to brown-nose my way out of the ticket. I think he thought so anyway. Oh well.
It will, of course, be paid immediately, just like the first one was; I deserved both of them, and life's too short to spend in traffic court. Guilty as charged, officer!
The irony is that I was speeding to try to get to a doctor's appointment on time, and then of course I was late because I got stopped. I told the story to the doctor's office staff, concluding, "This just proves that crime doesn't pay," and everyone laughed. Then they told me their speeding-ticket stories to make me feel better.
Gary cracked up when he found out about it. We routinely see people going, like, ninety on local roads (although rarely in school zones): I was doing twenty-five.
Hey, over the limit is over the limit.