What’s the DMV? you might understandably ask.

This could be one of those blog posts where the writer (yours truly), traveling to exotic and interesting places, visits an elaborately named museum affectionately known by its initials, where she discovers some worthwhile textile and embroidery-related acquisitions to share with you.

It could be…

But it’s not.

The DMV really is the Department of Motor Vehicles. That’s the place we Americans go to register our cars, pay our car taxes, and get our licenses, tags and stuff like that.

Rather unjustly immortalized in Disney’s Zootopia, the DMV might not be the Most Thrilling Place in the world to go – and you certainly wouldn’t choose it as a vacation destination – but it’s one of those Necessary Places. In fact, I never mind going.

In my rural county in Kansas, our DMV is located in the very rural county seat, which is one of those geographical oddities (being 40 minutes from everywhere), and known primarily these days for two things: the DMV and the county courthouse and jail.

While there is an Oregon Trail crossing close by, I have to say, there’s not much else to recommend the place. But it’s a pleasant drive – hilly (yes, even in Kansas), green, with beautiful vistas. Once arrived, the lines are never long (if there are any), and the folks who work there are friendly and efficient. I’m always in and out in minutes.

And on my way in and on my way out, I always pause to look at this: