Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac? – George Carlin and Oven Baked Blood Orange Curried Chicken and Vegetables

My mother is in a total panic because she has to renew her driver’s license next month. I’m not downplaying the experience as my renewal is coming up later this year and I’m not happy about it. The last two times it has been mailed to me. The bonus with this is they keep the same picture so you don’t get tickets you never age at the DMV. In my last picture I didn’t look like either a serial killer or an inmate so I was pleased to have it roll over. Since (fingers crossed) I haven’t had any infractions I’m hoping DMV will continue this practice and mail me this one as well.

She and I have discussed the fact at some point she will have to relinquish her license and depend on other forms of transportation to get her where she needs to go. Each time I visit I keep my eye on how she’s doing behind the wheel. I don’t want to be responsible for anything either happening to her or because of her while on the road. There’s no way as we age our reflexes are going to remain as sharp as when we were younger. Her parking aren’t as fine tuned as they were but all in all her performance still seems good enough to warrant a license. How the DMV will view this I have not a clue.

The DMV and I did not get off to a cheery start. My driving career as a whole began badly I’m afraid. I passed the written test the first time. The behind the wheel exam was a whole other ball game. The first time I got a gentleman armed with an enormous clipboard. The man brought more paperwork on board than an IRS auditor at tax time. By the look of the permanent grimace on his face it appeared what he had accrued in office products he lacked in good humor. Seated in the passenger seat, hat in place, body stiff as a freshly starched shirt, he instructed me to start the engine and exit the parking lot. Each time he asked me to perform part of the test and I complied, his fingers began frantically writing on the sheets on his lap. Between the frenzied writing and the incessant clearing of his throat if my knees had symbols strapped to them I could have knocked out the national anthem. Instinct told me all this did not bode well for the final outcome of the exam.

Parking was my nemesis. Perhaps its hereditary? I’d practiced with my parents. I could park in a lot but was abysmal at executing parallel parking. After twenty minutes of maneuvering I managed to get th car between the pylons only managing to pin one beneath a back wheel. The fact there was no loss of life, I felt to be a plus. Getting out of his seat the examiner extricated the pylon, tossing it in the back seat. Marking on the paperwork accelerated at such an alarming pace the pen ripped through the paper.

At a stop sign I made up for not killing anyone while parking by nearly cutting short the life of a young mother pushing a baby carriage. With that, I was handed the marked up paperwork and instructed to come back, or for humanity’s sake not, when I’d garnered a little more experience. Fine. Practicing every chance I was allowed behind the wheel, my mother again took an afternoon off and I signed up for the second driving test. Odds being what they are in my life, the same grumpy gentleman hopped into the car carrying the same pile of paperwork. Writing ensued before I’d even turned the key to start the engine. Failure on this test I was told was due to the fact I hadn’t looked over my shoulder when executing a lane change. What? There wasn’t anybody sitting in the back seat I needed to advise before making such a maneuver. Why did the car manufacturer put in rear view mirrors if they weren’t to see what was behind you? Apparently there’s a blind spot. Oh. The pinched look on my mother’s face told me she was not going to pleased to have to take yet another afternoon off for me to humiliate myself any time in the near future.

My friends, promised a cruise around town if I passed, waited patiently for news of the results. Advised I was still unlicensed signaled the teasing to begin. Single handedly I was setting a record in my peer group for under achieiving at the DMV. I again began practice sessions. No longer with my mother, thankfully. Insisting on air braking when I approached an intersection or grabbing the hand rail and yelling “LOOK OUT” every five minutes she was making me a nervous wreck. Wreck being the optimum word here. In her place my stepfather stepped in for guidance. A high school principal with a love of distilled products he’d usually had a beer or two by the time we hit the road and didn’t much care what I did with the car as long as he didn’t have to drive it.

On my third try, Murphy stayed home and a young woman occupied the seat beside me. Patient and helpful I breezed through the test with her grading system and once I’d passed the eye exam was handed my temporary license. Mother took me to Orange Julius for a celebratory drink and I was handed the keys to fly solo for the first time. What a euphoric feeling it was that taste of real independence. I could feel the umbilical cord loosen slightly around my waist.

My exhilaration was to be short-lived, unfortunately. Picking up my friends in my mother’s Ford Falcon convertible I headed towards the downtown area. Giddy with success I failed to look over my shoulder when making a lane change. As the officer was writing out the ticket for causing him to veer off the road and take out an unsuspecting picket fence I could see the grumpy man at the DMV writing madly on his paper. Six months later my license was returned to me. I’ve done much better since getting it back, apparently a slow learner in my early years.

This chicken is just too good, and the carrots, yum. If you’re having more than two just double the recipe.

Oven Baked Blood Orange Curried Chicken and Vegetables

2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1/3 cup honey
1/3 cup butter, melted
1/4 cup prepared yellow mustard
3/4 tsp. curry powder
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1 blood orange
1 cup of cooked carrots
1/3 cup green onions, chopped
1/4 tsp. hot paprika
Cooked rice

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Spray bottom of casserole dish with cooking spray. Slice orange in half. Slice one half in two slices. Squeeze other half of orange into small bowl. Add honey, melted butter, mustard, blood orange juice, and seasonings and whisk.

Place chicken in pan. Sprinkle carrots and green onions around meat. Pour honey mixture over top. Place one slice orange on each piece of chicken. Sprinkle with paprika.

Bake in preheated oven for 50-60 mins. or until juices run clear basting every 10 minutes and turning once. Serve over rice.

Serves 2