She piled three kids, a dog and a snake into a yellow Mustang convertible and began the journey from Connecticut to Texas. It was 1967. She was my mother. The divorce was finalized and our new life awaited in the panhandle of Texas.
(Periodic posts about my wild & crazy life will show up on this blog. The posts based on my childhood/past are entitled "Vava's View." I am called Vava by a few family members).
I recall feeling afraid. Connecticut to Texas? Good grief - what culture shock. The move itself was a fear factor. Mom took a few days to get there. Back in the '60s we checked into motels - rather, she checked in, we waited in the car and snuck the dog and snake into our room. When we were supposed to be asleep I'd hear Mom sneak out. Why would my mother leave us in a strange town alone at night?
Morning reveille wasn't pretty. Mom was cranky. Who wouldn't be? Tossing luggage, kids, and animals into a small auto could not be fun. I was 12...the oldest and pretty intuitive even at that age. "Something" in my gut made me fear Mom...or her habits.
I was thankful for ornery little brothers and a stack of comic books.
We were almost there...