One thing about the Trever-Millers, we're kinda famous for our moves. Not dance steps, our many moves around the country. I like to tell people I went to 14 different schools by the time I graduated high school. We were military brats for a time, but even after my parent's divorce, I liken my mother's notions of moving to that of Juliette Binoche's character in Chocolate. She felt the wind blow and knew it was time to go.
In her book she dedicated a paragraph to the week-long drive from Rapid City, South Dakota to Tucson, Arizona:
We again "upped the anti" in the gutsiness department. This time we were taking our U-Haul of possessions cross country to a place none of us had ever been. My parents flew out to Rapid City and drove our car, Sarah and Weesnick (the one who supposedly couldn't travel in cars), while Andy and I managed the big truck. We had to struggle mightily because the local office had given us a lemon to palm off on another state. It broke down, didn't have the power steering and automatic shift that was promised, the emergency brake didn't work, and was basically a huge gangly truck. I drove and handled the clutch while 10 year old Andy operated the top gear shifts that I couldn't reach, "Going for fourth." (as I put in the clutch but couldn't look at him) and he would respond "Got it," so that I knew I could let go of the clutch. It took all four of our hands and arms to turn the steering wheel, and he was the look-out since the outside rear view mirror on my side was broken. The last night as we were driving along the highway the desert was illuminated by yellow reflector lights ahead of us as far as the eye could see. Both Andy and I commented that it looked like the yellow brick road that we were following to our next adventure.
Originally I wasn't going to include the U-Haul story in the blog, but I found something today that changed my mind. A drawn caricature of my mom in a U-Haul, and an account written by SOMEONE ELSE of our move from Tucson to Fort Collins a few years later.
Moving was part of mom and who she was. That essence of the Yellow Brick Road and that the next adventure was always on the horizon haunted and delighted her.
I have no idea who wrote this, but its a wonderful description of our life on the move, and I love the imagery of mom ferreting around in boxes and the purple eye-patch brigade that saw her off.
(excerpt from "The Move")
THE MOVE
This detailed description is not for the faint-hearted, nor for anyone contemplating a move in the near future. Consider yourself forewarned!
Part The First----Preparation
Jan became a box fiend, ferreting out every nook and cranny for a month before the actual event. The professional movers' estimate of $300 for the supply of boxes alone was enough motivation. She learned to haunt the campus hallways and staircases, the bookstore ramp, the new Mental Health office finishing its move into the old TKE house. A dear friend, Anne Price, sponsored a Garage Sale at her house for Jan the week before the move, and the $232 she cleared while lightening up on furniture possessions almost covered the $250 car repairs that week to get the old Bobcat trip safe.
