“Hel-lo!” I yelled at the woman I saw standing next to a Winnebago on the far side of the campground. Our Ford van and trailer were stuck. The tires whirred, throwing dirt everywhere, sinking deeper and deeper into Tennessee mud.
“Can you please help us?” As my husband Cliff bare-handedly scraped loose gravel to throw under the wheels for traction, I trudged red-eyed to our only neighbor in thirty miles. “We’re stuck!”
“No, I’m sorry, my husband is recovering from a heart attack and can’t exert himself.” Turning, I burst into tears – again, feeling stuck in more ways than one.
vintage travel trailer, e-bay image
How did we end up here, me in a 25-foot travel trailer with two babies, one age two and the other, five months old? My husband was performing art & music school assemblies in K-12 schools beginning in Florida. Months earlier a silver-tongued musician enticed Cliff with the words, ”How would you like to tour public schools in the Southeast with an art assembly program you’ve created from scratch? You could influence thousands of kids!” Though I had misgivings about leaving our cozy rancher, I agreed to the change, knowing how much my husband wanted to leave the classroom and concentrate on developing his career as both artist and performer.
Earlier in the summer, our dining room became a film studio where Cliff created cartoon animation and selected slides for the History of Art program. Cluttering the table, crazy equipment like an apparatus from a 1970s X-ray machine became a clunky camera stand to zoom in on hand-painted cells showing a character named Art dressed as an early cave-dweller. Or as a daVinci cartoon parachuting to earth. Hammering and sawing in the attached garage to build a “mockup” advertising the shows cancelled the moments of sanity I craved as a busy mother. Now eight months pregnant, I gambled on whether my husband would have the time to transport me to the hospital to deliver our baby son.
Four months later when Cliff’s performance itinerary would no longer allow him to come home on weekends, the babies and I joined his gypsy entourage. I felt like a plant uprooted as we rattled down the street away from our house of concrete and timber. I hated the trailer from the start. To begin with, it was small and scruffy-looking. All of a sudden, my previously grounded life had taken on an unfamiliar rhythm: no phone, no mailbox, no fenced-in yard for the children, no feeling of security and very little money. I, this woman, who initially supported her husband in the exhausting months of preparation for the shows, now became an isolated Mrs. Nobody with a day-care center. Besides, where do you keep dirty diapers in a confining space? We couldn’t afford Pampers. More than once, the diaper pail, secured with an elastic belt had broken free as we barreled down the highway, sending urine yuck all over the teeny linoleum floor.
Before the tour, curious friends asked: Whose idea was this? Where will you stay? Don’t you worry about finding a good doctor? Aren’t campgrounds closed in the wintertime? And then this priceless bit: How wonderful! It will bring your family closer together. And so it did, a 3-bedroom / 2 bathroom household scrunched into a 7’ x 25’ space required editing and re-orientation of all sorts. How often I wished I could add a chapter to Peg Bracken’s The I Hate to Housekeep Book. I’d call it “Complete Homecare from the Bed.” Just lean over and open the one and only door, shake out the throw rugs and take the broom that’s hooked neatly just 3-feet away and sweep. If you angle far enough, you can even take the baby’s bottle out of the fridge and swing it to the stove.
Our camper was divided into three compartments: kitchen, bathroom and children’s bedroom. “Kitchen” was a rough designation for the refrigerator with a portable TV strapped to the top, miniature double-drain sink, gas stove with pots and pans stored in the oven, hinged table that became an instant kiddie sliding board, and finally, a sofa that theoretically made into a smallish “double” bed when the table was dropped into a niche in the wall. “Kitchen” was also the den, living room, dining room, bedroom and occasional art studio. The bathroom was most intriguing. No one had yet invented a lock for a magna-fold door, so forget about privacy with little kids. The toilet itself was one of those marine-trap types—no need to worry about Tid-E-Bol. Compare the trap-action at the bottom of the bowl to the springy lid of the mouth of a teakettle. Just press the pedal and “whoosh.” And there is absolutely nothing cute I can say about the commode except that our toddler couldn’t ladle cups of water out of it. Washer and drier? Down the road at the Lucky Laundry Spot. And have your quarters ready.
We were cramped in other ways too. The would-be profits kept streaming into the pocket of our mentor, who had turned from Mr. Silver-Tongue into a Money Bag, which we personally stuffed with our hard-earned cash. I felt immobilized by hatred toward the conniving man who concocted this plan, and who, in my view, took too large a percentage of our income while I felt stuck in a wilderness, literally.
This journey from decades ago eventually moved my husband into a fulfilling career as a self-employed artist while it showed me that the nomadic life is not for me, a woman originating on stable Anchor Road in the Pennsylvania countryside. Our little ones, now grown, experienced a fantastic geography lesson, peering through the windshield while seated on my lap or between driver and passenger seat in the era before car seats. Both kids could roam free all over campgrounds or fly through the air on a swing-set their dad had attached to the rear end of the trailer, ready for set-up if we stayed at a campsite two days or more.
On the road 1973, Polaroid shot
What have I learned? I wouldn’t sign a contract for such an assignment again, but I don’t regret having weathered the storm of this journey. Then too, the Arctic ice of my unforgiving heart has long since thawed. I understand that bitterness is a steep price to pay for perceived offenses, back then at the hands of Mr. Money-minded Musician. Just as importantly, I can empathize with those whose life is in transition, perhaps feeling uprooted as a result of failing finances or the loss of a life partner.
After a satisfying career in academia, my journey traversing the southeastern United States for eighteen months has also prepared me for other seeming “detours” that have become springboards to my next steps, among them a contentious host in Ukraine, the story of whom caught the eye of an editor and propelled me into my writing career. I do believe that everything in our lives, the good or the bad, can be a bridge to a more meaningful view of life. As poet Mary Oliver mentions in The Journey, though I have traveled a road full of “fallen/branches and stones,” along the way I have found my own voice.
Ou family at Grandma Longenecker’s house, Christmas 1971, before the travel saga begain
A trouble-fraught journey you can recall?
A time you felt cramped, or stuck with a decision that caused hardship?
Good morning, Marian! It’s interesting how looking back changes perspectives, or gives one some insight. I don’t even like being in a car for a few hours! 😀
Through the long lens of time, I view this experience as a stepping stone, but I certainly didn’t think so at the time. It felt horrible!
Thanks again for your early-bird observation, starting off the conversation today, Merril.
Loved reading this! Was sad when it ended. I’d read that book!!!!
Michelle, how wonderful to see you here. So you’ve read Mennonite Daughter. Thank you so much!
I hope we can stay in touch here and on Facebook. You and your family have meant a lot to us. Blessings to you! 🙂
You’re very welcome, Marian.
What an adventure! This is the book I want to read–perhaps in fiction form?? You entice us here. It also reminds me of our six week trek as a family “out west” where six of us, kids ages 18 to 10, lived in the smallest travel trailer available (no bathroom in it) and Dad kept us on a budget averaging $20 a day: for gas, “eats” (as he always called it), camping fees, admission tickets at 1964 prices.
My bro Terry soon elected to sleep either in the back seat of our 1960 Chevy which pulled the camper, or in a pup tent we had brought along for that purpose. Once a week Daddy rented a motel room or two to give us all a break (and Mom and Dad some privacy!). It was mostly great, occasionally terrible, with a trailer break down or two, and we all chose to hurry home when we got within 800 miles of Indiana, without stopping in anymore campgrounds. We also “Mennonited” our way–staying in the yards of friends and relatives a few nights on the trip. I enjoyed your memories here and I couldn’t help from reminiscing!
Your beloved Dad wanted to give you guys an amazing adventure even if cash was low. What a generous man! I have thought about writing a book about this, but I didn’t keep a daily (or even a weekly) journal, so I lack detail. Perhaps, your idea of “fiction” is plausible although at the moment I don’t feel like revisiting this chapter of my life. Long ago, I submitted a similar story to Guideposts, but they didn’t bite.
Our name was in the “Mennonite Your Way” handbook, so our teenage kids could have a cultural experience up close and personal. We did meet some interesting groups, some families–and some college-age kids. Thanks for offering this slice of life, Melodie!
Oh wow. I can’t imagine. I remember life with two children of that age as being challenging enough – in a suburban home. Bravo to you. And good for you for finding the benefits that grew from it.
We too had a suburban home, but it was rented out, so returning there to finish out the school year was not an option. “I survived,” is about all I could say at the end of the experience. As time progressed though, I began to see the benefits. Thanks, Arlene!
You made me laugh out loud with that line about “complete homecare from the bed.” Even then your imagination was a great friend, teaching you how to look at life like a writer. Thanks for starting my day with laughter, Marian.
Well, laughter was the last reaction I expected, but good for you!
I believe lately you have moved house, and I wonder if you are already ensconced in your new home in Lancaster County. Thanks for sharing your perspective, Shirley.
Wow! You were very brave indeed. I thought it took courage for me to move to Spain after retirement, but you had small children to deal with and a nomadic lifestyle. We vacationed once in a rented motorhome and came home early as I couldn’t deal with the cramped space. You really must write about those 18 months. I know I would want to read the book!
The experience probably makes for entertaining reading now, but at the time it often seemed unbearable–the isolation as much as the cramped space.
Thanks for the nudge to write more about this strange odyssey, Darlene. I’ll have to think about it.
Wow a journey! I enjoyed your story, though it was very challenging for you! I can’t imagine traveling like that with small children. You are indeed a trooper.
i haven’t had many harrowing travel adventures. I remember being stuck on a Greyhound bus when I was sixteen, traveling with my twelve-year-old brother to visit our grandmother in Louisiana. Twenty-four hours on that bus!
I can relate to the bus experience. When I left Pennsylvania to interview for a teaching job in North Carolina, the board could afford only tickets on a Greyhound bus. I remember it was 14 hours each way in the heat–and I took a bologna sandwich lunch with me. The bus fumes, the frequent stops, and the endless miles are seared on my memory too.
Thanks for the empathy, L. Marie!
I’m amazed that you survived this lifestyle with your marriage intact. Good job there. I’d hate to live in such a small space, that moved, all. the. time. However reading about how you managed it is inspiring– and reinforces my desire to own a house with many rooms on land.
One thing I remember saying when we returned to our rancher, “The house is NOT on wheels!” And that’s where we stayed until we moved to more space and many rooms, ON LAND.
Yes, Ally, our marriage was tested to its limits but divorce was never an option in our minds. However, the last month or so of the contract, I took the kids home to my parents until Cliff could finish out the school year.
Marian — As I read this post I thought, “I can’t even begin to imagine being trapped in this nightmare!” My hat is off to you for weathering that storm!
One thing that attracted me to my pioneer husband was his sense of adventure. However, even he was ready for a break after the two-year contract. He was booked for hundreds of shows and came home every day totally exhausted. We both weathered the storm!
Thanks for sharing your point of view, Laurie!
I’m thoroughly entranced with you! Your resilience and ability to laugh, a wonder. I’m quite certain I would never have survived. As for journeys, my toughest travels have been inward, not outward. Deciding to leave my job was years in the making and I’m hardly “settled” yet. We’re still traversing some tough decisions in that physical place, and changes are inevitable. My “book” hasn’t been touched in over a year and in part, I’m not certain I have the strength to face all the memories. I know faith is to be bigger than fear. Thank you for sharing some laughter in adversity of a very real nature!! God was moving both of you forward to His glory, but boy! What a bumpy ride! 🙂
You have a keen insight into our lives back then and the struggle to survive. Thanks, Jenn. 🙂
Indeed, you have life experiences worth writing about, but God will show you when the time is right. I adore your writing style as would your “book” readers. When I wrote my memoir, my keyboard was often dampened by tears. Now I think of the writing/revising/publishing process as intense self-therapy. Instead of therapist bills, I had a book!
Bumpy rides can turn into bounteous blessings, and nothing in our lives is ever wasted, as some of my readers have observed.
THank you, Marian. You are always so very gracious and a huge blessing! 🙂
🙂
These “where did my life go” moments are most relatable. I think the best comparison for me was when I dropped out of college and decided to move away and get an apartment with a buddy living on his couch. Still, I loved making my own rules for a time as I went from dead-end job to dead-end job. When my buddy decided to join the military, and the expenses of life hit, I was living out of my car. I think that experience alone helped me develop empathy for the homeless. I call that year the most valuable life lesson. I realized that I didn’t want this lifestyle for eternity, reenrolled in college, and got serious.
Pete, it sounds as though you graduated from the University of Hard Knocks before you ever entered college. I remember talk among other students and faculty of students living out of their cars. Some had gotten kicked out of their homes, and some just didn’t have the wherewithal to live in an apartment until they got a degree–or at least training for a good-paying job.
Yes, I too have empathy for the homeless. Many are struggling for a better life; that’s why I support agencies that help with the basics until they get back on their feet.
Well, Marian, I’m happy to have a story with comments like this, bc I am in the midst of my own crisis with home, made more intense by being an intergenerational family. My daughter moved in with my husband (Dave) and I two years ago in time to have a baby. Since then we’ve been a foursome, and the home we’ve rented for 25 years has gone through a very long process of being sold. We discovered we have renters’ rights and we are hoping the new owner will buy us out with a sum that pays for moving. We envision moving to the Puget Sound area, and Dave’s sister envisions going along with us in buying a home in what is a very hot market. Your story is so timely for me right now, helping give a long view to things. Thank you.
Oh, Dolores, I hear the struggle in your voice and will pray for the best outcome. It’s hard when living arrangements are challenging and especially difficult when we can’t see a way forward. The Puget Sound is lovely and I like that Dave’s sister will help in securing your next “nest.” Do stay in touch.
I’m glad this post hit home, and not just metaphorically! ((( )))
I totally resonated with this post, Marian. Mine was a similar journey, of supporting my husband’s career during the early years of our marriage, leading us first of all to Belgium for language study and then on to Congo right after our marriage!
I could write volumes about cockroaches in the shower, bats in the bedroom, kids with malaria and me wishing at times I was anywhere but there! I just wanted to be back at seminary where our journey began! Had I not had those Congo experiences, I would be the poorer today! By the way, your beautiful self on that last picture does not show the trauma you endured!
We are both older and wiser and can appreciate the benefit of the struggles, which felt abominable when we went through them. Elfrieda, if you haven’t already done so already, you MUST share your painful stories for posterity. As we know, without having God by our side on the journey, we’d never make it through.
The “beautiful photo” you are referring to was taken Christmastime at Grandma Longenecker’s house. About 2 weeks later, I joined Cliff on the road with the babies. The Polaroid photo tells a better story about my state of mind than the pretty one before the ordeal. 😀
Actually, the polaroid one is lovely! How could we look so beautiful when we were so stressed? It’s our youth! There is a German song: “Schoen ist die Jugend, sie kommt nicht mehr”. Trsl. Beautiful is our youth, but it returns no more,”
Thanks for the follow-up here. I agree with the sentiment whether in German or in English. (Why can’t we be both beautiful and wise in our youth – ha ha!)
Hi Marian, thank you for sharing about your life on the road. I have moved many times in my life and attended a large number of schools, but we never travelled about quite like this. I think my mother would have hated it. I love the picture of your family.
I’m guessing your mother and I are of the same generation, one that appreciated stability and staying close to home. It’s always good to see you here. Thank you, Robbie!
We all learn great things from our experiences. This is one I’ve thankfully never had to put up with. But I’ve had others and am now grateful that I can have a sense of humor about such things. As time passes the hard times turn into the things we’ve done that have gotten us to where we are today. What a precious gift!
I know from your memoir, you’ve had other dreadful experiences, but they help us cultivate gratitude for having made it through–AND, hope for the younger set who may be struggling to find their footing on the journey. Thanks so much, Joan!
Well, what a surprise! I never expected that from you! As I am sure you already know, I can relate to your experience in a crammed space for so long perfectly well after having lived for 2 1/2 years in a motorhome following my husband’s illness. It must have been doubly hard for you with two small children and little money, but I am glad you overcame all your difficulties and forgave those who wronged you.
I also found out that, although I enjoyed the experience enormously, especially the 13 months travelling through Eurooe (the following 16 months in England were not quite so joyful), I too missed my creature comforts, above all my washing machine, and decided that the nomadic life was not for me after all.
I followed you on your journey and enjoyed the photos of scenic places, but I know you must have chafed at the cramped spaces and close company. You are fortunate to be nested in a home and enjoying the creature comforts in England now. Bless you, Fatima!
❤
Hi, Marian! I had to laugh at your description of “Complete Homecare from the Bed,” although I’m sure it was no laughing matter at the time. When my dad retired from the military and relocated his family to Germany, we, too lived in cramped quarters a few times. In Karlsruhe, my parents shared their small bedroom with the youngest, and we other four kids shared another even smaller bedroom.
As the eldest of the children, I believe I was more aware of how tightly knit we were forced to be. Your story gave me a deeper appreciation of what my mom dealt with, herding five rambunctious children in two tiny apartments (one in Karlsruhe, and the other in Heidelberg) for over a year. She also dealt with frequent packing and moving while Dad was in the military. Life on the move like that does wonders for an expanded worldview and gave us a deep appreciation of how God turns even cramped quarters into our good. If you fictionalized your story, you could fill in details you’ve forgotten. This would make a fascinating read.
Patty, I’m glad you could relate my experience to yours, and go even further, empathizing with your mother’s plight, making the best of tough times, keeping the family together.
You are the third person to mention expanding this story. I’ll have to give it some thought though I believed I was through with this story when I published this post. Let me think about it. Thanks so much for joining in to the conversation today. 🙂
What a great story! You were so brave and steadfast. And what a handsome couple! All your adventures have made you and Cliff the wonderful Christians you are today. I love you. Collie
I wonder if I ever shared this experience in depth before, Colleen. We were friends back then, but I was in a different world, traveling from Virginia Beach to Miami, probably.
Thanks for stopping by to comment today. I so appreciate this high compliment–and our loving friendship over the years! xox
Thanks for sharing, Marian! I totally agree that each step in life’s journey helps us grow and appreciate what we do have and develop a better understanding of those who are wanting in so many ways…
You are SO right, Bette. Nothing goes to waste in our experience. Steps in our journey are character-building and sometimes they become blog posts!
Thanks for sharing.
Well Dear, I’m proud that you were able to share this short-version of our time on the road. I wish I had a special medal to present to you for all you had to put up with–moving every day or so to a new campground, school yard or somewhere else, all the while being the mother of our two active children.
For me the History of Art presentations, creating the show and sharing it with of K-12 students was a freedom of artistic expression that couldn’t be fulfilled in the classroom at the time. With more than 500+ performances in these many states sapped all the energy I had, and unfortunately I was not able to give you all the emotional support you needed when I got “home” to the travel trailer.
I understand your initial hesitation about sharing this intimate experience with others, but I know your author/reader friends can appreciate you even more. You are aProverbs woman and you made it through that part of your life. PTL!
Love, Husband trapped in the trailer with my best friend!
Well, that’s quite a salute, my dear! You can indeed vouch for the truth of this travel tale. I’m glad we’ve had more exciting and enjoyable trips since then. Thank YOU! xox
The fact that you and Cliff survived your adventure with your marriage intact is a real testament to the love you have for each other. The only trouble-fraught journey I can recall is travelling to New Orleans from Massachusetts when I was five years old. It was so hot in the car, my crayons melted. Upsetting for a five-year-old, the real trouble came years later when I recalled what the visit with my dad’s mother and stepfather was like.
Crayons melting must have felt like a crime in your five-year-old mind. I sense that the visit was fraught with emotional “heat” as well. I wonder if you have written about it, Liz.
Thanks for adding your recollection to the conversation here, much appreciated! 🙂
Yes, last year, I wrote a short story about that trip to New Orleans. It went quite dark.
I’m so sorry to hear that. Sometimes writing leads to healing. I hope so in your case. (((( ))))
Yes, writing the story did help.
Glad to hear it, Liz. 😀
You 7 X 25 travel trailer life brought back memories of our first year in the far northeastern region of China. As “Foreign Experts” we were given the best of accommodations that our college had to offer: a 400 square foot apartment, with no running hot water, and electricity that shorted out on us any time we plugged in more than one appliance. But, the relationships we developed, the cultural experiences we gained, and the lessons we learned about how many conveniences we didn’t need to enjoy life and be happy were the far greater benefit to us and our two young sons, aged 7 and 9 at the time! Wouldn’t trade that year for anything!
Howard, it looks like you, Faythe and boys passed the test of Life Lessons 101 royally. We Americans are used to comfort and ease. Experiences like these show that the real joy is in serving God and loving people. I’d love to hear more about your life in China. Maybe we can get together this year sometime.
Thanks so much for visiting here and adding your story! 🙂
I’ll answer your questions first. In both cases: yes, many times. And, our current situation will probably become the worst one. Being in limbo, stuck in a place where we don’t really want to be for the foreseeable future and not an end in sight due to the circumstances. Sigh.
As you know – other than the babies – I can relate to your story here, Marian. Except, I choose to live this way. 🙂 And, when I’m not (like now), I’m pretty unhappy. You did a great job capturing your emotions and challenges in this post. Sharing it with your readers was long in the works, I think, so I’m glad you relayed the experience now. Many believe it would make a good story or book! But I’m sure you don’t want to dive into this topic more than needed!
I’m sorry to hear you are in an uncomfortable place right now. And I’m not going to offer platitudes to smooth things over. Just know that I care. May your shift to a more pleasant status happen sooner rather than later, dear Liesbet! ((( )))
Well well well Marian, a trouper if ever there was one – well done! The photos are lovely as is Cliff’s comments and all the others too. The children obviously enjoyed it 🙂 No, I’ve never had such an experience, nor do I wish one although the idea of caravanning around my country appeals. But it would have to be spacious with necessary modcons and a totally private bathroom – a shower I would manage I suppose but the loo must be private. 2 preferably. Well done, 2 years … breath taking!
Thanks for commiserating with me here, Susan. I didn’t feel heroic at the time, I just soldiered on until the contract was fulfilled, which both of us felt was the honorable thing to do. Thanks for checking in with a lovely comment! 🙂
Good golly Miss Molly, what a difficult journey to find out that the nomadic life is not for you. But I think any one stuck in a small trailer with two small children would go berserk. Great story and thank you for sharing! I have claustrophobia. I wouldn’t last a day!!!
I almost went to Berserk-istan as you mentioned. One night I called my Grandma to avoid just that–going crazy–! I never told her how horrible I felt. Just hearing her voice had a steadying effect.
All true–nothing made up, but it would be a hum-dingerr of a story if it were. Right?
Marian, Enjoyed reading about your adventures in the camper. It brought to mind when we had a pop-up camper when our sons were in grade school. We pulled it behind our car. One of the funniest things that happened was when we switched driving and I took the wheel. I pulled out and decided to pull into the parking lot across the street to turn around. But, after I pulled into the parking lot I discovered it was a self-serve car wash with only one way out. I couldn’t back it up so I decided I would drive straight through one of the bays and out the other side- with Andy shouting my name the whole way. Well, we made it through without getting stuck! Love reading your blog.
Your story brought a chuckle. I admire your bravery in pulling the camper behind the car. Once Cliff had me drive the van for a short while, pulling the trailer. He said, “You have to be ‘king of the road’ so you don’t slow down and start fishtailing.” I have to say I didn’t last long with driving that caravan.
I appreciate your comments always, Bonnie! 🙂
This was fascinating Marian. I’m thinking there should be another memoir coming 🙂 xx
Oh, gosh, Debby. Re-visit more pain? Again?
You are the 3rd or 4th reader friend to suggest this. I love to see your happy face here though I know it masks grief still. You know I care. oxo
Thank you my friend. And as you know, most memoirs involve pain. <3
So right — I guess pain carves out a place for love to remain. 🙂
I’m living it. 🙁
This is beautiful, poignant, and memorable, dear Marian. I’ve had visitors so I’m behind on many things. I appreciate your honesty about how hard these family compromises can be. You wanted the best for Cliff and the family, but that wasn’t great for you.
I lived with my parents and brother in a small Airstream when I was 5 years old. We’d gone to AZ for Daddy’s health. As a little kid, I didn’t mind so much, but later I understood my mother loved to move and we moved to a new house every year or at most every other year until she went to Europe when I was 17. (And here lies the clue of why I’ve lived in the same house for 50 years because my roots were torn out of the soil and I had to go to a new school too many times.)
Then Vic got a job teaching at a university 2 hours from our home, so we traveled back and forth every week. It drove me crazy and I did way too much complaining. The house was tiny (larger than an Airstream though) and the kids couldn’t figure out where they lived or who their playmates might be. After 7 years of this, Vic got tenure and the kids needed to go to school in one place, so I returned to our home where I now live with the kids and Vic came on Thursday nights and left Monday morning. Friday was research day and he could do that from home. He didn’t like going alone without his family, but I was relieved. I didn’t have to pack up the whole family every week. We talked on the phone every night. We survived it, but it was a test. It’s a wonder our good marriages survived.
Evidently, we both have craved stability and rootedness–you because you didn’t have it as a child, and me, because I did. Except for college, I lived 26 years on Anchor Road and abandoned myself to a life of adventure with my maverick husband, part of his appeal, I guess.
We’ve moved house only 4 times in these 50+ years though, the year and a half the exception. For more than 30 years as a performer, Cliff spent Monday-Friday on the road and flew home on weekends, summers at home. By the time this occurred, the kids were teenagers and I had a full-time college teaching job. The personal essay here was a prelude to all this; I was 30 years old at the time.
I guess our good marriages have survived because we were deeply in love and didn’t think of divorce as an option. Still, it was hard, hard, HARD!
Thanks for sharing your thoughts, Elaine, always appreciated. 🙂
Sounds like a nightmare when you’re experiencing it – but a good adventure when looking back at it through the lens of hindsight.
You’ve got it, Fiona! That’s the value of hard times. Thanks for sharing your insight. 🙂
What a great story, Marian. I can’t imagine doing what you and your family did. Way to persevere! Hard times are the ones that shape us and teach us resiliency, right? Love these photos too. Thanks for sharing them!
Well, I was 30 years old then, idealistic and more adventuresome than I would be at this age. I don’t regret the decision because it led to my husband’s fulfilling career and has added a topic to my writing gallery, but I wouldn’t repeat it, that’s for SURE! Thanks for visiting once again., Barbara.
Love your hair in that family pic, too!