It got me reminiscing about my gypsy-footed life with my own Mom when I was a kid. Our mobility was something I detested and tried to hide because I couldn't offer a valid explanation for why we moved. The summer I turned nine, it was because Mom's spirit guides told her there was going to be an earthquake in Reno, so we had to leave post haste to avoid the impending disaster. That summer in 1974, when I laid eyes on Battle Mountain, Nevada for the first time, I burst into tears. It was the ugliest town I've ever seen, still is.
Then I passed the mythical age of 18 and wild, desperate years of couch surfing and moving in and out of undesirable rentals in the crap side of town became my New Normal. It never occurred to me that part of my incessant migrating had something to do with the fact I was penniless and that many of these hurried relocations had to do with jobs, the offer of jobs or even the hope of work. Often in my twenties, my father held the tempting carrot of "help with the rent" out before me and I lunged. The help never lasted and neither did the jobs.
Here's the best I can recollect,
With Mom (or my Dad):
Born: July 1965 Monterey, California