The first big thing to go was our car, a ’61 Chevrolet Impala convertible, which was a pretty fine car even by today’s standards. What I remember most about it was the smell of the red vinyl seats on hot days. It also had electric locks, which Joel and I flipped up and down until Mom yelled at us to stop. Dad sold the Impala, purchasing in its stead an ugly used utility van from the phone company, which cost him just two hundred dollars. The van was yellow with wide brown stripes running across its sides. Joel dubbed it “The Bee,” which was appropriate for more than its paint job. The van’s motor made a high-pitched humming noise and it wobbled at high speeds, especially with Mom at the wheel.

The back seats had all been removed and there were no side windows. One whole wall was covered with metal shelves, cubbies, and drawers for holding tools and electrical supplies.

Things got worse. To Joel’s, and my horror, our parents decided to move. My grandmother from Salt Lake City had passed away three years earlier leaving her home vacant. My mother and her seven siblings had inherited the house and couldn’t agree on what to do with it. It was decided that we could live there until they came to a consensus, which, at the rate things were going, was a little less likely than a nuclear holocaust.

On the day we moved, Joel and I helped Mom load up the Bee. A few neighbors came over with going-away brownies and lemonade, and ended up staying to help as well. Dad just shouted orders from his bed. It drove us crazy but Mom said it made him crazy to be so helpless. I guess shouting at us made him feel useful. Fortunately we didn’t have much left to pack.

The Bee pulled out of our driveway, with furniture and luggage tied to the roof. My mother drove the whole way, the passenger seat next to her piled high with boxes. My father sat on a La-Z-Boy in the back of the van, while Joel and I sat on and between boxes and bags, rearranging them as best we could for comfort.

The trip seemed to take forever as we abused our parents with the obligatory “How much longer?” and “Are we there yet?” Had we known our destination, we might not have complained so much about the journey.