Our father worked for an oil company. When I was 6, Daddy’s employer transferred him from Salt Lake City, Utah, where we lived, to Casper, Wyoming. I recall the moment we found out. My sister Karen and I were doing the dishes, and Karen burst into tears and protestations at the news. I didn’t know exactly what moving meant, but if Karen was crying, it must have warranted tears. So I started crying, too.
The trip to Casper in 1959 was memorable. It was midwinter and very cold; the roads, narrow and winding, were snow-packed and icy. The going was slow.
Our cat, Kiki, tucked up in a cage on the floor of the backseat, kept up a steady yowl of displeasure at the whole affair. Karen was beside herself…
