The Day-of Realities of Kids Flying Solo To recap: I have a child who must fly solo. I did a lot of online research and called around to different airlines before first booking a trip on American Airlines, and then a second on Delta. I researched and booked a flight for my minor who is flying solo. Now what? Oh, we – the kid and I – actually have to go through the flight process. It shouldn’t be that bad, right? I flew unaccompanied as a kid with no fear. I also enjoyed pretending to be five to fly alone even though I was still four. Even though flying is relatively safe, things feel different now. Maybe it’s the increased understanding of risk that comes with being an adult. Maybe “things” – the world - are different, different meaning unsafe and uncertain, now. And, the kid not wanting to take the trip probably isn’t helping how he or I about the solo flying experience. Some of the minor’s feelings: Whhhheeeeee: This is fun. Later, Mom! Anxiety overload: I can’t leave, Mama. I’ll be all alone. I’ve never been so far from Mama. The contradictory parental feelings: Pride: My little is growing up, spreading his wings, soaring through the skies on his own. Anxiety: My little can’t go alone. He needs me. What if there’s a problem, a delay, an accident, an issue on the other end? The Rundown: For both trips, we arrived at the airport 2.5 – 3 hours before the departure of a domestic flight. The first jaunt, I had to drive around for 30-minutes before luckily stumbling across a space being vacated – the only available spot as far as eyes could see. The departure time inhibited using mass transit to get to the airport, that, and to drive was 27 minutes, mass transit would have taken 1.5 hours. The second trip, I drove straight to a far-off parking lot and then we took a SkyTrain to the terminal. This was relatively easy. rIn November, lines to check-in and check baggage at American were very, very long. The week following Memorial Day at Delta was medium busy, but Delta had agents working to ensure that patrons were evenly dispersed across available counters. NB: An unaccompanied minor cannot check-in online 24 hours before the flight, instead having to report directly at the counter. There, the adult fills out paperwork with contact information for the minor and the adult on the receiving end. And if the hefty unaccompanied minor (UAM) fee hasn’t already been paid, it is charged now. On the second trip, there was an error flagged on my flyer’s itinerary. The agent thought he’d accidentally been booked on the last flight of the day for the final leg, which is a no-no. He'd have to be rescheduled to return a day earlier. A few calls and computer clicks later, the itinerary, which had already been changed three times, was deemed in order. I was then issued a gate pass to take my little passenger to his flight. Long gone are the days when my mother just walked me to my departure and my grandfather arrived at the arrival gate in Seattle to watch planes take-off and land long before I’d ever left California. Security: When my child and I travel together, we both get through security on my TSA-Pre. During our first UAM experience, I asked if we could use it since I’m escorting him. The American Airlines agent thought that would be possible on his next trip. Take Two: feeling experienced, I asked the Delta agent if we could, indeed, use my TSA-Pre to jump the security line. She gave us a big “NOPE.” So, with him as the solo traveler, and children under 12 not eligible for TSA-Pre, we had to go into the gen pop that is general security. And the line was long with us getting to the gate five minutes before boarding. Our second general security experience took about 40 minutes but felt more organized yet more traumatic than our first trip. In the security line for the Delta flight, we took in a moving multi-media exhibit about Sen. John Lewis and his fight for voting rights. As we moved closer to ID checks, a young lady a few people behind us had a medical emergency. She seemed to faint. Her party and security got her up and barely moving when she had a medical emergency again. The woman in front of me appeared to mumble a prayer. Us non-practitioners of any religion stood there stunned by the startling medical emergency and the religious response before we gathered it together to line up two-by-two to be rudely sniffed by a TSA dog. I managed to keep the kid from petting the “cute doggie.” We arrived at the gate in plenty of time, but not without first, you guessed it, seeing an older gentleman sprawled on the floor in the throes of a medical emergency. At the gate, the kid asked if he, too, was also going to have a medical emergency. "No, Kid, they aren't contagious, I hope." Departure: And it’s flight time. The attendant escorted my kid to the back of the plane because it’s “safer” and helped him stow his luggage. My minor texted me from the connector airport that he’d landed and was being taken to the next gate. Then I eventually received proof of life on the other end. Pick-Up: The pick-up for the American Airlines flight in November, was, um, frustrating. Parking was easier, thankfully, but once I got to the counter, it was deserted. No. One. Was. There. It was about 8:30pm at a major airport. I asked another airline’s counter staff where I might find someone for my airline – I needed a gate pass to pick up the kid. I was sent to one end of the airport, then back to the empty counter. As I approached again, I saw a flight attendant who tried to ignore my attempts to flag her down. She proceeded to give me excuses like, “I’m not working,” “No one’s here right now,” “I think they might maybe bring the children to baggage claim.” No. Just. No. What are we paying the UAM fees for? I have a young child to pick up at the gate! A maybe of where he could be in a giant airport is completely unacceptable. This attendant finally found someone else who could issue me a gate pass from the still desolate check-in counter – issued to the wrong gate, but thankfully no one caught that. Once at the gate and the plane had landed, there was a competent attendant who escorted my little traveler safely to me. Pick-up for the Delta flight was easier in many ways. I had my parking routine down. There were agents at the Delta counter, I got my gate pass, but no arrival gate was listed. I get through security and I look for arrival/departure gates so I know which terminal to take the airport train to so that I can pick up my precious cargo. All the boards had departures only, no arrivals. I track down an airport worker. She wasn’t quite sure. I have the Delta app and it gave me a gate, but what if I didn’t have the app? And what if the app is wrong? Why aren’t the arrivals posted like the departures are? And, I have often had gates be different than what I was told at the counter. I arrived at the gate, and still no listing of the arrival. I really want to know where my kid will be arriving. I don’t think this is an unreasonable ask. I asked at other gates. They weren’t sure. I went back to the app and the app says the gate I’m at is it. And, finally, after much anxious waiting, the last to stumble off the plane, was my kid. Safe, sound, and ready to spill the tea of his adventures.
Kid report: “Mama! Yea, I’m home!” Phew. All the Kid Remembers About the Drive is the Pets I’m a horrible mother. I always knew that I wasn’t maternal, and I was right. This is evidenced by my continual failing of my child. When he was 5-6 years-old, he wanted a second mom. Sorry, kid, not gonna happen. He just wanted to keep up with the Joneses anyway. He had a friend with two moms and thought it was cool. The following year, he wanted a sibling – a brother specifically, one year younger so that he could be the big brother. But again, wasn’t gonna happen. So, he acquiesced on his stance against me getting a boyfriend – I was now allowed to, but again, only if it brought him a sibling, specifically a brother. Has hell frozen over? Lastly, he settled on wanting a pet. At first, he wanted a dog. Then he had a taste of how much work it would be to take care of one. I stood firm that I wasn’t going to care for the dog, so he switched to a cat. “Mama, please, just a kitty,” he pleads. I’m only mostly cold-hearted, but I agree a pet might be nice. Our place in California, though, was just too small and now that we’re moving… we’re not allowed pets. "How could you get a place that won't allow pets?!" Mom has failed her child yet again! So, when The Quid looks back at this time – this summer of change and transition, a time many have commented as “once in a lifetime”, “a great adventure”, “fun and exciting”, “life changing”, after 2,400 miles, nine states, and various sites seen along the way, experiences and feelings had, he’s going to remember the cat and dogs we met as the highlight of our drive to Georgia. The reaffirmation of current failings as a parent began in Tucson. We arrived at my friend’s house and The Quid was immediately taken with the golden doodle, Chestnut, who my friend described as “having no boundaries.” Perfect! My kid is mostly lacking in boundaries, too. Or is that a filter? Maybe he lacks a filter. The Quid loved having a fur-buddy to nuzzle him, lick him, and lay around in the heat with him. And when we were out for brunch, my kiddo felt like the big dog brother by “disciplining” – barking commands – at Chestnut even if Chestnut wasn’t doing anything meriting discipline. “Mom, can’t we bring Chestnut with us?” "Hon, I think Chestnut needs a break." The Quid slept late the next day – he’d been fighting his first cold in two years, and long-distance travel isn’t easy on anyone. He slept and slept and slept. My friend’s pets earned their kibble and treats by rotating as his sleep-time snuggle buddies. So much “aaaaaaahhhhhhh” – touching, sentimental was happening that I was sure I was going to hurl. But it really was cute. My animal-loving co-pilot had a hard time saying good-bye to my friend’s gang of furballs. Luckily, though, I was able to dangle another pet-carrot in front to get him through the next drive. Another dog, the husky, Dakota! The Quid starts off slowly with animals, but then, after a few cautious seconds, dives right in, face first, in the fur, into petting, into loving but complaining about being licked. And so it was with Dakota. He loved her two different colored eyes, her hair instead of fur – it’s more hypoallergenic, and that she’s a little pudgy – there’s more of her to love. Half-laying on Dakota, “Mama, can he have a husky? Pppplllleeeeeaaaaassseee. Look how easy she is to take care of, and no allergies.” But again, to pet or not to pet is currently out of my hands. I love that he loves animals, though. It shows that he’s kind, caring, and likely not a psychopath! Now back to how the Quid might remember the long drive of 2021: favorite place visited – Monterey Bay Aquarium; favorite city: New Orleans, (also, best architecture); best part of the trip: it’s all about the pets! Are we there yet??? When we set out on our great adventure across the American South, I was almost excited to drive through New Mexico. It may not sound like me – New Mexico, but I’ve never been there and wanted to check it out. Santa Fe, Truth and Consequences, Roswell, Las Cruces, Carlsbad Caverns. “Surely, we can check out somewhere new on our way to Texas,” I thought. Ha! Joke’s on me. I thought wrong! I looked at the route to my next stop in Belton, TX. I considered how much I might consider diverging from it to see “cool stuff”. I looked at projected drive and arrival times to potential spots of interest. BUT... we’d taken our time getting on the road out of Tucson, though. And it was Sunday – no different than any other day for me, but not so for many goods and service providers like shops, museums, and protected parks. In short, I ran up against a bunch of closed, closed, closing. I was S-O-L on checking out almost any sight of significance other than freeway landscaping – SHIT! I know; I should have planned more, and normally I would have, but the move came up suddenly-ish, so I had to make that happen first – plan the drive second. And what fun are plans? Where’s the spontaneity? Right? We did drive into Las Cruces to buy cold medicine and a thermometer. And in doing so we crossed the Rio Grande – not what I imagined. It must be bigger in Texas. Everything’s bigger in Texas. Since I have absolutely no geographical orientation to the state and where its cities of renown are in relation to well, anything or anywhere, I was quite shocked to almost immediately roll up on El Paso after leaving New Mexico. Well, hello there, El Paso! And it seemed to be divided by the freeway – and probably a border crossing from Ciudad Juárez, Mexico. “Look, Quid," while pointing from side to side, "the U.S., Mexico, U.S., Mexico. Gray, bright colors, gray, bright colors.” Since I felt like I hadn’t driven far enough for the day, we ventured “deeper” into Texas, but maybe I should have stopped once it got dark. Things got really confusing for me in the dark. Or I’m just easily confused. The sun was long tucked in for the night. The traffic slowed and merged to one lane for trucks to be weighed and everyone else in another. Simple enough. We slowed some more. Not much farther now; the GPS says I’m only a couple miles from the target stop, Sierra Blanca – a little hotel there got a nice review online… Then suddenly, we’re hit with bright flood lights, guards, and I see guns. Shit, did we accidentally cross into Mexico? I roll up to the patrol hoping to holy hell I hadn’t accidentally done something wrong. Don’t wanna get shot. Thankfully, instead, I enjoyed some lovely banter with Border Patrol, confirmed that we had not crossed into Mexico but that it was closer than I thought, and they suggested maybe we should stay the night in Van Horn instead of Sierra Blanca.
The next day’s drive to Belton seemed longer and harder. There were some cool nature visuals here and there, but the freeway landscape was mostly mono – mono-chromatic, mono-tonous. Also, the freeway was such, at least for the many hours that I was on it, that if I missed an exit, I couldn’t just get off and turn around at the next exit. There weren’t overpasses or ways to get to the other side of the freeway to turn around. And, of course, The Quid decided he needed the restroom five miles after we’d passed the last rest stop before an upcoming freeway change, which meant getting him to the closest restroom meant rerouting my drive. GPS for the win, despite my irritation. And did I mention the monotonous views. Thankfully, as we came within a couple hours of Belton, the scenery changed a bit, but too late, the damage was done. “Mom, what’re you doing?” The Quid shouts from the back seat as I pull over, get out, and start pace in front of some farm’s fence. “Let’s go!” “Hold on a minute! I need air, to move around.” Big-ass truck drives by and stares at weird Californian taking a constitutional along the road. Just an hour or so more to go. “Mama. Ma-ma. MAAAMMAAA!” “I’m coming! I just want to get there in one piece.” Back behind the wheel, finally, signs for Fort Hood. Then Killeen. And then, BELTON! YAY! YIPPEE! I never knew I’d be so excited to arrive somewhere in Texas. We’re here! And thankfully, so was my friend, home from work, attending her pets, and ready to hit the store for some wine. You know what she grabbed - 19 Crimes wine, Snoop Dogg edition. Snoop Dogg, the patron saint of long-ass drives. The Quid blew my friend and I off in preference of her dogs and cat leaving us to able to unwind, take a deep breath, sip wine, and catch up. We’d met when I first arrived in Germany and we’ve managed to get together a couple of times since despite both of us, mostly her, bouncing between a few more countries and states since then. She likes that we can reach out randomly, no matter where the country or state, and we can pick up where we last left off like no time has passed. I do, too! And I totally appreciate her opening her doors for me and the tot, maybe on short notice – although, I swear we had something solidly arranged because I had her impending flight to Germany in my head since I always seem to be in her neck of the woods days or hours before she has a flight to Germany. It’s my thing. After a couple of days recharging, it was time to make a run for the border – between Texas and Louisiana.
“Mom, are we STILL in Texas?” “Five more hours.” But thankfully, along the way was another friend – this one dating back to college – she and her husband both. I’m so happy to have more people to visit! Yippee! The Quid and I rolled into Cypress outside of Houston in time for lunch. After circling my friend’s street a few times like we were casing the place, I finally spotted the California plates, plates I swear she’s had since college, and safely deemed we were in the place. The Quid walks into her, plunks down with the pet of this palace, ignoring us, and my friend catch up – so where were we – almost 20-years-ago. We’ve talked since, of course, but well, life has taken us all down many paths, which apparently are now crossing in person decades later as newly minted Californians-in-Residence in our new states. I met her kids who were in utero or not yet existing when last my friend and I got together in person. They’re now adults or nearly there, in school, at work, doing arty things. And my little spud still rolls around on the floor with their dog, a ball of fur, pizza, and unknown potential. My friend’s almost “free”, and I’ll be a grandma before my kid dons a high school cap and gown. Sigh. This was a quick visit, though, as The Quid and I had to continue on our way, because, yep, there’s still more Texas. “We should meet up in New Orleans,” she said. She’s smart, that lady. What a great idea. No wonder we’re friends! Now back in the car - I’m so F#^%&-ing done with driving. I definitely echo The Quid when I scream, “Are we there yet?” Pits Stops at Friends' Homes During a Long Drive In A Street Car Named Desire, Blanche Dubois always depended on the kindness of strangers. As we trek southeast, The Quid and I, instead, find ourselves rich in the graciousness of friends. One of my dearest friends hosted us for our last night on the island. Then, with the tail end of the Arizona monsoons putting a kink in our Grand Canyon visit, we changed course and headed directly to our next destination, Tucson, Arizona, and the home of one of my writing class colleagues and her big puppy. My writing cohortian and I have been meeting and chatting for almost two years now, but it’s been all online via Zoom, the great dysfunctional connector. We know each other, totally; yet, we don’t. So, I was quite moved at the invitation. And on first meeting, it felt like we’d been hanging out for years. Despite its proximity to California, I haven’t spent time in Arizona except for the holiday breaks visiting my grandparents “wintering” in Yuma. Yuma was not that exciting. We arrived in Tucson to a warm greeting by friend and her cuddly golden doodle, who guided us on a tour of the bungalow – bedroom here, courtesy hotel sample toiletries there. Like a friend’s home in Palm Springs, this place has really cool yet practical painted cement floors. And even cooler – the place is practically two homes in one with an outdoor lounge, kitchen, and shower! Yes, an outdoor shower – the ultimate in luxury, and quite necessary as Tucson’s heeellllllaaaa hoooooooooooot. Super hella, hella hot. Thankfully, The Quid and I arrived at night when it’s only a solid hot. And, when in Tucson, do as they do and enjoy the night air on the outdoor couch with good company and some Snoop in my glass – 19 Crimes wine, Snoop Dogg edition. A taste of California in every sip. The next day, I was in no rush to do anything, and The Quid was otherwise engaged with the puppy. The outdoor shower beckoned – so cooling, so cleansing, pretty much private… unless the neighbor happens to be on his roof, as we all are often wont to do. So, mid-dry off, I grab my stuff and dash for more covered quarters. I didn’t streak through the backyard. It was more like stealthily slinking in the shadows and brush – with a clanging bag of toiletries. Tucked away in the comfort of my clothing, our hostess takes us – she brought the puppy so I had to bring the Quid - on a car tour of Tucson. Did I mention it’s really f-ing hot, so yeah, we drove. Sadly, I was so happy to have a break in the 2400-mile drive where I was not driving, and to have a tour guide, and to be air-conditioned while enjoying the landscape-appropriate architecture, and the art of the arty areas of the city, that I forgot to take pictures of the landscape, the architecture, most of the artiness. Hey! I’ve already had a couple long driving days. Staying awake is quite the effort. And gracious hostess to the very end, my friend, who’d already been kind and patient with my high-energy, no boundaries, and well, loud kid, even sent him off with road snacks. I have snacks for my kid! I do feed him! But apparently snacks are better from friends.
We ended up doing a slow-paced blow-through of Arizona. We didn’t see as much as we could or should have, but I saw more and in a better way than those bleak winters in Yuma. I’m sure we’ll be back because we have friends in desert places. Last Moments in my Home State Before I Drive to a New Home I don’t hate driving necessarily – it can be fun to zip down the California Coast or coast through the windy roads of the East Bay Hills on a warm day. But, I mostly hate driving – it hurts my back and hamstrings after about 20 minutes, I have to constantly concentrate, sleeping is a no-no, and then there’s parking. Driving would be ok if it weren’t for having to park later. So why someone like me thought driving over 2,400 miles by myself with a child was a sane undertaking, I have no idea. But here we are. Thankfully, in my insanity, I had the wherewithal to plot in a few stops along way – see some sites, stretch the achy bod, and breathe some fresh air. And thankfully, again, California offers many spots of interest that help to provide us with a lingering farewell. Since the Quid could toddle, I’ve wanted to take him to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Maybe my want has been more of an obsession – tomato, tomahtoe. The Quid, though, is totally on board with this obsession, so away we go – after triple checking day of mover pick-up, last night in Alameda, cementing day of departure, to be able to book tickets in advance for the day and time of arrival, because you know, COVID. And, of course we’re late. By over an hour. Because, you know, California traffic! The aquarium will still let us in, but it reduces our visit time, a particular bummer since it closes much earlier than expected. But we’re on a mission. We will experience this aquarium! We crawl into Monterey. We peel into a parking space. We dash down to the water – hi, Cannery Row; bye, Cannery Row. We bob and weave through tourists and sightseers who appear to have all the time in the universe – out of our way! Please. We finally enter the aquatic halls of the revered Monterey Bay and I thought, “This is it?” Really? I’m sure it will be wonderful, but it’s much smaller than I expected. Yet we’re on time crunch, so I hope we can squeeze it all in. “Hey, Quid – Wait, where’re you going?” as he, of course, dashes off to see the otters. They’re cute, seemingly cuddly, and his school mascot. We’re “sea people” – descended from cultures near, surrounded by, and commanding of the waters, so I always feel more grounded (punny?) near water. The cool blues, the calm sounds – it’s most tranquil. Ooommm. Let the waters wash over us. Ooommm. “Hey!! look over here. Let’s pet a stingray!” Then it could be put off no longer; it was time to go. Looking out over the Monterey Bay was beautiful and homesick inducing. Another planned stop was the Grand Canyon, so I’d targeted Barstow as a stop for the night to then head into Arizona the next day. A head’s up from a friend in Arizona about monsoons hitting the state including the Canyon scrapped that idea. But, hey, it’ll still be there when the Quid is in 4th grade and all national parks are free! Our bed in Barstow, though, still awaits.
“Drive, Mama. Barstow, Barstow, Barstow!” Barstow’s not exactly a travel destination. But it is a stop on the famed Mother Road, Route 66, a place to briefly take in for the automotive mystique it once held. And surely, the spirit of some patron saint of road trips will grant our chariot protection for our drive. But first, I pull over in a car dealer’s lot – seems fitting. I step out of the car to take in a last deep, dry breath and cast my last looks of California – golden… diverse in landscape and population… dry… on fire… expensive… Muah, kiss, kiss, we love you. Now, let’s go get our kicks! The Insanity of Driving Solo Cross-Country with a Young Child Moving sucks. There’s no sugar coating it – across town, the country, the globe, even the smallest, easiest move, well, isn’t. I’ve done more than my share of moves over the decades, but this one feels particularly difficult. Why? Probably because of the added complications of moving with a young child and all the extra hoops to jump through and paperwork that comes with it. And in this case, the speed with which the move has to be executed. At the destination, we’re trying to hit a very early school start date. At the departure point, we’ve been held up by a five-to-six-week delay in getting the go ahead to go. In short, it’s been go, go, go.
Despite my plethora of to-do, in-progress, and done lists, this move remains overwhelming. I’m on top of things, yet so behind. The night before the movers arrive, I only get two hours of sleep, because I’m up making sure everything was ready. I don’t recommend being near me in such instances. But for now, this can’t be helped. Miraculously, on moving day, I manage to get the kid to camp, navigate the stuff pick-up with the movers, do a mad dash to Hayward to drop-off very important papers before an agency closes, and with ten minutes to spare. Needless to say, by the time camp pick up time arrives, I am an incoherent mess, barely awake and, surely, not making sense. In this state, while on the phone with my friend solidifying plans for our pre-departure sleepover, my frazzled brain can’t decide whether to say my kid’s name, or the word ‘kid’ and what comes out is ‘Quid.’ “We’ll be over after I pick up Quid.” No sooner do I disconnected the call, ‘Quid’ bounds into the back seat and assumes his booster seat throne. I tell him his new “name”, he laughs, and says, “’Quid’, I like it – and long drives at night. Let’s go, Mama!” But first, a last night with a friend. This isn’t the first time my friends and I have parted and hopefully, we’ll reconnect again, as we have managed to do over the years. We dine, our kids play, I blubber on her back porch while drinking wine… There’s been a lot of that with this move – the blubbering, not the wine, because things can still be positive even if sad and hard. And as children of the island in the San Francisco Bay, we ponder yet again, that while we’ve made good friends as we’ve navigated our lives, will those who didn’t grow up on the island truly ever ‘get us’? I hope so! Morning comes and we must say, “So long for now.” With a final hug, one of my longest and dearest friends says, “At least you’re not going alone. You have ‘ the Quid’.” Yes, he can’t drive, he’s obsessed with but can’t read maps, but he’s much, much better than me with a long drive. And Alameda to Decatur is a really, really, really, really, really long drive. Quid is, and according to him, will forever be, my co-pilot. And with Quid as my co-pilot, what could possibly go wrong? Preparing to Set Out on a New Life in a New World Like an apparition sneaking up on me - “Boo!” - so did the sudden opportunity to move – move far, far away to a distant and foreign land – the American South. Bless my heart. Before I could process what was happening – still haven’t processed – I was throwing together a cross-country move to somewhere I’ve only ever changed planes in. Um, sure, what the hell? This is a totally solid plan.
Before diving into the latest new adventure, though, I wanted to make sure the kid experienced as much of California as he could – really wanted to drill the California into him. Mystery Spot – check; California Academy of Sciences – check; Lawrence Hall of Science, Berkeley Botanical Gardens, Fenton’s – check, check, check. California is vast and the continued options are plentiful, but I didn’t think we could sneak out of the state until we dashed down to San José to FINALLY experience Sarah Winchester’s Mystery House. Rooms going nowhere, the supernatural, California must-see - let’s do it… with a friend with whom I’d talked about this exact adventure three years ago… but we can only go on a certain day… at a specific time… because that’s all I can make happen before the movers arrive. I think I’m already out of breath before even touring the grounds… Most of us have heard of Sarah Winchester’s interest or obsession with the occult, but it seems her cross-country relocation may have been a move of mourning[1], a means to help comfort her loss. I can relate in my state of mourning my soon-to-be former California life. Legend says Sarah was haunted by the ghosts of those who died at the end of Winchester rifle. I’m haunted by the dread, fear, the monumental homesickness for the California Coast – its beauty and bounty. Also, there’s a good dose of a fear of failure lurking in the dark spaces; especially daunting when responsible for another young life. Sure, I’ve wanted to leave for ten years – I never intended to stay after arriving home from Germany. I like California and the island, but I also like having work, having work in my field(s), and actually being able to pay bills if I work. Yet, I’m still a mess at the thought of it all. Totally normal, right? Sarah Winchester moved cross-country to start a new. I’m moving yet again cross-country to make a fresh start, too. The Mystery House tour guide said Sarah was known to be a good employer, earning the loyalty of her employees. While I can’t say that I expect the loyalty of my friends and acquaintances made thus far, I do hope you won’t fade away, will join us on the journey, and even wish us well. Yep, y'all, we're moving to Georgia, Atlanta - Decatur that is. [1]https://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/real-story-of-sarah-winchester-mystery-house-12552842.php#:~:text=Although legend would have you,Coast to be with family |
AuthorGreat transitioner & media operative seeking a position as a script coordinator, writers' room assistant, or staff writer with a TV drama. I'm also open to related jobs with networks and production companies. Landing an agent would be awesome. Archives
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