When we left Beaufort, S.C.,  there were four different shipments.  One to storage, one to Pryor, one to Viet Nam, and one for valuables.  I told the movers not to touch anything in the dining room. I had stacked all the stuff that  the five us would need after Ken's change of command ceremony to take with us when we left for Oklahoma.  All of our clothes, suitcases, etc.  Enough to last a couple of weeks.  I had been packing for weeks and was organized.  Completely organized.

      You know what happened.  I got back from town (in shorts and halter) and they had packed it all on the truck and left.  We had nothing.  It was all gone.  The house was empty.  I got the kids from school and sent them up and down the street begging for hand-me-downs to wear to the change of command ceremony.  They came back looking presentable so I drove back to town to buy a dress, shoes, jewelry, hose, etc. etc., to wear to a luncheon in my honor--as the Commanding Officer's wife.

     Ken came home to get us to go to the ceremony and he was wearing "Blues."  Looking really good.  Sword, medals, and as the Marines would put it:  Dress blues, tennis shoes, and a light coat of oil.  "Where are my clothes to change into after this ceremony is over," he asked.
       I told him.  "On a truck somewhere headed west."
      "You have to be kidding," he said.
      "Nope, what you have on is all there is.  Sorry, but we'll worry about that later."

      Immediately after the ceremony, we all piled into the car and headed west.  Ken in full uniform.  And the rest of us in what we had on.  We had been married ten years.  It seemed normal.  Nothing ever went right.  One more day in the life of the military.

      By the time we got to Georgia, we were all exhausted.  And there were no rooms anywhere.  A federal highway patrol convention had taken every room for a hundred miles around......

Continued...