Occasionally Fresh Eggs (Part 2)

My parents met at the Whiting Hotel.  The year was 1975 and my Mom was released from the Traverse City State Hospital during one of the swells of deinstitutionalization. My Dad was struggling with alcohol, recently divorced, and recently bankrupt.  The Whiting rented rooms by the week or month.  It was the closest thing that Traverse City had to a big city rooming house.  When I was about 10 my Mom packed us up and took us away from the farm announcing that we were leaving Dad.  We first drove into town and went to the Holiday Inn.  I was excited that there was a pool and I was just getting into my swimsuit when my Mom decided that we couldn't stay there.  She tried to get her money back unsuccessfully and we went to the Whiting.  My Mom was always making decisions like that.  Inexplicable to me.  It was almost like she feared that too much middle class normalcy would push her over the edge.  Or, perhaps, she knew that Dad would be able to find us at the Whiting.  He did.  Indeed we weren't there very long when he came and took us back home.