When I hear this description of a Norman Rockwell-esque Americana, I think of soda fountains , chrome barstools, and a damp white hand towel draped over the apron strings of the crew-cut, Chevy driving teenager, behind the counter. Main Street is paved with old, chipped ruby bricks and faded tar. The sound of traffic is muffled by idle sidewalk tidbit exchange of the locals. Tiny birds can be heard over the purr of automobiles passing by, and the squeak of the play yard swings need a good oiling. Is this your town? Would you like this to be your town?

As I travel across the United States, I do my best to frequent rest stops along the Interstate, and use the bathroom. I do this for two reasons. 
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Miss Athens
August 12, 2013

My father was by no means a workaholic, but as a humble welder, he did provide his family with a modest home, and income. At one point in his life he supported his wife, 6 children, and a mother-in-law. He also helped in the financial assistance of a sister-in law, a brother-in-law, and their respective families, all the while paying on a mortgage, and making car payments. How he did it, I’ll never know. 

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