American Monuments

As a child I spent a lot of time in the backseat of my mom’s ‘73 butterscotch-orange Monte Carlo. Mom at the wheel, she’d tote me around during Saturday morning errands and I’d daydream and gaze out the windows as classic rock flowed from tinny speakers. There were trips to the Italian grocery store, the bank teller’s drive-up window, maybe a shoe sale, and there were drop-ins on aunts', uncles' and grandparents’ houses. As the car made its way, I soaked in the sights and sounds of our northeast Ohio roadsides.

 

My love for going for a drive remains strong, but these days I pull over a lot more than mom ever did.