jaynieh

After having had a spinal injury 3 years ago, and spinal surgery this past June, I am unable to clean my house! My parents were exceedingly generous and kind enough to hire a house cleaner for me a couple of times after my surgery.

But two more hospitalizations later, I still am not able to keep up with much in the way of housework. My husband does the best he can, but can’t possibly live up to my standards of perfect cleanliness.

So the dust bunnies reproduce unmolested, rolls of dog and cat hair accumulate, and a cloud of ammonia makes getting near the litter box area hazardous to human health.

I’ve lived in or near Marietta, Georgia almost all my adult life, and U.S. 41 goes right down the middle of it. After marrying (at the tender age of 21) I spent eight mortally homesick months in the Uptown section of Chicago. The only friendly thing I found there (besides my delightful husband) was Foster Avenue – with its big, friendly black-and-white “41” shield. I could just stand at the El-stop and look down Foster Avenue to the south and think, at the other end of this is the Big Chicken, Marietta, and home.

My childhood was spent in western Tennessee, and my mom, dad, and I made many treks down US 41 between Chattanooga and Atlanta, before the completion of I-75 in the northern suburbs.

I now collect postcards from motels, restaurants, attractions – whatever I can get my hands on – that were located on the Tennessee, Georgia, and Florida legs of US 41. It holds a unique spot in my heart, for it has always been the Road Home.