I am reading one of great travel writer, Paul Therouxs Deep South. He talks at length about what travel writers write about, usually some part of the journey that stands out, either really great, or really bad, as in arduous, troublesome, and memorable. He seeks to make a connection with people, something I like to do in my travels as well. In the Deep South, he finds these stories, and tries not to judge. He walks into a small Alabama convenience store. He notices the jars of penny candy on the countertop. He tells the clerk, When I was a boy, we used to call it penny candy. The clerk, perhaps in a moment of defensiveness, replies, Road candy, eat it while youre driving. Suddenly, I flashed on something forgot. I fondly remember my dear Mom with a small bag of candy in her purse, only when we took off on our family vacation, usually to Southern California, to visit relatives. It might have been the only time I saw my Mom with any type of junk food. Of course, our little town did not have a McDonalds or Taco Bell back then. I miss my Mom, as I
