Back in the day, my mother-in-law, Bridget, drove the hilly, back roads to Isaly’s farm for fresh cream from the cow that she would churn in the Cuisinart to make butter. Isaly’s later found fame and fortune with Klondike Bars. We drove to the Italian store for meats and cheeses from Uncle Art, to Rungo’s for produce, and to Sarris Chocolates for the best chocolate ever and a family tradition at holidays. She went to the grocery store for things in a box or a can. Everything else was procured directly from the maker. She produced fantastic meals from this tiny little kitchen and its mod wallpaper.

Growing up in the Air Force, I never had a hometown, and I loved visiting Jerry’s hometown for Christmas, summers, and ball games. I need a vibrant downtown devoted to re-inventing itself and curating a vision for the future as well as steeped in culture and festivals devoted to pickles. I need everything Carnegie, Frick, and Schenley left behind as well as a melting pot of people, breathtaking architecture, and a 100-year-old Italian grocery store...and the Steelers. I need to wave my towel in a stadium of 80K people I don’t know, but we all go to the same church.