Road maps used to call them "waysides," but now they're marked with this sign, and have no name. "Rest stops" have "facilities". This sign indicates the facilities are a shade tree and a picnic table, so there's nothing to do but park, unpack your picnic basket, sit down, and enjoy.
That is my idea of what heaven will be like: just like this life, but with infinite choices and no sickness. I fancy myself and companions on the road from Shakespeare's new play to Cab Calloway's nightclub, settin' and refreshin' ourselves with lemonade and roasted-vegetable sandwiches, or Italian-flag sandwiches with tomato, mozzarella and basil, all drizzled with olive oil, don't forget the pepper and salt and peperoncini. . . . Divine picnic baskets never run out of food, and especially never run out of desserts. Cake and ice cream? Cherry pie and hot coffee? Frozen grapes? Ask and ye shall receive.
I keep this sign, a replica of the official ones (I see very few indeed!) tacked up my porch to remind me how simple and how near is heavenly bliss.
