"What I remember most about Momma is her lemonade. That tall, cool pitcher of the sweetest lemonade, on a hot summer's day ...."
"I remember, too. But she's dead now. I know it's unpleasant, but we've got to go through her house and get it ready to sell."
Two sisters. Grown and different women now. They went into the house with bags and boxes. To fill and take away. They emptied closets. And dresser drawers. They packed up room after room. For hot, sweaty hours.
"Last room. Kitchen."
They stepped into the kitchen.
Sitting on the counter, like all those years ago, was a tall pitcher of cold, sweet, lemonade.
p.s. I'm not very happy with the photograph from yesterday - or at least the way it looks in the post. I am going to do some post-processing and fix it - and re-publish next week.
p.p.s. I really need to thank Loralee for this ps thing. It works great.