Aprons and Memories

Mom was twirling in the kitchen again. She stretched toward the blue painted  refrigerator, which she opened with a flourish and pulled out a chunk of farm-fresh butter. The Vivaldi blared on the stereo in the next room, where the burnt-orange shag carpeting provided little sound barrier, neither did the matching burlap-like drapes.

via www.molliecoxbryan.com

This post bears repeating. It's Mother's Day.

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