Each winter my mother and I sported a light coat of flour from December first to the 25th. My mom flew into a baking frenzy and I was recruited to grease pans, sprinkle sugar on hot fried twists of lemony dough, and run up and down between our upstairs and downstairs kitchens like lightning for whatever mom needed because she always said, “Honey, you gatta da fresh a legs.” 1,185 more words
Tags » Great Memories
Memories are like flood water: they never stop once they start flowing.
Case in point, a former high school teacher of mine was commenting on social media that the school had created a promotional video which included several photos of students throughout the decades. 628 more words