When she walked through my back door, my 93-year-old aunt’s first question was, “Did you grow those camellias or steal them?”
I smiled sweetly and explained, “I borrowed them.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “Aren’t they pretty?”
Back at my homeplace in Alabama, which I frequent for solitude as well as repartee, I visit the cemetery where my two parents and my other aunt are buried. Magnolia Ceme…
