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good southern housewife appreciates the sentiment of an iron skillet that’s been passed down. Knows how to maintain it. I tell you, this skillet is perfectly good. I’ll show you how to season it. You should know.”
    Harper looked at the rusty skillet with an expression of doubt, but didn’t want to fight Mamaw on it. “Thank you,” Harper had the manners to reply. “Okay, the skillet is a treasure. But these aluminum pots,” she continued, not to be deterred, “they’re hopelessly battered, and frankly, they’re not safe to use anymore.”
    â€œLucille cooked some very good meals in those pots.”
    â€œThis is no comment on Lucille’s cooking, Mamaw. I know you have an emotional attachment to them, but look at them. They’ve worn down to nearly nothing. I’ve gone online and learned that not only are these old aluminum pots and pans leaching dangerous metal, but research has linked aluminum cookware to Alzheimer’s.”
    â€œOh,” Mamaw said, her complaints suddenly silenced.
    â€œI’m going out today to buy some stainless steel pots and pans.”
    â€œYou mustn’t spend your money—”
    Harper put up her hand to stop Mamaw’s objections. “I’ll need them anyway if I’m going to set up my own place.”
    Mamaw’s attention sharpened. “You’remaking plans, are you? Going back to New York soon?”
    Harper shrugged. “I suppose so.” She looked at her grandmother. “I better start firming up those plans, I know. But till then,” she said in a more upbeat tone, “Dora, Carson, and I huddled together this morning like a bunch of old crones. We had a good heart-to-heart.”
    Mamaw brightened. “Really? I’m so glad.”
    â€œThere was a method to the madness. We know you’ve let go the cleaning service and we haven’t done our part. So we put on our big-girl panties and divvied up chores. We’ve organized the cooking, too.”
    â€œMercy!”
    â€œBrace yourself, Mamaw. It’s time to get a food processor.”
    â€œWhatever for? I won’t cook in the old-folks home I’m heading to.”
    Harper scoffed at the term old-folks home. The place Mamaw was intending to go to was lovely and up-to-date. “Like I said, I have to buy this stuff anyway for wherever I’ll set up a kitchen.”
    Mamaw’s attention riveted on that comment. “You’re not going back to your mother’s apartment?”
    Harper shook her head firmly. “No way. I won’t go back there. Looking forward, Mamaw.” She gave Mamaw a kiss.
    Mamaw put her hands to her cheek where Harper’s lips had been. “Well, if you think so . . .”
    Harper seized the moment. “While the cabinets are empty, wouldn’t it be a good time to give everything a fresh coat of paint? What do you say?”
    â€œPaint?” Mamaw said feebly against the onslaught of energy and ideas.
    â€œAbsolutely.A clean white. Let’s do the walls, too, while we’re at it. They’re dreary.”
    Mamaw looked around at the dingy walls. “I’ve always wanted to freshen things up a bit, but Lucille chased me out every time I suggested it. It was her kitchen, you know.”
    â€œLet’s do it now. There’s no hope for the appliances, but it’s probably not worth replacing those if you’re moving.” Then Harper’s voice changed, softening. “Other than that fabulous old Viking oven. It’s built like a tank. Anyone who buys the house will probably gut the room and build a kitchen around the oven.” She sighed and let her gaze lovingly linger on the mammoth appliance. “I know I would.”
    Mamaw felt suddenly as ancient as the oven. “But the cost . . . I’m afraid I have to be, shall we say, conservative now.”
    â€œIt’s my idea, thus my