In my family we have a running joke. Mom was complaining about something that I had done... I don't even remember what it was now, I just know it annoyed her. I laughed and sung out 'Appppppple tree.' Sarcasm and wit was our family dialect. I was the apple. She was the tree. Anything I did (or didn't do) was because she taught me. Now my kids rub my nose it in. They are the apples. I am the tree. Now that mama is gone I'm learning more and more every day what it mean's to be Stella's daughter.
