Mom, did you really dress us alike? Really?
No, you both got up and dressed yourselves, and that's what you put on that day.
The same jean jacket? The same black pants and tee-shirt?
As I recall, your brother got dressed first.
You're sure you didn't do this?
I did not. So who do you think was copying whom?
Must have been a coincidence.
The four of us did nothing that day but walk around the lake and ride the carousel at the lodge and take pictures that punctuated our running stream of chatter. We lounged on rocks and skipped pebbles on the water and climbed over fences and walked and talked some more. It was, as I recall, a perfect day.
But I wonder, do perfect days really exist, or does memory filter them so that we can pick them out of the pile of days and shine them up to a perfect sparkle? And does it matter? The memory is what remains. I'm glad we took pictures, little frames of light and color captured from that day, the sweet fleeting moments of this life made tangible.