divvying out family pictures

When my Arizona sister said she was visiting our New York brother and sister said, “I’ wanna come, too.” My 42-year-old little brother echoed, “Me, too.”
Our last reunion six years ago was under the emotional haze of Mom’s funeral. Since then our parents’ house was sold and recently our father packed what he wanted and moved to a retirement community near his sister in California. He left behind two boxes of knick knacks, his shotguns and the family pictures albums, all 12 of them.
“See if you want anything from the boxes in the corner,” my sister greeted us. “And be sure to take pictures of your families from the albums and any others you want.” She made it all sound so simple.
It took us 14 hours to divvy up the remnants of our parent’s albums.
The albums took the longest. My mother kept everything and took lots of pictures of her five children. She had pictures, clippings and memorabilia dating back to my great-grandfather’s country store.
Within minutes my sister’s tidy dining room table, chairs and side board spilled over with albums, stacks of pictures, scrap book pages and piles of pictures. Grandchildren’s pictures returned to their parents. Sepia prints of grandparents as infants waited for identification. The box of pictures to copy quickly overflowed. The trash man received the blurred, streaked and faded photos and scenic views without a soul in them from parents’ years of cross country traveling. Page by page the albums were stripped of their pictures.
Even with half a dozen people working, it was a formidable task. By 2 p.m.. everyone had made their first choices from each album. We were brain dead. Big brother said it was time to go out to eat.
We talked, ate and posed for pictures to fatten more albums.
Back at the house we sorted through the memorabilia in the two boxes, remembering past years. My older brother stuck the cowboy hat on his head, ran his hands over the rifles and smiled quietly as he hefted them. My Arizona sister discussed ways to transport the log cabin made of rolled paper back to her college son. I found the medical reference book I was sure I had given my son years ago. Ledge books from great-grandpa’s country store intrigued my cousin who joined us in the afternoon.
The boxes quickly emptied. The picture project remained. We returned to the table, emptying albums until after midnight. The next day with both brothers gone, we sisters finished sorting pictures and discussed how to copy dozens of pictures for everyone.
As the time for my plane neared, we quickly stuck pictures onto typing paper, tossed my bags into the car and stopped at the 24-hour quick copy shop because I wanted something to take home that day.
I collapsed into my airplane seat. With a sigh of satisfaction. I pulled my new 18-page picture book. I had been a fruitful if busy visit.