tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36676682323899751002024-02-20T09:42:53.143-07:00Mon Nid VideBonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.comBlogger365125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-47192901618862226212014-07-26T12:50:00.000-06:002014-07-26T12:50:11.109-06:00Branching Out It's official. I've got a new blog with a new banner and URL. You can find it <a href="http://bonnieheatherwhite.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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Sometimes I will have a guest blogger. Sometimes I will talk about fashion or diet or exercise for women of a certain age. Sometimes I will post about my escapades. Join me as I make my way through these next chapters.Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-22866402029771514442014-07-25T02:16:00.003-06:002014-07-25T02:17:30.562-06:00New Blog Under ConstructionWhen I started blogging two years ago, I called my blog <i>Mon Nid Vide</i> - my empty nest. I was the saddest woman on two feet back then. A stay at home mother, now redundant, feeling sorry for herself because the kids had all flown the coup. I did feel empty, pathetic and I couldn't think of one thing I wanted to do more than be their mother.<br />
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When we moved my mother back to our city from eastern Canada, the blog morphed into a memoir as dementia erased the contents of my mother's life. In those posts about <i><b>Used to Be Mother</b></i> I wrote snippets of conversations on her yearning for heaven, her obsession with punctuality and catching her urine sample. I ran out of content when she died on June 7th.<br />
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I'm not that sad woman anymore. An empty nest isn't a tragic thing. Your house stays clean. You can cook what you like when you like it. You can smooch on the couch without worrying about disgusted kids. The emptiness makes room for opportunity and dreams. The kids don't need me but you know what? I don't need the kids either.<br />
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I've commissioned an artist to create a banner for my blog. I'm brainstorming for a new title. I'm forming a flight plan to launch what's coming next. I'm studying for the GRE, looking into graduate school programs and some of it, I am just making it up as I go.<br />
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Stay tuned, I'm under construction.Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-70640149328032654482014-07-18T12:01:00.000-06:002014-07-18T12:15:58.924-06:00Music WormsYou get stuck in the decades past when you listen only to classic rock or classical music. Who doesn't enjoy Vivaldi, Handel, The Who, Van Morrison, Brahms? I wonder if musicians now feel the same way about their music as artists felt about their art after Michelangelo came on the scene?<br />
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Whether I am watching a movie, practising yoga at the studio, or working at BR, I hear music whose lyrics I don't know nor the name of the groups who make that music. One song in particular whose lyrics go "show a little faith in me" wormed its way into my psyche and it replays several dozen times in my day. After a google search I found the title and group: <a href="http://youtu.be/RF7bvjzpYGQ" target="_blank">Silver and Gold by Noah and the Whale</a>.<br />
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This lead me to another search "trending music".<br />
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Time suggests these are <a href="http://time.com/2801365/best-songs-of-2014-so-far/" target="_blank">the top groups</a> (so far). Of the list I had only heard of one, Will Pharrell.<br />
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What do you listen to? Is it important to you to stay current with music? What's your fav all time song?Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-35822475400574921982014-07-13T17:51:00.001-06:002014-07-13T17:51:13.667-06:00Stampede ConcertPup offered us tickets to the Keith Urban concert for the Saddledome on Saturday night.<br />
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Bob: Who's Keith Urban?<br />
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Me: Nicole Kidman's husband.<br />
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Bob: What kind of music does he play?<br />
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Me: I dunno. So we googled Keith Urban.<br />
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We listened on Youtube to <a href="http://youtu.be/eiBinM-f-Pk" target="_blank">Somebody Like You</a><br />
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Bob swaying back and forth: I like that song.<br />
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Me: Yeah, me too.<br />
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We try another one. <a href="http://youtu.be/7dtfBxUTXRY" target="_blank">Long Hot Summer</a><br />
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Us: Sure Pup we will take the tickets.<br />
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We take the train to the Saddledome. All the crazies are out: foul-mouthed liquored teens, wrangler wearing seniors, and fun-seekers. The train's heating system isn't working and it must be over 40C.<br />
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Once we exit the train the crowd pushes us along to the Saddledome past the midway and food caravans. "Scorpion pizza" "Deep fried snicker bars" are two that catch my eye. Why people? What's wrong with cotton candy and fiddlesticks?<br />
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There's a new ride - well to me anyway - that is a sphere shot out of rocket simulator that looks pretty terrifying. We don't stop. It is was hot on the train, we've just landed in purgatory.<br />
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The back up band warming up the crowd sounds like Jim Croce. I can't stop checking out the crowd. Stampede clothing has come along way from snap plaid shirts and cowgirl skirts. I see a lot of short denim shorts, lace tops and cowboy hats. The whole stadium buzzes with electric expectation. In the mosh pit, many have neon coloured posters pledging their love to Keith.<br />
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When he makes it onstage with his band, the whole place goes wild. He has a light strobe show synced to his music. From the big screens (we are in the nosebleed section), we see how much he smiles as he sings. He's easy on the eyes but he is also very likeable.<br />
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At one point he puts the house lights up and reads the posters. One girl is chosen to come onstage. She is getting married next week.<br />
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KU: What have you been doing at the Stampede?<br />
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Girl: Drinking.<br />
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KU: You couldn't find anything else to do here?<br />
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He invites her mothers, sisters, aunts, uncles and anyone else with her upstage and they take a selfie.<br />
At another point, he comes down off the stage to the opposite end of the auditorium and plays to the crowd. He gives his guitar to a girl who can't sop jumping up and down from Keith Urban frenzy.<br />
He invites a couple up to dance onstage to another of his songs. They must be professional. Their acrobatic flips are just too polished but their dancing makes the crowd go wild.<br />
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At one point, the whole auditorium looks like fireflies lighting up the room. Bob and I remember earlier concerts where Bic lighters did that trick.<br />
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After the encores and people exit, KU is still signing autographs and mingling with his fans. He's accessible and clearly enjoying himself. The guy in front of me says: "That guy is so real."<br />
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Bob and I were on our feet dancing and clapping. We had no idea what the lyrics were. It didn't matter. It was just plain fun.<br />
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After the show, we didn't linger for bug food nor heart hardening treats. The crowd on the trains were more subdued. They were heading home before the real madness of Stampede started.<br />
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I hum these lyrics as I get ready for bed:<br />
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<span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">That you're always in my heart, </span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">You're always on my mind </span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">But when it all becomes too much, </span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">You're never far behind </span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">And there's no one that comes close to you </span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Could ever take your place </span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Cause only you can love me this way </span><br />
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Going to that concert beats whatever is on Netflix. I need to get out more. There's a whole world to discover.<br />
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<br />Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-36748790855345265112014-07-10T00:21:00.002-06:002014-07-11T18:30:41.712-06:00Flipping PancakesSouthcentre, where I work, sponsored a Stampede breakfast today. The caravan came with their live country music. Anyone responsible for the event wore pink (Southcentre is one of the sponsors for Run for the Cure). Several thousand people came out to eat sausages and pancakes with strawberries and fake maple syrup.<br />
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As a volunteer, I was assigned to heat frozen pre-cooked sausages on a propane grill the size of a large barbecue. This confirmed my desire to remain a vegan. "Pork parts" was listed as the first ingredient with a a bunch of chemical preservatives added for good measure. Once the lineups grew to several hundred for each station, I was assigned to cook pink pancakes over the same grill. <br />
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The caravan provides this really great contraption that is shaped like a funnel and when you squeeze it onto the grill, perfect round pancakes are formed.<br />
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"Once the pancake bubbles all over, it's time to turn it," says this volunteer who is in charge of the volunteers at station 5. He might be all of 25 years old. He didn't seem to think I knew what I was doing. "Honey I've cooked more pancakes than you will ever eat." I told him.<br />
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Flipping pancakes turned out to be a lot of fun. Country music lyrics, while very inane, are catchy. "She likes my tractor better than me." There's something about a plaid shirt and wrangler jeans that looks like a party waiting to happen.<br />
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Most people are gracious and respectful. A few are just downright annoying.<br />
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"Can I have a better looking pancake?"<br />
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"Can I have three pancakes instead of two?"<br />
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"Can you give me that one right there?"<br />
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"That pancake looks burned. Can I have a different one?"<br />
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All legitimate questions I suppose. I wanted to snap at them "People this is free food. This is free labour. Go home and fix yourself a bowl of corn flakes."<br />
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Two hours and several thousand pancakes later, we were done.<br />
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I headed home with my pink apron and plastic shaped boot. Stampede breakfasts are kind of fun.Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-36474757325842044152014-07-07T23:16:00.002-06:002014-07-07T23:16:31.103-06:00TBAITSMB has a personalized license plate that reads: TBAITSM. It's the tag line he uses when he writes to our children. It started when MW was in her first year of university. She wasn't sure how to tackle some of the assignments and this was B's way of encouraging her.<br />
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Over the years people have tried guessing what it means.<br />
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Michael Carey's version isn't correct but it has a way of crowding out everything else: The bad a$$ in the sex machine.<br />
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Have a go at it. What do you think it stands for?<br />
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<br />Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-27730200198078795242014-06-06T18:02:00.002-06:002014-06-08T16:05:37.630-06:00Love Trysts On the Dementia WingI'm on death watch with Used to Be Mother. She's not aware of my presence. Time crawls along as her breathing becomes more shallow and laboured. She's comfortable but restless at times. Periodic tremors shake the bed. As her body shuts down, emissions push their way out and it makes for a very unpleasant experience.<br />
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After a few hours, I go for a walk earlier. A sweet Italian woman named Angela joins me. She is eighty-seven. Her husband, Rudy, now 93 has been a resident here for two years. She tells me her knees hurt but she says with conviction: "I still gotta my mind." She has a bee in her bonnet today.<br />
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"That woman keeps coming into my husband's room." I know who she is talking about. I thought Rudy and the woman holding the stuffed bear were husband and wife. They would sit together in the dining room. Each time I come to see Mom they are together - well until just recently. Angena tells me she has complained to the nursing staff about how inappropriate this is. She is disgusted they won't do anything about it.<br />
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"They tell me Rudy and that woman are companions and good for one another. How can they be friends when he can't even talk?"<br />
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Angelina tells me she confronted the woman some months ago and the docile woman with the stuffed bear apparently hit her across the face.<br />
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"It's a terrible thing to be separated from your husband."<br />
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She lives alone in their home they bought sixty years ago. She tries to come as often as she can but she has to take a taxi or rely on a neighbour to bring her.<br />
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Angela isn't blaming Rudy. Good job because the guy, with his oxygen tank and wheel chair, doesn't look much like a Don Juan to me. But the woman with the stuffed teddy bear doesn't look like a seducer neither. <br />
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As we round the corner into the main lobby, we see June and Dennis. They have their arms around one another and whispering in that way young lovers do. I'm told they are not husband and wife. Veronica, the Irish woman, jumps up to meet Wayne who staggers towards the lobby area. Veronica is coming onto Wayne as only an eighty-five year old woman with dementia can. Wayne grins wildly at whatever she is saying to him. Donna, toothless and dependent on her walker, asks me where her husband is.<br />
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I leave Angela and head back to my mother. On the way, Vera greets me with her persistent request:" Are Bruce and Bonnie coming to see me today?" I assure her they are. She tells me they are going to put her in a nursing home because she forgets everything.<br />
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Though I understand how difficult this is for Angela, I know too how Rudy and the Stuffed Toy Seducer and Veronica and Wayne and June and Dennis all want to love and be loved.<br />
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<br />Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-57648615022001006522014-06-05T01:20:00.001-06:002014-06-06T17:24:39.856-06:00You Won't See A Commercial for Oral Hygiene in the ToothlessWhile visiting Used to Be Mother yesterday, I create a ripple effect with the nursing staff.<br />
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"When was the last time anyone brushed her teeth?"<br />
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"She doesn't wear her teeth." responds one very pregnant LPN.<br />
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"But what about brushing her tongue and inside her mouth?" This was, after all, part of the facility's peri-hygiene commitment when she entered the facility.<br />
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A few furtive glances from one LPN to another spurs Saul into action. Within a few minutes, he brings a cup of mouth wash with a sponge on a stick shaped liked a lollypop.<br />
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UTBM: I don't want that thing.<br />
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She pushes his arm away and some of the mouthwash drips on her pants living its wet stain.<br />
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We cajole her and after a few minutes she opens her mouth to let Saul clean out her mouth.<br />
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I tell her to stick out her tongue which is covered in coodies. I can see raw skin on her lips and canker sores on her tongue.<br />
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She obeys with that wild eyed look now we see most of the time.<br />
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Her feet are swollen and very blue. When I rub them, I'm startled how cold they are.<br />
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"Why are you making her wear these slippers?" I ask Saul or anyone now who will listen.<br />
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Just then the case worker comes around the corner. She helps remove the slippers which have left a huge ridge on her feet because they are so tight.<br />
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"They don't like seeing her feet like this," K tells me.<br />
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Well don't look at them then.<br />
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I can smell my mother. It's not White Shoulders perfume or Lilies of the Valley. It's death. It's decay. I give her a little squeeze and rub her hair. She's so thin and shrunken in this wheel chair. I look into her eyes and see only madness.<br />
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This visit leaves me unsettled. I'm mad at the nursing staff who have to be goaded into helping her. I'm mad at myself that I can't keep her with me. I'm mad that she is still here. I'm mad that she is dying.<br />
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I grab the load of laundry, say my goodbyes and kiss her forehead.<br />
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"Goodbye dear." she says as she gives me a little wave.<br />
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As I walk away, I hear her say "That's my daughter."<br />
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I turn and blow her kiss with my free hand. "That's for you Mom." Several women look up when I say Mom.<br />
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They forget the second before but they seem to forget the role that filled their lives.<br />
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<br />Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-34661482040627645082014-05-30T00:43:00.001-06:002014-05-30T11:18:14.905-06:00Little Bird<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6tdwH-Lh1WYCjHWATliiaZHdgHadkvLVWwvGT_TZDLrxdBvzXh56IxIXGSzirdgiTx8YMsSY9rLbwfgTHt0N_3GyHzaF8rkpP-QfN_kYmq8uzVB5gcMnySUYojBR7qD0LdvVpNyI3UgU/s1600/blod+clots+and+edema+in+Mom's+foot.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6tdwH-Lh1WYCjHWATliiaZHdgHadkvLVWwvGT_TZDLrxdBvzXh56IxIXGSzirdgiTx8YMsSY9rLbwfgTHt0N_3GyHzaF8rkpP-QfN_kYmq8uzVB5gcMnySUYojBR7qD0LdvVpNyI3UgU/s1600/blod+clots+and+edema+in+Mom's+foot.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Decaying toe. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and me, May 27th, 2014</td></tr>
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I had not been to see Mom for ten days. A bronchial pneumonia kept me away but I was feeling better and hoped I wouldn't spread any germs.<br />
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I'm startled how thin she is and almost unrecognizable. When I call her name, she looks up and gives me a little smile.<br />
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"Hello Dear" she says.<br />
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I take her back to her room and change her clothing where she has spilled some juice or coffee earlier in the day, She has lost 14 kilograms in the last month. Her arms and legs are thin. Her twisted spine shows more than ever. Her breasts hang like little empty sacs. I help her get into clean pyjamas which hang on her now. The swelling in her left is further evidence of a more complex vascular problem. Her toe is rotting and new clots appearing will eventually do the same thing to her other toes. She walks from the bathroom to her bed in a teeter totter fashion. She asks me to straighten out her blankets. She is still the clean and tidy freak.<br />
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She talks gibberish and I don't understand what she is saying. She asks me about her brother John and hopes she can see him. She talks about the pictures and why those children don't come to play with me. We both hear the noise of a car speed away outside her complex and she asks me what the noise is.<br />
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Her feet and legs are cold but she doesn't seem to notice. The morphine makes her sleepy. She slips in and out. I hold her bony hand. I twirl her ring with the children's birthstones and bring her hand to my lips. She opens her eyes and smiles at me again. She doesn't seem to notice my tears which I can't stop.<br />
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She closes her eyes again. I can see her eyes moving underneath her thin lids. I wonder what she is seeing and thinking. I study her hand some more. She has large cracks at the side of her nails. She has dozens of age spots on the top of her hands. Her index finger is crooked. Her hands are so small now. They have done so many things: wrung out clothes, spanked kids' bottoms, shovelled wheat, made bread, ironed clothing, knit slippers, prayed for understanding. Her breathing is even but shallow. The morphine has worked its magic and she is now asleep. Her hand goes limp in mine. I put it back under the covers and watch her for a few more minutes.<br />
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Little bird please fly away soon.Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-24956677503993028502014-05-24T20:21:00.002-06:002014-05-28T20:38:43.852-06:00Collocations, Antecedents, Modals and all that JazzI'm up to my eyebrows in English grammar as I pursue the ACE teacher certification Level One. I have mixed feelings about teaching English as a Second Language because of the cultural creep that will affect the foreign language speaker. It doesn't take too many generations to lose a language. Children of new Canadians neither speak nor read their parents' native tongue. They want to assimilate and not stick out. <br />
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Because Canada relies on immigration to populate its workforce and pay its taxes, the government provides new Canadians with ESL courses, which is where I come in. I am student teaching in a class with students from Vietnam, China, South America, Russia and Somalia. They range from eighteen to mid-fifties. Some wear hijabs and abayas. They have hopes and dreams for a different life from the one they left. They are earnest and disciplined in their common goal to learn English. I enjoy their intensity and their ability to laugh at themselves when they say "wee pones" instead of weapons. <br />
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The more I study these grammatical rules and exceptions, I realize this is not an easy language to learn. Even native speakers don't know the grammar rules. Case in point: "I seen the movie last night" or "Between you and I, we have ten dollars." They have no idea why these are wrong. And really does it matter? Years ago they insisted that we say "We shall go to the movies" for the future but now "We will..." is commonplace and even accepted. A language is a living evolving thing.<br />
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Do you have a favourite grammar pet peeve? Do you think it matters to speak and write English as it was intended?<br />
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<br />Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-13052712048684208662014-05-14T22:54:00.001-06:002014-05-14T22:54:14.802-06:00Hope in a Young Girl's Heart<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEgIIoWeZb5n4WpTPG_sd85HQZrfr5E4o_c1kWD1x_Jw1RXk8HgVLULtQXHS5ibS2Bj3dIYB6CpE8XpkD5qxQnlLmo47yoWdW5Z9ERoM1k5MfGfl6WG_3jdXI9FglRQEj8TQ9kXXdho7o/s1600/Mom+in+her+bathing+suit+young+.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEgIIoWeZb5n4WpTPG_sd85HQZrfr5E4o_c1kWD1x_Jw1RXk8HgVLULtQXHS5ibS2Bj3dIYB6CpE8XpkD5qxQnlLmo47yoWdW5Z9ERoM1k5MfGfl6WG_3jdXI9FglRQEj8TQ9kXXdho7o/s320/Mom+in+her+bathing+suit+young+.JPG" height="400" width="278" /></a>Mom 1933, Welland Canal, Welland Ontario<br />
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We are gleaning gems from Used to Be Mother's albums which packed back and forth from British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan and Ontario. I found this one that that I don't recall ever seeing before. I see her luxuriate thick hair, her shyness and lack of confidence in her pose and her beautiful smile. I notice her feet without deformity and her hands and arms without sun spots.<br />
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I know from previous conversations that she wanted to marry, have children and a home of her own. These were the dreams of a woman who came from abject poverty and only a Grade Eight education.<br />
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She was shy and blushed easily. Her hair was flaming red and her skin fair. Her modest bathing suit was most likely a hand me down from her older sisters. I know that she started working to help the family. Her father worked seasonally on the Welland Canal and there were 12 children to feed and clothe. Her younger sisters were often beneficiaries of her generosity receiving dolls and new clothing.<br />
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As a new bride she came out west to live in unbearable conditions without running water nor electricity. She didn't speak the language and had never been on a farm. I'm told that she had a ready smile for everyone (as evidenced in this picture below). My mother is an example of someone who blooms where she was potted. A person who kept her commitments despite trial and disappointment and few resources. She had a Trojan energy and seldom rested.<br />
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For most of the time I have known her, Used to Be Mother felt a little disappointed with life. Her expectations always exceeded reality. It does tickle me, when I visit her now, how that sadness has dispersed. No more tears. No more disappointments. She's at peace.<br />
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<br />Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-88908424230442944532014-04-25T21:28:00.003-06:002014-04-25T21:29:23.198-06:00Senior Band An Example of Tenacity and Discipline<iframe width='670' height='437' frameborder='0' allowfullscreen src='http://globalnews.ca/video/embed/1292742/'>Your browser does not support frames. <a href="http://globalnews.ca/video/1292742/senior-band">Click here to view the frameless video.</a>.</iframe>Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-12931469628436011572014-04-15T10:02:00.000-06:002014-04-15T10:02:06.030-06:00Heading toward that Good Night<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnpN-_nqdZIIxiH9wfm1-9LssmXMjELQW1UT6D4rFUmhUJbtWr0VviUZaqceXfrf7V5nXB0PBVQHNfBac8HpQp1wm8GSK9X0P03V3kP4LvbjGod0sg2wE2m9Ky78dSiNVkkzVK-pv-6H0/s1600/photo-22.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnpN-_nqdZIIxiH9wfm1-9LssmXMjELQW1UT6D4rFUmhUJbtWr0VviUZaqceXfrf7V5nXB0PBVQHNfBac8HpQp1wm8GSK9X0P03V3kP4LvbjGod0sg2wE2m9Ky78dSiNVkkzVK-pv-6H0/s1600/photo-22.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blod clot in her left toe creating considerable pain</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8iSjRWEb-CMUicLwmQ7dtAowkNik-st2-t4ONXpSPmNMePKr9rfkYAO8TEqsYgty7cTWEEuTISuETBNhl2kyRjf6k_eqmpxumfk3sVm1YzHc7oVoA8Zht9I2RTqfTm05D5NdVBzUj3wQ/s1600/photo-21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8iSjRWEb-CMUicLwmQ7dtAowkNik-st2-t4ONXpSPmNMePKr9rfkYAO8TEqsYgty7cTWEEuTISuETBNhl2kyRjf6k_eqmpxumfk3sVm1YzHc7oVoA8Zht9I2RTqfTm05D5NdVBzUj3wQ/s1600/photo-21.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She falls asleep mid-sentence. I hear a rattle in her throat. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She fell three times on Friday and has bruises everywhere including her left temple. She doesn't want to wear her teeth.<br /><br />Used to Be Mother is fading away. She has stopped eating and drinking. Everything tastes yucky to her. Her urine is the colour of orange juice. Her lips have patches of dry skin. Her eyes are red and her vision is blurred. She sleeps most of the day and night now. She still recognizes me and asks each time about B. Little of what she says makes sense. It's like the wires in her brain have all been disconnected and put back together randomly. She still counts as she brushes her hair all forward and as she wipes her bum. "I have to get to 30", she says as she rubs away.<br /><br />Yesterday we listened to some music I had on my iPod. One song had a strong beat and it tickled me to see her tapping her hand in time to the music. After listening to the lyrics to the hymn <i>Come Let Us Anew, </i>she said "Isn't that just wonderful?"<br /><br />I close this post today with the lyrics for yes Mom, they are just wonderful:<br /><i><br /></i><div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start; vertical-align: baseline;">
Come, let us anew our journey pursue, Roll round with the year, And never stand still till the master appear<br />His adorable will let us gladly fulfill, And our talents improve<br />By the patience of hope and the labor of love,<br />By the patience of hope and the labor of love.</div>
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Our life as a dream, our time as a stream Glide swiftly away,<br />And the fugitive moment refuses to stay;<br />For the arrow is flown and the moments are gone. The millennial year<br />Presses on to our view, and eternity's here,<br />Presses on to our view, and eternity's here.</div>
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Oh, that each in the day of His coming may say, "I have fought my way through;<br />I have finished the work thou didst give me to do."<br />Oh, that each from his Lord may receive the glad word: "Well and faithfully done;<br />Enter into my joy and sit down on my throne;Enter into my joy and sit down on my throne."<i style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"> </i></div>
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Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-21292422125748298682014-04-09T00:42:00.002-06:002014-04-09T00:42:40.940-06:00Shopping Etiquette and other ObservationsI work part time retail these days at Banana Republic. I have yet to bring a pay cheque home but I have a growing number of white bags with zebras running across them. I've cast aside my schlep clothes worn at home or to the gym and dress up like I would for church but not. The clothes are fabulous; everyone in my family likes to wear them. The staff are fun-loving. The customers range from early teens to late 90s. I feel like I am playing every shift.<br />
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Retail provides a perfect place to watch human nature. Some of the annoying:<br />
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1) Rifling through carefully folded stacks of clothing to find your size makes extra work for the sales staff. Just ask someone to help you find a size.<br />
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2) Holding up to your body a garment on a hanger to see how it fits isn't ever going to tell the whole story. A fitting room will.<br />
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3) Browsing with your eyes and not your hands. (I'm still stuck on point 1).<br />
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4) Trying on things and then deciding you don't like them or want them, take a minute to put them back on the hanger. Don't turn into that teen who messes your house. (Doesn't this sound like point 1? )<br />
5) Saying you'll come back for something when you know you won't. You won't hurt our feelings but just saying you don't want it or you want to look around somewhere else.<br />
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Some of the great include:<br />
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1) When a customer accepts a suggested garment outside her comfort zone, she is always surprised how much she likes it. Every day someone will say, I would never have thought of that.<br />
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2) When a partner knows the exact size for the person they are buying.<br />
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3) When a customer finds that perfect outfit for the occasion.<br />
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4) When I get to use my 50% discount.Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-24763540607172094632014-04-04T01:54:00.000-06:002014-04-04T01:54:01.878-06:0050 11My friend EH's grandson says she is 49 12. I liked that notion so when people asked me how old I was today, I said 50 11. Most had no idea what I was saying.<br />
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I had a great day at work. I work in retail and it gives me endless hours of pleasure suiting people up. I visited with Used to Be Mother and we shared a hug. She apologized for not giving me a gift. I told her the best gift was my life. She had no idea what I was saying.<br />
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B and Pup and I feasted on Greek food. I am partial to the lemon roasted potatoes and olives. One day I am going to Greece. Not like Shirley Valentine. You don't have any idea what I'm saying do you?<br />
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We went to see The Grand Budapest Hotel. If you liked Moonrise Kingdom, you will enjoy this movie too. Adrian Brody is diabolical and brilliant. Ralph Fiennes has come a long way from the English Patient in my books. Quirky, sly and not without it's echoes from other movies, we enjoyed how zany it was.<br />
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B had a treasure hunt for my gift. Upstairs, downstairs, in and out of rooms to find a mini iPad. You have to love a man who knows how to keep the magic in a relationship.<br />
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Well wishes from friends, some Crave cupcakes, a beautiful lily plant, and phone calls from our children made the day perfect.<br />
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50 11 not so bad.Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-42137285880470590342014-03-31T20:45:00.000-06:002014-03-31T20:45:18.712-06:00Soda Cracker PolidentYesterday we went to see Used to Be Mother after our plane landed. We've been in Australia since March 12th.<br />
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Though it was only 3:30 p.m. she was already in her pi's, in bed and without her teeth. She remembered us and wondered how where we had parked our car. She wanted to know when I was taking her home and if I had won anything. I had no idea what she meant but told her I had not.<br />
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I checked in her bathroom and was surprised to see that her polident tablets were missing. I looked inside her tooth cup and found a soda cracker floating on the surface. I thought that she may have tried eating one that stuck to her teeth.<br />
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Today when I picked her up to bring her to my house for a bath and an early morning doctor's appointment, she was again without her teeth which were in her cup without water. She had a package of soda crackers on the counter.<br />
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UTBM: I use them to clean my teeth. They do a really good job.<br />
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She had packed all her pictures into a tote and told me that she wanted me to have them.<br />
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Her apartment looked stark. I wonder if it is just too difficult to look at these pictures that are just strangers to her now?<br />
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When I stopped at the pharmacy near her former residence to pick up more Polident, she didn't recognize it. While I went in, she listened to a music tape she likes. I found her waving her hands like a beauty queen on a float.<br />
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UTBM: Oh they sing so good. It was the first time I saw her smile in a long time.<br />
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She didn't remember which house was mine. She didn't remember Fernando. She did remember Bob.<br />
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UTBM: Oh you have a nice husband Bonnie. He keeps himself so nice.<br />
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I gave her a shower, washed her hair.<br />
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UTBM: See these two titties? I have to move them out of the way when I wash my tummy. We have to move them out of the way to make sure the skin underneath is dry too.<br />
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I blew her hair dry, lathered her with lotions, put in her drops.<br />
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UTBM: one, two, three, four....eighteen.<br />
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With each number she blinks.<br />
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UTBM as I settle her into bed: Oh this is so nice. I like it here so much.<br />
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I can hear her chest rattling. She attempts a feeble cough but it's unproductive. She sounds like she is struggling for air. I can see the blood pooling in her toes that make them look bruised.<br />
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I put on Mother Angelica's youtube broadcast for her to listen. <br />
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She doesn't remember Mother Angelica. The list of things she doesn't remember is longer now. She doesn't talk about money, her sisters. Yesterday she talked about her husband as "my boyfriend".<br />
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I kiss her goodnight and give her a hug. Tucking her in up to her nose. She smiles at me and says "See you in the morning".<br />
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I am grateful to have these times with her. I know one day soon that morning will not come.<br />
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<br />Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-81127476653932683082014-03-04T06:29:00.002-07:002014-03-04T06:29:32.131-07:00Bath Time Used to Be Mother has refused her twice weekly baths for the last three weeks. Her refusal yesterday fell on our deaf ears. We aren't sure if she is sleeping in her clothing now because she was wearing exactly the same thing as she did on Sunday. Her walk in shower with a fold down seat was perfect for her and us to accomplish our mission.<div>
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Shirl shampooed her hair while I held the shower hose. Mom followed our instructions on where to wash and when though she needed more help with her bum. It was a complicated and wet affair with three pairs of hands and we were all wet by the time it was done. </div>
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Shirl clipped her nails and I lathered her up with lotions before helping her get dressed with clean clothes which took a while to find because almost everything in the closet had a stain here or there. She did't like the way Shirl had combed her hair so she brushed it all forward like Caesar. </div>
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We stripped her bed and replaced it with new bed linens. It must have been 80 F in her room. We hung her pictures on the wall. She said: "Oh look at how nice the bed looks."</div>
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She wanted to go sit with her friends in the lobby where they wait in silent companionship. On the way, we met with a woman from Dublin. She tells us that every time we see her. She took my mother into her arms and gave her a big hug and kiss on the cheek and told her how lovely she looked. Another lady, the lip kisser from yesterday, saw our full laundry basket as we headed for the elevator.</div>
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Lip Kisser whispering: "Can I just have a quick peek inside? I won't wake up the baby."</div>
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Today we are taking Used to Be Mother for a haircut. I feel a little anxious when we take her out in public. You just never know these days to whom she will show her false teeth. </div>
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What we know for sure is this:</div>
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UTBM: "These are my daughters."</div>
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Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-45170875708618652192014-03-02T23:05:00.000-07:002014-03-02T23:05:26.055-07:00Flying to Heaven<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOn35n28oMICg22-6l6ut7XeGL1aUC516iN6JB8W11SkkIOrWw0sBWs2XuYWE_yrn95emYdz-V4Rk5kfuqkS1xFqRVp_DwF1RelXMiquTsrDbc2Tf0BXhC9ayjc0bjhie4_nsTbxuw4C0/s1600/photo-16.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOn35n28oMICg22-6l6ut7XeGL1aUC516iN6JB8W11SkkIOrWw0sBWs2XuYWE_yrn95emYdz-V4Rk5kfuqkS1xFqRVp_DwF1RelXMiquTsrDbc2Tf0BXhC9ayjc0bjhie4_nsTbxuw4C0/s1600/photo-16.JPG" /></a></div>
My sister and I visited with Used to Be Mother today. There is a Norwalk virus outbreak on her floor but she is not quarantined and we wanted to see her. We found her in her room doing a word search puzzle.<br />
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Her face lit up when she saw me. She did not recognize my sister.<br />
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UTBM: "Who's this?"<br />
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Me: "It's your daughter Shirely."<br />
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UTBM: "How did you get here?"<br />
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Shirl: "On a plane Mom"<br />
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She wanted to show us off to her new friends who sit outside the dining room in silent companionship.<br />
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UTBM: "This is my oldest sister and this is my daughter."<br />
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One lady stood up and kissed my sister right on the lips. "So nice to see you dear."<br />
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We walked down to a sitting room near my mother's unit.<br />
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UTBM: "Oh look at that fly. Wow. That's a big one." (It was a bird.)<br />
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We weren't there more than a minute when she told us she was wanting to go to heaven.<br />
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UTBM: "How do I get there because I really want to do. Can you drive me? Do I take a plane?<br />
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Shirl: "You just float up there Mom."<br />
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After a few minutes, she was done with the visit. She wanted to go sit in silence with her friends.<br />
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We hugged her. Said goodbye.<br />
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"See you tomorrow Mom"<br />
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Yeah, see you tomorrow.Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-49572752966344062142014-02-24T09:49:00.002-07:002014-02-24T11:01:27.129-07:00So many outreached hands so little time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4MpdAWC4k1aH0QxIvbYVyvZuLasUMrLg76hndwE9TpnMwj2ZDYSBlLN6CwrOOCQop02EcshlsCG8wOYoCjG7UT2GTnJKL-hCfMYOseEwI3u5nqb2J7DuEEs_F4yTnlNv3NuxRTRoAcQ/s1600/photo-6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4MpdAWC4k1aH0QxIvbYVyvZuLasUMrLg76hndwE9TpnMwj2ZDYSBlLN6CwrOOCQop02EcshlsCG8wOYoCjG7UT2GTnJKL-hCfMYOseEwI3u5nqb2J7DuEEs_F4yTnlNv3NuxRTRoAcQ/s1600/photo-6.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
Our daughter Rachel is in Ethiopia with <a href="http://canadianhumanitarian.com/" target="_blank">Canadian Humanitarian</a> where they are providing health care for these children. Part of her role as a nurse is to instruct. Folklore and myth inform much of their understanding of HIV and Hepatitis B. Poverty, prostitution and alcoholism are rampant. Women have no power and limited opportunity. Universal education is not available.<br />
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I am moved by these children's smiles, their eagerness and their youth. What will their future be?Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-18588511701114016282014-02-15T18:00:00.004-07:002014-02-15T18:00:25.174-07:00Quilt Art<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTaM7WX_MpPkgEx1nksE4GtMWcv4DtJ-jx_VRCZYJM6Wlg3Ha9dyFsc8xpqyWu2tZBfwTcL0YbYm1D_cp3l19MgxCNStV83ULz3ZR9mRtpg68X3HKfdWWEioZYuZAIg9z4hIC9E8ajg90/s1600/photo-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTaM7WX_MpPkgEx1nksE4GtMWcv4DtJ-jx_VRCZYJM6Wlg3Ha9dyFsc8xpqyWu2tZBfwTcL0YbYm1D_cp3l19MgxCNStV83ULz3ZR9mRtpg68X3HKfdWWEioZYuZAIg9z4hIC9E8ajg90/s1600/photo-3.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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I'm a third generation quilter but did not learn how from my mother nor grandmother. My mother inherited a few unfinished quilting blocks when her mother died. She finished that quilt and made half a dozen more for her children using scraps she had gathered over the years.<br />
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Two years ago, I took a quilting class from <a href="http://www.mysewingroom.ca/" target="_blank">The Sewing Room</a> for a nine-square baby quilt. I had tied each of my baby's a quilt but I wanted to up the ante and make something a little more challenging.<br />
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While visiting <a href="http://www.out-of-hand.com/" target="_blank">Out of Hand</a> last fall, I found a tumbler kit of <a href="http://www.kaffefassett.com/Home.html" target="_blank">Kaffe Fasset</a> fabric which spoke to my gypsy roots.<br />
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With some help from friends, I was able to finish and give this to my daughter.<br />
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I love the artistic expression piecing fabric together. I love the permanence a quilt has.<br />
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I'm hooked.<br />
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<br />Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-41646331334381887462014-02-08T20:57:00.004-07:002014-02-08T22:13:44.513-07:00Letting My Hair Down<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbZoiqPqhpmgx9pfIJkwJi47aaD6JMkj08vQhsWDXnoBd2GAE4zNSK5geq9DHDrVV3i_miGEF5k51fSPpbU2gunlltJLCH54dK9yFMqUdHQeGOmKWiG9Ieaoq8ZXeZLnwKVMPusltEM4/s1600/Profile+Picture.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbZoiqPqhpmgx9pfIJkwJi47aaD6JMkj08vQhsWDXnoBd2GAE4zNSK5geq9DHDrVV3i_miGEF5k51fSPpbU2gunlltJLCH54dK9yFMqUdHQeGOmKWiG9Ieaoq8ZXeZLnwKVMPusltEM4/s1600/Profile+Picture.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BEFORE - short short short</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTSpObK1Tifo76bjrPF5HfG6l8KX8I1gXNDk4osGDyIOGoZ9_lblvzpZ-2hFVHhkSHQraVCb6sB_8ql2_ixd9j55fKyZxKR8mMOIcHJSaJHuhVDy-tzZq2IXKA1pOQuTYYGBoSD6KPSck/s1600/Photo+on+2-8-2014+at+4.55+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTSpObK1Tifo76bjrPF5HfG6l8KX8I1gXNDk4osGDyIOGoZ9_lblvzpZ-2hFVHhkSHQraVCb6sB_8ql2_ixd9j55fKyZxKR8mMOIcHJSaJHuhVDy-tzZq2IXKA1pOQuTYYGBoSD6KPSck/s1600/Photo+on+2-8-2014+at+4.55+PM.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NOW - the curly version</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizRqiL3LAhSv7FyQt_lEd0BPXO9GuR66-y3F2_xjhF8y3QCuZnjeOV8aa1p8qaK4jduiZ6_Ve1_SVCiXJnjPpyehwVZeuU2Bq4CCj6jYnYTdhetgJU48CFTOraaN2H23zIrO293WNyge0/s1600/Photo+on+1-28-2014+at+11.43+PM+%232+%232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizRqiL3LAhSv7FyQt_lEd0BPXO9GuR66-y3F2_xjhF8y3QCuZnjeOV8aa1p8qaK4jduiZ6_Ve1_SVCiXJnjPpyehwVZeuU2Bq4CCj6jYnYTdhetgJU48CFTOraaN2H23zIrO293WNyge0/s1600/Photo+on+1-28-2014+at+11.43+PM+%232+%232.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NOW - the blown under version<br /><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm growing my hair. One last kick at the ponytail, an up do, and flowing long tresses. It' painful. I'm a year from where it needs to be. A YEAR is a long time for someone with an attention span of a gnat.<br />
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I go each week for a blow dry. Most of the time they blow dry it under. Today I went for curls to soften my face and distract the viewer from my deflating and aging face. There's a leak in there somewhere letting all the youth seep out like a balloon the day after the party.<br />
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I'm looking into extensions. A wig. A toque. What will help during the next four inches?<br />
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You women with long hair you have my respect.<br />
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<br />Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-70675525046451997072014-01-16T09:17:00.001-07:002014-01-16T09:17:25.870-07:00Brunch Bunch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmX4lh9UkVilYy-pcwCL6PN6Gl4U_2XZHH8oFVm8qqR-h6mrOtRMBGWohfDM77CNAIrJVgzC_X2B8-6uSAkVXvoWLjodtTUtbJHlViK9tjWmETGYhh3ikNmcGdeWfnI_z94bNoB31UdY/s1600/Brunch+Bunch+Babes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmX4lh9UkVilYy-pcwCL6PN6Gl4U_2XZHH8oFVm8qqR-h6mrOtRMBGWohfDM77CNAIrJVgzC_X2B8-6uSAkVXvoWLjodtTUtbJHlViK9tjWmETGYhh3ikNmcGdeWfnI_z94bNoB31UdY/s320/Brunch+Bunch+Babes.jpg" height="210" width="320" /></a></div>
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Working our best Beyonce.Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-78510820335307744992014-01-07T11:31:00.000-07:002014-01-07T11:31:24.070-07:00SoloI couldn't find Used to Be Mother when I went to her complex last week. I looked in the usual places where she hangs out, but there was no sign of her. I walked passed the empty dining room and noticed she was there at "her" table almost an hour early for lunch. I watched her for a few minutes as she gazed around the room.<br />
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My mother has been wired for loneliness her whole life. Despite being reared in a family of 12 children, she never felt connected. She moved out west after the war and seldom heard from her family. Only a few of her siblings visited her in the west. For many years, she couldn't afford the trip back. She kept in touch with one sister who was adamant they not lose contact.<br />
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Used to Be Mother was shy by nature and although she knew almost everyone in our town, she didn't have friends. Oh she would walk with one woman on a regular basis, go to auxiliary meetings at the church with a few, but I never recall my mother saying that So and So was her best friend. She was private and guarded around people. She used my sister as her sounding board. For a long time, alcohol was her friend.<br />
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I called to my mother who took a few minutes to recognize me. We repeated a similar experience yesterday where I found her on a chair looking out the window. I asked what she was doing. Counting cars? No, she was watching for me.<br />
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I am the only person who matters now to her. She loves my sister and brother and her family but they are becoming dim memories. She doesn't ever talk about the pictures of family on her desk now.<br />
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Her daily pleasures are few: a handful of cookies, watching Mother Angelica say the rosary on television, playing Bingo, going for a walk up and down her hallways. A once productive and full life is now reduced to long and empty. She has begun wandering into the kitchen at 4:45 a.m. They insist we need to move her. She has a routine albeit a limited one. This next move isn't going to improve her loneliness.<br />
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As I helped her change the linens on her bed, I noticed how this once Herculean energized woman fumbled with the pillow case not sure what to do with it. For a brief second, I saw my mother - the one who nurtured and influenced me in more ways than I give her credit. She insisted I rotate her mattress 180 degrees and then in true form, she insisted that we fold down the bed sheets on one side for when she would go to bed later.<br />
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Taking stock of all the capacities she has lost this year, I can't imagine what 2014 holds for her. One thing for sure though: loneliness will trump all.<br />
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<br />Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-83090784774558627442014-01-03T19:57:00.000-07:002014-01-03T19:57:04.618-07:00Don't Lay Me Down To Sleep ThereUsed to Be Mother tells me she prays every day that God will hurry up and take her. I ask her if she feels ready.<br />
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UTBM: Yes but I don't want to be in a grave beside your dad.<br />
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Me: Why?<br />
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UTBM: Because he isn't going to heaven, and I want to go there.<br />
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A few days later….<br />
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UTBM: Your brother told me that he knows for sure that your dad and your sister are in heaven.<br />
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Me: That make you happier Mom?<br />
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UTBM: Yes but how did they get your dad's body up to heaven?<br />
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Me: It's one of the mysteries of the universe Mom.<br />
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UTBM: Well I want to be in heaven you know that don't you.<br />
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Me: What do you think heaven is like Mom?<br />
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UTBM: I don't have any idea but I don't want to go to hell. It's going to be too hot there.<br />
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Me: Who else do you think is in heaven Mom?<br />
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UTBM: Mother Theresa. My mother.<br />
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Me: Do you think you will recognize anyone?<br />
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UTBM: I don't think they will know me. Look at how grey my hair is now.<br />
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Me: Oh I think they will recognize you and be tickled to see you again.<br />
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UTBM: Just make sure I go there okay?<br />
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<br />Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3667668232389975100.post-68688240731103831022013-12-24T21:18:00.001-07:002013-12-24T21:18:23.243-07:00Used to Be Mother's GiftsThere's a madness in Used to Be Mother's eyes now. They are vacant but also something else that alarms me. You don't know how she will react or what she will say. As plus size lady walked into the bank today ahead of us, Used to Be Mother, bordering plus herself, observed out loud how big the woman was. She has no filters and boundaries.<br />
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At the dinner table tonight she kept stuffing food into her mouth, her cheeks grew bigger and bigger. She announced she was full. I watched in disbelief as she spit out the half chewed food into her hand and then handed it to Fernando who waited for this moment knowing it would come. Before I could stop her, she removed her teeth and fed the dog her findings.<br />
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She needed a little persuasion to go into her bath. Used to Be Mother tried several times to get herself situated before she could lay out completely. She wanted the water hotter. I had some baking to finish, so I let her soak. A half an hour later, she comes down in her pyjamas (she wears these only at my house because she doesn't need a robe with them). She wanted to go to sleep.<br />
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No mention of Christmas. No mention of her children who live elsewhere. No question of where my children were. It could be just any day for her.<br />
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It's been a long day.<br />
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<br />Bonnie Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12065290887448425140noreply@blogger.com1