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She glanced at the thermometer that read 2 degrees Fahrenheit, she examined my face for signs of exaggeration, and she unlocked the storm door. Unless blood was nuns spurting from a major artery, my mother was not nuns inclined to treat nuns mishaps with more than a shrug of her shoulders and a snort. "Okay, Sarah Bernhardt, let's get you to the emergency room." Like the desert tales that monks have used for centuries as a basis for theology and way of life, the tales of small-town gossip are often morally instructive, illustrating the ways ordinary people survive the worst that happens to them. --Kathleen Norris, Dakota My mother spoke in code. No one outside the family, most of whom still lived in Kathryn, North Dakota (population 96), had a shot at ever really deciphering her meaning. Mom equated whole sets of characteristics to individuals in an attempt to instill her sense of values in my brother and me.
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