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Unless blood was spurting from a major artery, my mother was horny not inclined to treat mishaps with more than a shrug of her shoulders and a snort. "Okay, Sarah Bernhardt, let's get horny 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 horny 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. If I didn't bother to finish drying the dinner dishes she would yell upstairs, "Hey, Vicky, do you think it would be too much trouble to finish putting the supper dishes away?"
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