Margo's idea of getting ready was to wash her face with plain soap and water, comb her hair and brush her teeth. End of story.

"It's o.k. to be poor, but you can't be filthy," she'd explain.

She was proud of the fact that she'd purchased a tooth brush with her first wages at the age of twelve. "People didn't brush their teeth back then," she'd say. "You should have seen how they looked, with their teeth all green and black like that." The toothbrush served her well: she had perfect teeth well into her eighties.

She didn't wear make-up. Her jewelry was pragmatic: a wedding ring to announce her status, a watch to read the time, and a medal of Christ to keep in God's good graces. She'd wear the brooches she'd receive for Christmas or Mother's day. It was her duty to wear whatever was gifted but it would have never occurred to ask for it. The closest she came to acquiring jewelry was when she puchased a small silver medal of Mary from the Mt Des Cats monastery (she gave me the medal).

She wore flat shoes with shoelaces and owned one purse that she took out of the closet on Sundays. She rotated through four or five polyester dresses and a handful of blouses, and never worried about her weight. She cooked with butter, drank wine and ate the leftovers before finishing a meal. Witht the years and an expanding waistline, the thin belt she wore over her dress took on more of a symbolic than a practical role. Eventually, the belt came to rest a couple of inches below her breasts. It stayed there to the end.