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Mary Stocks Obituary

STOCKS, Mary Patricia (nee Morris) —

Pat Stocks, 94, passed away peacefully at her home in bed July 1, 2015. It is believed it was caused from carrying her oxygen tank up the long flight of stairs to her bedroom that made her heart give out. She left behind a hell of a lot of stuff to her daughter and sons who have no idea what to do with it. So if you’re looking for 2 extremely large TV’s from the 90s, a large ceramic stork (we think) umbrella/cane stand, a toaster oven (slightly used) or even a 2001 Oldsmobile with a spoiler (she loved putting the pedal to the metal), with only 71,000 kilometers and 1,000 tools that we aren’t sure what they’re used for. You should wait the appropriate amount of time and get in touch. Tomorrow would be fine. This is not an ad for a pawn shop, but an obituary for a great Woman, Mother, Grandmother and Great-Grandmother born on May 12, 1921 in Toronto, the daughter of the late Pop (Alexander C.) and Granny (Annie Nigh) Morris. She leaves behind a very dysfunctional family that she was very proud of. Pat was world-renowned for her lack of patience, not holding back her opinion and a knack for telling it like it is. She always told you the truth even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. It was the school of hard knocks and yes we were told many times how she had to walk for miles in a blizzard to get to school, so suck it up. With that said she was genuine to a fault, a pussy cat at heart (or lion) and yet she sugar coated nothing. Her extensive vocabulary was more than highly proficient at knowing more curse words than most people learned in a lifetime. She liked four letter words as much as she loved her rock garden and trust us she LOVED to weed that garden with us as her helpers, when child labour was legal or so we were told. These words of encouragement, wisdom, and sometimes comfort, kept us in line, taught us the “school of hard knocks” and gave us something to pass down to our children. Everyone always knew where you stood with her. She liked you or she didn’t, it was black or white. As her children we are still trying to figure out which one it was for us (we know she loved us). She was a master cook in the kitchen. She believed in overcooking everything until it chewed like rubber so you would never get sick because all germs would be nuked. Freezing germs also worked, so by Friday our school sandwiches were hard and chewy, but totally germ free. All four of us learned to use a napkin. You would pretend to cough, spit the food into it and thus was born the Stocks diet. If anyone would like a copy of her homemade gravy, we would suggest you don’t. She will be sorely missed and survived by her brother George Morris, children: Shauna (Stocks) Perreault, Paul/Sandy (Debbie) Stocks and Kirk Stocks, son-in-law Ian Milnes and son from another mother, John McCleery, grandchildren: Lesley (Sean), Lindsay (Lucas), Ashley (James), David (Tia), Brett, Erin (Brian), Sean, Alex, Courtney and Taylor and great-grandchildren: Connor, Emily, Ainsley, Tyler and Jack. She was preceded in death by her loving husband Paul (Moo) Stocks and eldest daughter Shelley (Stocks) Milnes and beloved pets Tag, Tag, Tag and Tag. All whom loved her dearly and will never forget her tenacity, wit, charm, grace (when pertinent) and undying love and caring for them. Please give generously to covenanthousetoronto.ca “in memory”. A private family ‘Celebration of Life’ will be held, in lieu of a service, due to her friends not being able to attend, because they decided to beat her to the Pearly Gates. Please note her change of address to her new place of residence, St John’s York Mills Anglican Church, 19 Don Ridge Drive, 12 doors away from Shelley’s place.

Bumps in the Road Part 12

“Is he tired of me already? What did I do wrong?  Is he going to leave me.  Do I want a man who drinks and gambles?  Decent men don’t act like this!  What have I gotten myself into?  …and his brothers?  They’re awful!  I wouldn’t trust that Edward as far as I could throw him.  Parnell isn’t even ashamed he’s running around on his wife and blowing his pay on a trashy woman while his mama’s taking care of his wife and kids.  That’s just lowdown.” For the first of many times, she berated herself for her hasty marriage. “Was it too late to get out?  How do you even get a marriage annulled?  Mama and Daddy didn’t even know she was married yet!  How could she face them after making such a mess of her life?  If only he hadn’t walked into the cafe and flirted with her.  Why hadn’t Annie told her to wait a while?”

As if once wasn’t enough, she castigated herself over and over, giving into weeping between each round.  Aimlessly, she tried to divert herself by reading a murder mystery, doing her nails, and putting her hair in pin curls.  So far, Bill hadn’t seen her hair pinned up, but what did it matter now? She tiptoed down to the kitchen to return the coffee cups and bumped into Mrs. Martin.  Humiliated by her swollen eyes and pin curls, she tried to duck out.  Mrs. Martin stopped her.  “I know them boys is up there playing poker.  They better not forget tomorrow’s rent day.  Bill owes me for two weeks.”

She was horrified!  He took their last money to gamble and was behind on rent!  What kind of mess had she gotten herself into?  Before going upstairs, she listened outside out the door where they were playing.  She heard a man’s voice, “No you ain’t quitting yet!You got to give me a chance to win my money back!” 

“Was that Bill?” She couldn’t tell.  Miserably, she crept up to her room and to bed.  After an eternity, she slept.  About two am, the light awoke her.  Bill was in an expensive mood.  He hugged her and spread his winnings out on the bed.

” Look at this, Sweetheart! I won more than a hundred dollars.  It’s more than enough to settle the rent and buy you something pretty.We’ll  go get you a new dress Saturday and then go see your Mama and Daddy . I want them to know I can take care of my wife.”

Kathleen’s troubles melted away in her handsome husband’s arms.  How could she have doubted him?  She was a lucky woman!

Favorite Food

Crisp, golden brown, fried chicken! There was nothing so delicious as Mother’s fried chicken. Fortunately for her family, Mother loved chicken and the price was right. Sometimes she could get it for Twenty-five cents a pound, so we got lots of fried chicken. Paired with mashed potatoes , gravy, and biscuits, it was a mouth watering meal. With five kids around the table, that chicken disappeared in a heartbeat. The added treat was the scrambles left on the platter. Thanks Mother!

Perfect Timing

Life presents us some perfect moments it would be a sin to ignore.  Bud, my husband of fifty-four years, and I were walking across a parking lot on a drizzly day when Bud noticed my boot lace was flopping.  “Tie your shoe!”

“I’ll tie it when I get inside.  I’m not standing in the rain to tie it,” I spouted.

“Stop!  You’re gonna break your dang neck!  I’ll tie it!”. He dropped to his knee on the wet pavement to tie it just as two men walked by.

“No,” I protested.  “I won’t marry you! Now get up.”

They burst into laughter as they passed us.

Out of Retirement

Though I retired from my nursing career several years ago, a few days ago I was involuntarily called out of retirement.  Hubby is suffering from back pain.  We are rotating out heating pads, cushions, medications, and positioning in an effort to get him comfortable.  So far, we haven’t found the magic combination. He is improving and looks forward to the benefit of physical therapy.  I do believe hospital nursing was easier.  There was support staff, change of shift, and a paycheck to look forward to.

The food doodling has been a huge deal. He alternates between sitting in his recliner and a wooden rocker. I bring his food on a tray. I definitely don’t want him trying to pick his way around Croc.

I can’t guess how many steps I’ve made between his chair and the kitchen. I did myself a solid favor today, can’t imagine why it took me so long to get my thoughts together. I put all the snacks in the house in this box. It rests serenely on his right side. On the left is a trash can. He tore into a package of taffy. I thought I detected a lifting of his spirits. After he opened the trail mix, it was definite. I suspect he’ll recover.

Bud’s get well gift and my salvation

The poor dogs are having a hard time.  Hubby is far superior when it comes to walking.  I cut them short.  Also, he gives them a cookie after every walk.  I am far stingier, limiting them to a couple a day, landing  me on their dirt list.  From earlier in post You can surmise Bud believes snacks. Our little guy is a champion lap sitter, alternating between the two of us every time he thinks of it.  Bud is not comfortable enough to hold him a lot now, so Izzy had to poop on the bathroom rug in protest. Had to be deliberate, since he doesn’t have accidents, just occasional “on purposes” to make his point.

Together

After thirty-five years together, Bill died. Well into her nineties, Kathleen was long past grieving him. One night, drifting between twilight thoughts and deep sleep, she found herself picking her way carefully along the shady banks of a small turbulent stream. Making her way gingerly through gnarled roots along its mossy banks, she was keenly aware a slip could toss her headlong into the stream.

As she moved from the shade, across the way, a meadow of brilliant green grass opened up. In a patch of sunshine, atop a rail fence, sat Bill, as vibrantly young as when they’d met.

Catching her eye, he waved her on, patting the rail beside him. Despite her unsteady gait, she hurried. More than anything, she wanted to sit at his side, but how could she manage it? Gingerly, she stepped in, easily crossing the stream to make her way toward him.

She awoke with a start, mindful she’d shared a moment with Bill, foreshadowing their reunion. Before that moment, she’d always dreaded the moment of her passing, fearing the darkness of death. Now, she looked forward to joining him.

So Horrible It Has to be Shared!

Have you ever had an experience so horrible it had to be shared? Maybe something smells or tastes so bad you cant leave it alone. ”Taste this! It’s disgusting!” Over your poor friend’s protests, you insist. “No really, you gotta taste this! It’s horrible!”

That’s why I have to inflict this story on you.

A few days ago, I got an early start, vacuumed, mopped, changed my sheets, and tidied up before settling into my comfy chair with my laptop to write. As I gathered my thoughts and awaited inspiration, Bud and Buzzy approached the patio door.

Buzzy, my American Eskimo Dog is sedate and well-mannered, so it startled me to see him burst through the patio door like a bat out of Hell before he launched himself half-way across the room into my lap. As Bud headed to his office, he nonchalantly mentioned Buzzy might be suffering from some abdominal distress. Sure enough, Buzzy rapidly spun three three or four rotations in my lap and on top of my computer. I tried to calm his nerves and was assaulted by the smell of feces and the nauseating sight of an excrement-smeared computer screen and filthy clothes. Wisely, as I struggled to dig out from under the tornado of a poop monster, Bud disappeared into his office feigning deafness.

Heartbroken by his poor welcome, Buzzy fled to a place of consolation, my fresh bed. Like his wolf-ancestors, before lying down he made two or three circles to prepare his bed. Miraculously, Bud had somehow become aware of the festivities, as had our other dog, a huge Mastiff mix, Croc. Not wanting Buzzy to have all the fun, Croc inserted himself into the melee. The curious one-hundred twenty pound dog jealously trying to stay between Buzzy and his pursuers complicated the situation exponentially. Croc had no clue what the concern was since he and Buzzy greeted each other genteelly with a sniff of the nether portions first thing every morning, but had no intention of being denied a good time. 

With a bit of a scuffle, Bud shut Croc out while  we progressed to the bathroom as Croc howled in outrage., “I poop a lot more than he does!  Where’s my party?” Not having had a chance to evaluate the situation, I wrestled Buzzy into the sink, but not before most bathroom surfaces took on a fine patina of poop. Holding Buzzy in place, I ran water and added soap for his bath. Very quickly, I became aware a sink-bath wouldn’t suffice. Taking him to a tub outdoors was out of the question, so he was destined for his first shower. Naturally, he could hardly be expected to shower himself, so I climbed in. Surprisingly, that was the easiest part of the ordeal. He behaved perfectly throughout the process.

Fortunately for the sake of our marriage, Bud didn’t get off too easily. While Buzzy and I showered, he cleaned the walls and floors, all the way back to where Buzzy had made his grand entrance. By the time the shower was over was over and Buzzy dried, the bed was stripped and the washer and hamper were full of disgusting laundry. As a special bonus, the sink was plugged with excreta and long, white dog hair, another diversion for Bud.

In the week before, I had intended to get Buzzy in for grooming. Much to his joy, I’d never made it. Though his coat is beautiful, particularly in hot weather, it benefits from regular brushing. I am especially careful to brush him thoroughly before bathing to remove loose hair and minimize matting. Sadly, Buzzy had not advised me of his plans. He was so matted after bathing, I wasn’t able to finish the job in one brushing. I’d brush a while , let him take a break, and pick up with the job, later. Some mats even required scissoring, something I’ve never had to do before. I think I’ve gotten enough hair out to upholster another whole dog. Sadly, all that brushing makes Croc even more envious. He’s required an inordinate amount of brushing, too.

Many hours later, things settled to normal.  Next time I am ready, I’ll be more specific in my search for inspiration.

Mother?

We never stop wanting our mothers. That is probably our first and last longing. When I cared for patients in times of pain and need, they often called out for their mother’s comfort. We want out mothers when we are giving birth, traumatized by pain or events, and at the moment of death. Many times I have held the hand of elderly patients whose mothers had to have been long dead and had the patient call me “Mother.” I never corrected them. Who am I to say it wasn’t their mother they saw as they moved on.

Time Well-Spent

I have been inactive on WordPress of late due to time well-spent with my grandchildren. My daughter and I constructed this tent for my granddaughter. She spends a lot of time in it, either on the deck or in the house. More often than not, the massive rear of her constant dog companion extends through the curtains. It’s interesting to see a mastiff with a princess complex. He is a docile giant who makes her every step.

 

The tent construction was simple and completed in less than two hours.  Materials included a hula hoop, a round table cloth, eight curtain panels with grommets(from dollar store), fabric for ties( we cut up an old scarf) some cotton cord and a snap hook for suspension. You could easily use an old sheet instead of curtains, but the grommets made attachment so simple.

Simply disconnect hula hoop and slide grommeted panels on before reconnecting with hoop with Super Glue.  Make two small holes in center of table cloth and slide cotton cord through for loop. Give it a couple of wraps above and below connection site for support so fabric won’t tear and pull through.  My granddaughter and the dog show no mercy, so it had to be tough.  Use short fabric strips to attach tablecloth top to hula hoop and thread through each grommet to suspend panels evenly.  It worked well to thread through two buttonhole slots at each connection.  Last of all, attach hook through loop for suspension.  It suspends well from a hook in doorways.  Our little one has enjoyed hours of play in this structure.  It also provides excellent shade but allows in breezes.  Total cost was well below thirty dollars.