17 years ago today, Carmen, my first old lady after my Tia, died in a nursing home in Buenos Aires. Carmen was very sweet and I would visit her in her home (an apt. borrowed from her well to do niece) in the early 1990s. When the neighbors complained that Carmen forgot to turn off the gas, the niece put her in a nursing home. I visited her there in the barrio of Floresta in Buenos Aires. Then Carmen was changed to another nursing home where she broke her hip. She never recovered. She was like the grandmother I never knew. I loved the old lady and can remember the smell of urine in her body. The people at the first nursing home did the best they could but Carmen’s bladder was erratic, even when she wore diapers. She was a thin little white haired lady who wore a cane and spoke with a pure Spanish accent. She was born in Galicia, in Northern Spain and sounded as if she had just arrived in Argentina the day before.