My mother has a lighter touch than I do; a gentler hold on life. Philosophical is the word, but not in a sad way. She could be quite fiery and my sister and I knew better than to get her riled, but she’s mellowed over the years. The humour is still good and the temper is less short (unless we’re on holiday). I hope I will be the same, as it’s no fun getting in a strop about everything.
An example of her type of humour: she picks up on detail that you’ve forgotten. She was helping me with something in my garden a while ago – I kept saying to her, “Be careful when you go over there – don’t step on the woodlouse, spider, earwig or snail!” (I was too late to save the wasp). She didn’t comment much, but some time after that my sister and I were helping her in her garden. She turned to me all of a sudden and said, “Don’t rescue any snails! I don’t WANT any snails rescued!”
“I haven’t SEEN any snails,” I said, and she said they sneak up behind you and give you a scare, they’re so big.
A wee while later I said to her, “You didn’t say I couldn’t rescue any spiders”… I also managed to rescue several worms, a ladybird, a shield bug, a cochlea-shaped thing (unidentified) and a strange flat spider lurking on the underside of a board. Mum sneaked up behind me with a snail and said, “Boo!”
I looked at it, unimpressed. “I’ve got BIGGER snails.”
All the same, she knows me well…