ALL ABOUT MY MOTHER

How to swear like a Lady...........

Ever since my mother died, I have had the wierd feeling that her spirit decided to hang around this world for a while and jumped into my body.  I seem to have inherited so many of her traits, actually, almost all of the bad ones.  Now this line of thought opens up a whole nest of hornets, is it spiritual?  Should I wait until I see her image in a mirror, as per good spooky films, or should I get along to a spiritualist church to see if I am possessed?  And, whilst there, possibly get the name of a good horse from my Dad?  Or it could also be explained by saying that I am now able to step out from her shadow?  It all gets very complicated, so I think I will opt for the straightforward possession.  I have no wish to caste her out though, I kind of see it as a gift from Buddha.  I'm having great fun!

I have a nagging feeling that I should have discussed the above with a good psychiatrist, before airing it in public, but too late now, oops, and its 3.15am, so what do I care. 

My mother had an 'ah feck 'em' attitude to pretty much everything, while my father was much more stable.  She was Irish, he was Scottish, it was a terrible match.  I liked to think of them as the Liz Taylor and Richard Burton, of their day.  I had a crush on Richard and thought Liz was so beautiful, especially those diamonds! Actually, my mum and dad weren't really anything like them at all, apart from the fighting and the same colour hair.  

My mum had no respect for anyone, well not anyone outside of family, and if she spoke to them as if she did, you could tell it was fake.  She would always give one of us a playful grin, and say 'ah feck 'em' as we walked away.  She pretty much did as she liked.  Even in her dying days, she sat in bed in the hospital ward and lit a fag.  The senior nurse had to give me a call to let me know that, 'hmmm, she is quite a character'.  Apparently she put up quite a struggle when they were trying to get the fags off her, she said the 80 year old lady with one leg in the bed next to her, was having it orf with an orderly, and the respectable old dear doing her knitting, of having a bottle of gin stashed under the covers. They were all laughing their heads off when I got to the ward, and thought she was wonderful. One old dear was still saying 'I have never been accused of such a thing in my life', it made her day.  

I had a point when I started, so I had better get back to it.  My momma told me, there are some people in this world who simply do not understand long explanations, or informed arguments, they can only understand language at their own level, anything else is wasted.  I particularly liked the way she handled those endless sales calls, by telling them to feck off.  She didn't bother beating about the bush. Came straight to the point.  I think as you get older, you are less inclined to torment yourself with guilt over other people's feelings or to nip into a forest and hug a tree.  You begin to think of your own mortality, you begin to think creatively, or you become bitter.  Of course the age thing didn't apply to my mum, she was always like it, apart from being bitter.  There was always a quick retort and a mischevious grin.  On the morning she died, I asked her if she wanted me to switch the tv over from the children's channel, she said 'no leave it on, I've always been a big kid'.