LOL...

My Mom and I were a lot alike; both of us extroverted introverts who sat on the fence between the two opposites. For me, depending on the day, six out of ten toes tend to dangle on the introverted side. This uniqueness has enabled both of us to live a solitary existence inside our own heads with relative ease. We have also shared similar comfort in most social settings. I was blessed to inherit these traits from my Mom; but best of all, she bestowed on me her love of laughter.

Lately, laughter doesn't come as easily as it once did. I've been especially concerned about my sense of humor.  It seems intimidated by grief, or at the very least, is giving grief its due and laying low. In the relationship between humor and grief, I wonder if humor is the introvert. Maybe it sits on the same fence I do; occasionally dangling a toe over the edge. Whatever the case may be, I've been missing my funny bone and have considered that my Mom may have taken it with her.

Mom and I laughed a lot together; crazy, gut-busting, roll-on-the-floor laughter. Like the time my sister took Mom and I with her to the car wash. We sat in the car while Fay took hold of the washer-wand and plugged tokens in the machine. Her grip must have been tentative because the sudden pressure of the water caused the wand to fly out of her hand and become a writhing, spraying, menace. It thumped the car and Fay repeatedly; spewing warm, soapy water everywhere. Fay's hair hung in long wet strands; her eyes were almost squeezed shut and she was blowing water out of her mouth like a diver coming up for air. With arms flailing blindly in front of her, she tried her best to catch the wand and protect herself at the same time; to no avail. Mom and I watched in disbelief at first. Surely this couldn't be happening to Fay; she was always in control. We thought of trying to rescue her, but the comedy of the situation overcame us. So we let the event play itself out and laughed until we cried. At Fay's expense of course. 

Mom called that 'shadenfreude', or laughing at the misfortune of others. It's not a past-time that wins friends and influences people, but it can be the source of much comedic relief. The success of some television programs depends on it. Usually, Mom laughed at herself best. She loved to re-tell funny events that happened to her to a captive audience. Like the time Dad took her to the grocery store to pick up some provisions. They were at the checkout and the cashier looked at my Dad and said, "So, you're an alcoholic!" To which my Dad replied unabashedly, "Why yes I am!". You could have knocked Mom over with a feather. For years she'd been trying to get my Dad to admit he had a drinking problem and it took a stranger to do it. Unfortunately, this breakthrough was short-lived. When he turned around to face Mom she noticed he had on his favorite cap that said, "I'm an ELK-aholic!". Her friends loved that story and she got years of mirthful mileage from it.

Her family also benefited from her sense of humor. My son Tim remembers with fondness the time he and his sister visited Granny at the assisted living facility in Medicine Hat. They'd had a great time together and when their visit came to an end, she walked them to the elevator. Just as the door was closing and Mom was waving goodbye, Tim said, "Keep it freaky Granny!" Mom suddenly crumpled and fell to the floor. Alarmed and fearing the worst, Tim pressed the open door button and rushed to his Granny's aid. She was fine. For some reason Tim's comment tickled her funny bone and she collapsed in a fit of silent laughter. I miss her eyes-squeezed-shut silent laughter. I miss that twinkle in her eye and the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. I miss the way she saw the world. I miss my funny bone. 

Emma & Zoe

Maybe it's not gone completely. At three twenty-five every weekday a school bus stops across the street from my house and an energetic, bright-eyed, brown-haired, Irish-Italian, eight-year-old girl named Emma jumps off. She's all mine for an hour and a half until her Dad comes to pick her up. We greet each other with a smile, pick up the mail, walk up the steps to the house and open the door to a bouncing, happy dog. Sometimes Emma hangs up her backpack and coat and sometimes she doesn't. Always, she washes her hands and the dog waits on the rug by the door until Emma gets her a cookie. Then she skips into the kitchen and plunks herself down at the counter for her own snack. We talk about her day; whether or not she has homework; who said what to her on the playground. Then with a twinkle in her eye and a smile at the corner of her mouth she says, "Cathie, what's the difference between roast beef and pea soup?" I say, "I don't know Emma, what is the difference between roast beef and pea soup?" She looks at me with a jagged grin and replies, "Anybody can roast beef...".

And the rest is pixie dust...