Mum

Today is the third anniversary of Mum’s death.  What a contrast the weather is to last year, when we couldn’t go to the cemetery because the snow was so thick – glorious sunshine today, though a freezing wind made coats a necessity.

Mum is a teenager in this photo.  Her teeth were lovely then but she got gum disease in her thirties and had them all out.  I always considered that a warning – choose between your smile or your fix.  Also, smoking gives you lots of wrinkles: Spud wouldn’t kiss Mum until he was nine because he was scared of her wrinkly face.  It still makes me laugh.

Mum was not a great housewife compared to me, and I am not a great housewife so that will give you an idea of how bad she was.  In fairness, she had a demanding full-time job – and even had three jobs at one point – so she had more of an excuse than I do; but once she acquired the habit of not cleaning, it never left her, even when she retired.

My Nan called in after church one Sunday morning when I was about eleven, and Mum hadn’t started to clean up, so Nan got stuck in to the kitchen.  Once she had finished washing the dirty cups on the side, she made tea in them.  Fortunately she left straight after, because the tea went down the drain – two of the cups Nan washed were used to hold Mum and Dad’s false teeth.