I’ve only had one so it’s difficult for me to generalise but I think all mothers are a little quirky. Not in a bad way, you understand; just adorably odd in some respects. Maybe infuriatingly odd in others. Maybe we’ve lived with some things that they no longer seem odd at all. Unless of course you say the word ‘odd’ ten or eleven times in a row as quickly as you can - then even the word itself seems peculiar.
My mum is with us on this trip. I’ll be honest: I’m ambivalent about it. If the reputation is anything to go by, this isn’t the sort of place you’d take your elderly mother. Or a young child for that matter. And here we are.
Today we were out in the rain forest. It is indescribably beautiful and lush. Every facet so vibrant and rich. The place is swarming with butterflies. Not the little things that we get at home but giants, insects the size of your hand - even if you have big hands with really long fingers. And in the most astonishing colours. Some more dazzling and perplexing than the best Rorschach test. I am mesmerised. Simple things like this make me happy.
Great flocks of ludicrously orange ones flutter past my head.
I call back to point them out to my Mum. But she already knows. They are flying to her. She is standing, arms out stretched, with a vast cloud of butterflies jostling for space around her.
“This always happens” she says, as though being mobbed by flying insects the size of an Ordnance Survey map is an every day occurrence.
I can just about make her out beneath the ginger flurry. I wander into the flapping agape. It’s like standing in a mouthful of tangerine sherbet. I wonder how many cyclones this mass of butterfly wings will create. I wonder if my house will have any chimney pots on it when we return.
My mum is looking down magnanimously. Then I notice it: the butterflies are kissing her. Well, licking, certainly. Their great long proboscis unfurled and gently tapping up and down on her skin. Gentle butterfly kisses. I’m not an entomologist so I can’t be sure but I think they were smiling.
“It tickles a bit. Sometimes, though, it gets in the way when I’m hanging out the washing.”
It’s all very lovely. I’m just glad we’re not in Salem in the late seventeenth century.
This conjured up the loveliest picture! You are so-o-o lucky to still have your mum. Make damn sure you tell her how much she's loved. Print out this post and give her a copy soon.
PS: Now I know why you were brave enough to take S on this trip -- you brought in a ringer: Grandma
Posted by: Mrs RW | Wednesday, 28 March 2007 at 01:14 AM