Laughter Is The Best Medicine

This past weekend was Mother’s Day weekend, and the weather was as lovely all the bouquets of flowers that were purchased at a premium at florists all over the world. I bought my mom a hanging pot of purple petunias instead of an arrangement of flowers. If I’m going to spend the big bucks on a perishable gift, I might as well go for one that will last longer than a week, assuming she waters the damn thing.

My sister, my fiancée and I drove to Maine to visit the old girl in hopes of cheering her up a bit. The past few months have been rough times for her; death, sickness, near-death, heartbreak, and financial challenges are among the ugly heads that have reared themselves recently, and on top of it all, her two kids haven’t been calling enough.

We didn’t need to worry about getting there too early on Saturday, because she had to attend the funeral for her former boss’s wife, who finally succumbed to illness after a long battle. The deceased was very fond of my mother, as most people are, and my mom, of course, was very fond of her. Although her death wasn’t unexpected, it still packed a punch, and it hit Mom hard enough.

It goes without saying that the girl wasn’t in the best spirits when we arrived. Not even the assortment of olives I brought could prevent her from dwelling on her recent misfortunes while unsuccessfully holding back tears. But we heard her out, gave her lots of hugs, and pretty soon, she started to turn around. Later, we all piled into the car and drove to her sister’s house, where her mom and other family members were gathered for dinner and drinks. It was quality family time for everyone, and when we left, Mom was close to her normal, fun-loving self.

The next day, after breakfast, we drove to a nearby lake to enjoy the sun and warm spring air. It was very pleasant and relaxing. On the way back, I caught something out of the corner of my eye that was as frightening as it was sidesplitting. I insisted that we turn the car around so that all of us could have a look. As we slowly backtracked, the spectacle came into view, throwing my mom into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that nearly caused her to drive off the road. What we saw was this: a woman, who in the spirit of being politically correct would be described as non-obese challenged, wearing tight pink pants and a tight turquoise shirt, her bosom indiscernible from the rolls that framed it, had wedged herself in a lawn chair with a garden hose gripped in her hand like a pistol, so that she could water her bed of tulips. She was as immobile as a lawn ornament and as majestic as a fountain as she aimed her stream of hose water at her target that lay on the opposite side of the embankment she was perched on, facing the road.

Of course we had to turn around and drive by her again to get home. She hadn’t budged, but I think she might have noticed that we had driven by three times, and despite having rolled up the windows, she very well may have heard our hysterical laughter. Hopefully she wasn’t on to us. We meant her no ill will.

Mom was still laughing so hard she almost missed her own driveway. By the time it came for us to head back to Vermont, she was as carefree as the wind blowing through a hanging basket of purple petunias.

Hard times got you down? Try this: good company, quality family time, rest and relaxation, an assortment of delicious olives, and the best medicine of all: a good dose of belly-rolling, uncontrollable laughter.