"G'wan b'y!" That's what my Mother will say once I print this and ask the U.S. Post Office to deliver it to her. Until then, she'll probably go about the business of working impossible jigsaw puzzles and singing to her plants in her technology vacuum without much curiosity about what in the world a blog is. "G'wan b'y" is Newfoundland English. She hasn't lived there in decades, but it's a native dialect she reverts to whenever the going gets silly. That particular expression translates loosely to: Get over yourself. Mom really does give best advice.

My mother is absolutely hilarious in a self-deprecating slapstick sort of way. If our phone calls had a soundtrack, the first :15-seconds of every one would be set to the theme of The Benny Hill Show as she describes her adventure locating the ringing receiver. "It wasn't on the cradle, so I looked in the fridge and under the bed, and what do you know, it was between the couch cushions right where I was sitting in the first place!" Like any good running gag, variations on this theme appear repeatedly in her telling of life's events. Could be a story about navigating the grocery store or operating a new-fangled remote — the punchline is the same. She is the self-appointed perfect foil for all of life's little ironies.

Part of her shtick is cultural. Newfoundland, if you didn't know, is a province of Canada — An island in the North Atlantic. For some perspective, mainland Canadians make fun of Newfs the way Americans love a good "you might be a redneck" joke. But I've never heard a one-liner that's as funny as listening to them make fun of each other. Newfoundland is a place with an actual town named Dildo, if that gives any indication. How humble does a community have to be to host an annual Dildo Days Festival? Oddly named towns dot the coastline of this icy island. Joe Batt's Arm, for example, which my uncle points out on the map is half way up Hibb's Hole.

I'll tell you more about my Newfie roots someday if you like. But for now, I'm thinking of my Mom. I bet she's sitting at the kitchen table right now working one of those puzzles. She likes the hard ones. Give her a thousand like-colored pieces, and she'll figure it out. She knows that It's the lumps and bumps and odd angles of an individual piece's shape that are important. Like with people, no mere image can connect it to something bigger. Yep, "get over yourself" is great advice indeed.

I should call her. Cue music. Let's see where she finds the phone.