I've always envied my mum her handwriting. When I was eleven I had *horrific* handwriting, which made her despair. It was the one thing she pestered me about when I was in school. I think she never quite understood how a daughter of hers could have such awful, cramped handwriting. (It turned out that the way I was taught to write cursive was all wrong, but who knew?)

I hear you on the metal detector, but I'm sure it's not in the garden. She always takes her rings off when she comes into the house. So it must be in the front yard, in which case someone probably already found it, which is sad.