My mother’s hands
No one really reads my blog anymore, that’s ok. I’d post this to FB, but really i feel like it belongs in a place where someone could trip over it, but it’s not blasted into their face (like it would be on FB)
My mother is getting older. We all do. I mean I am, every second of my life. I dare say if my life goal was to get older, I would achieve it and feel very successful. She has always been very handy with her hands. Creative. My mother is not an artist in the sense that you would see her art hung on the walls of the Louvre or an art gallery in New York. Her art is in the way she can get the batter out of a bowl smoothly and easily with fast sweeps of a large white Tupperware spatula. The way she patiently, every year, tills the small plot of soil in her backyard, to plant vegetables, fruits, and beautiful flowers. The way she nurtures them the way she nurtured her kids. Patiently, and with a lot of hard work. Which I know is worth while when the kids ask if they can go get a watermelon from Grandma’s yard. my mother’s hands are not the hands of a woman who has sat idly by and watched other do the work for her. She has dug in, and done her share. More than her share. They have checked oil levels in our family car and felt for fevers. They have canned peaches, and sewn countless dresses (for me, my kids and numberless dolls). They have steadily worked at tedious work, repetitive and calming. She has scrubbed dishes, floors and tubs. She has worked, every day of her adult life. She would tell you though, there were periods she was unemployed. Which I would disagree. She has taught her children, she has loved them. She has sat with her young son on her lap and pulled out slivers from his knees. My mother has packed and unpacked countless boxes. Her hands have impulsively locked car doors for absolutely no reason as she drives down the street. Her mind is sharp, and lovely. She has held my hand, when I needed it, and sometimes when I thought I didn’t (no doubt, my kids have to get that from somewhere!) she has picked up toys and dishes, without thanks. My mom is amazing. I wish i had all the millions of amazing wonderful words to say it. I wish I could spin a terrific turn of phrase to show you the wonderfulness of it all. She’s a great person. I love her a lot. Which is like saying that a diamond is pretty. it lacks the emphasis and power you want it to.
anyway. it’s entirely too late tonight. I am feeling a little misty-eyed about my family (it being the holiday’s and all) and just thought I’d wax poetic about my mom for a bit.
Derringer Meryl [It doesn’t have to be] Out