Traveling these last couple of months, I guess my hands have been on vacation too. No painting. No building of frames. No baking or lawn mowing. So I decided to give them some extra care. I suppose it was my friend who got it all started by greeting me with the tradition of glove gifting, accompanied by some rose hand lotion, (French of course). They smelled so good, I decided to let my nails grow. I bought the polish and varnish. Took the time to file and cream daily. I even bought the handmade cuticle oil en route in Omaha.
I hadn’t told her about it, but of course she noticed, this glove-gifting friend. The friend who started giving me the gloves each year because that’s what my mother gave to her yearly for Christmas. She said, “You have your mother’s hands.” To be seen, to be known, from acts of kindness down to the shape of a nail — What a gift to be given!
Years ago I painted my grandmother’s hands and gave them to my mother. She passed on that love to me. To my friends, her friends. Hand by hand we can touch each other. Heart by heart, we hold each other, ever.
