Thursday, January 24, 2008

Hands of time

I SWEAR my mother's hands have been grafted onto my body. They're capable hands, just freckled with "liver spots."
And they're showing their age.
But these were the hands that whipped up extraordinary birthday cakes for me in the 60's--the kind Barbie poked out of--the cake a frilly, iced hoopskirt.
They're the same hands that created a two-headed- woman costume she shared with her short, stout girlfriend, Margaret. So big was their get up, the backseat of the car had to be removed to ferry them to a bowling alley's Halloween bash.
And yes, they're the hands that mischievously poured garlic juice into dad's Brute aftershave when there were suspicions he was seeing another woman.
So I'm beginning to accept my fate. Yeah, I'm growing into these hands.
But don't think for a minute I'm going to start sporting sweatshirts embroidered with cute little animals and hearts!
Miss you, Mom. :-)


The Skinny on North Idaho said...

Nice hands!

Serious, I'm kind of looking forward to the day when I can wear those embroidered sweatshirts!

Bay Views said...

You are, the best of the best. Not only are you friendly, but a great writer, and did I forget? A great wife.