I've just returned from a whirlwind trip to Pennsylvania, and I'm scrambling to catch up. Tonight, I'm too tired for studio time or serious work, so I'm doing a bit of mindless photo editing.
I created this photo earlier this month to showcase my "Seek Balance" cuff bracelet. (I seem to be drawn to stamping words and sentiments that I need to hear. :-) ) Tonight while I was cropping the photo, I was struck by the appearance of my hands. They're hardworking hands, and this photo captured them in intimate detail in a way that I've failed to notice in real life.
My Dad had hardworking hands...the hands of a maintenance foreman in a steel mill; the hands of one who was quick to complete whatever needed to be done at a moments notice; and the hands of one who loved us with a gentle touch. My Grandma had hardworking hands too...riddled with arthritis, they were hands that nurtured ten children and countless grandchildren; hands that gestured when she spoke; and hands that never stopped even as they grew weary with age.
When I see my own hands, I imagine that there might be a similarity between mine and theirs. The very thought pleases me. And while I'll never know the intensity of effort that they or many others who went before me did; I've earned every callous and line, and I wouldn't trade a single one of them.