Hands

Tiny fingers, soft and unblemished, grasped at life with a strength that belied their newness.

A young hand, clammy with nerves, slid the corsage on his prom date's wrist.

Scarred and calloused from daily labour, these hands were steady and sure as he slid the ring onto his bride's finger.

The young father's hands engulfed the newborn's body yet cradled it with care and tenderness.

Strong and patient, the man's hands adjusted his son's gloved grip on the hockey stick.

Wide and scarred fingers wrapped around his daughter's hand to place it squarely in the palm of her groom.

Older hands, still strong yet rougher, support his first grandchild.

Trembling and wrinkled, bent with age, the hands entwine with the arthritic fingers of his beloved as they celebrate their silver anniversary.

Chores can be Good

One Good Thing about riding my bike to work is the satisfaction of actually getting up the hill. It's steep enough that I usually have to walk the bike but today I got up halfway.  Of course, I couldn't breathe but I was pretty pleased with myself regardless.  I'm looking forward to the day I ride all the way. 

Another day in the pond.  This time I consulted an expert.  Fish were caught. Plants moved to buckets. 

Water bailed.  Now we wait for the repair to cure.

One Good Thing about crochet is how quickly it makes up.  Apparently, the cloak is too short so I pulled the hood apart and made it bi-colour.  I can take the leftover main colour and add it to the bottom without any trauma.  The trim will tie it all in together.  I'm anxious to see it finished.

I also spent some time tonight washing my birthday fleece. Isn't it pretty?

I love the smell of wet wool, very sheepy. Ky is in puppy heaven.  If only it would jump off the drying rack and race around the house.

Many years ago, there was a quiz making the rounds about what kind of flower you are. I posted mine here, in part because it was a great way to connect with my characters. And yes, I liked the attention.

Due to circumstance beyond my current control, I am in a situation with people that are completely unlike me. (See the flower mentioned above for more explanation if necessary) I am a weed in their garden of flowers. When I said that to a friend, he reminded me that weeds are survivors. They grow in the most horrendous conditions, with inconsistent quantities of food, water and sun.

I am a thistle. I'm prickly, purple and thrive regardless of circumstance. I can wilt in great heat but a few drops of water or some shade will revive me. I grow tall and strong and proud. Oddly, I never saw a single thistle either time I visited Scotland.

Because the current project is so plant-based, I am immersed in plant-lore and surrounded by leafy greens, bright splashes of colour, weeds, flowers, flora and fauna of all kinds. It helps that so many of my friends have green thumbs.

If you were a plant, what would you be?

This is growing by my pond

Photographs

Last week, I went to a concert. We had tickets to both the afternoon and evening shows. I spent some time on hair, make-up and dress because I knew we were going to meet the Supreme Mary Wilson between shows. I've been eating better and walking every day. It shows. Not a lot but, my goal of being healthy is definitely noticeable. I felt good about my appearance. Until I looked at the photographs taken between shows. I had no idea that I am so large. Honestly. I'm still agile, fit into older clothes and don't get winded. I was horrified that picture was out there for the world to see.

Then I remembered something someone said to me several years ago. She used to hate having her picture taken for similar reasons. After she lived in Europe for a while she noticed how happy people were to see her, in whatever form they could get. She told me that when people look at photographs, they aren't critiquing your weight, clothes or posture - they see the face of someone they love. The bigger the smile you wear in the photo, crooked teeth and all, the happier it makes the viewer. I started paying attention to how I feel whenever I see anyone's picture and my friend was absolutely correct. I see who they are, not how they look.

So when a video surfaced in which I hopped up on stage for my moment as a Supreme, I overrode my initial reaction of horror and watched it. It was fun. It was clear that we were up there goofing around and having a good time. It didn't matter that I can't dance to save my soul or that I was wearing the only splash of colour up there. Nothing mattered but the memory of how much fun it was to be up there on stage acting out every little fantasy I'd had as a kid. I was a Supreme!

Remember this next time you're reluctant to have your picture taken. You're capturing a moment, an emotion, not a look.

Supreme Joy


Blogger wouldn't let me embed the file but if you click on it you can view it on your own system's video player