They’re working hands, battered and worn, there are scars on most of the digits and a callous on my right palm. My nails, whilst long for me, are so soft you can bend all of them bar my thumb ones, back, without it hurting. The skin, is always dry, no matter how much hand cream I apply and it curls up and dies, from contact dermatitis if I touch certain liquids. They’re a little tanned at the moment from the Summer sun, with freckles that have joined up to form larger freckles. These will become the age spots, I hope fascinate my grandchildren one day.
My hands tell my story and probably better represent my 44 years than my face, which seems to be weathering the storm quite well, right now , who knew snail secretions could be so effective? I’ve taken them for granted, ignored them and mis-treated them, you might even say, I’ve abused them. Yet every day, they help me and through them I’ve achieved some of the most wonderful experiences of my life – stroking my children’s heads, caressing my husband, touching my dad’s arms, brushing my nan’s hair and they make me, me. My creative life is only possible because of them, but I had to learn a valuable lesson yesterday and I’m smarting from it still.
My hands don’t work the way they used to anymore!!!
I’ll tell you what happened tomorrow.
Happy Making
Confessions of a Fibre Strumpet 