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Our minister shared a curious observation a few years back: While there's little elbow room to be had at the Christmas and Easter services, many stay away on Mother's Day or Father's Day. Why? Because for many who've lost a parent, it's too painful.
While that's understandable (sorta), I prefer to celebrate the memories.
Today I'm celebrating my mother's hands.
Unlike her daughter, momma's hands were slender and pretty ... nimble fingers that could coax piano keys or wield knitting needles like a mastro.
I don't recall her ever having had a professional manicure, yet every Saturday evening -- without fail -- she'd set aside time to trim, buff and polish. Even following an unfortunate incident with the lawn mower --which left 3 digits terribly mangled -- she'd continue her Saturday night ritual. A totally unassuming lady, my mother still believed one should do the best they could with what they had.
Now it's probably been 50 years since I read Little Women, but when I think of momma's hands I think of Meg. Meg, who "cheerfully blackened and burned her white hands cooking delicate messes."
What she did for love.
I wonder if I might yet take a lesson.
I wish all mothers (and those men, women and Godparents who mother little ones) a lovely day, making memories!
