Of her hands...

It's in the little things that Mom appears to me now and then--the recipe card written by her hand, the pin cushion, scissor and buttons from her sewing box.  This memorabilia seems so intimate to me now, so very personal.  Mom's touch.

Now just over a week after a fall, she's again in pain with pelvis, sacral, elbow fractures.  She looks like hell, for her hair is unkempt and in need of a wash, trim, and styling.  She's just a brittle twig of a gal, and when I scurry around and finger her recipe cards or her sewing supplies, I stop, reflect and yearn for the days when her hands were busy.

These were working hands