If there is one thing I know well about my mother it is her hands. When I was a child I would stare at them. They were always moving and busy. I watched how she did everything. I would watch her prepare food, tie my shoes, blow dry her hair, paint her nails. I would hold just one finger to cross the street or while riding the train. For some reason her hands have always been a symbol of her love for me in my mind. They worked and worked for my betterment.
So read on lurkers! I do love when you comment and tell me that in some small way this little blog helps you. It makes it doubly important then!