7/60
Last night as I was getting ready for bed I looked down and saw my mother’s hands. My hands. They make things, as hers did. They work hard, as hers did. They are beautiful, in a craggy sort of way. Just like hers. They’re good hands.
Today is her birthday. I miss my Gig, but I look around and see her big old family moving along in the world, and I know she’s in all of us. Hands, heart, smile.
In a few days my sisters will come for a visit, and it’s a sure bet that we’ll look at each other and laugh at our own Gig-ness. Hands, hearts, and smiles,
Not Plain Jane 
🙂 In build and in many ways, personality, I take after my father — who died at 47, seven months before I was born. My mother was much taller (five-seven to my five-two) and bigger boned. Still, when I look at my hands now — in their 63rd year — in many ways they are my mother’s, as are yours: strong, capable, hard-working…Bless you for your sweet memories, bringing mine to the fore (Mummy would have been 99 on June 8 this year)…Thank you.
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Jane. What a beautiful post. Such a perfect tribute to your Gig. Enjoy your visit with your sisters. (There never seems to be enough sister-time. . .) (And happy birthday to you!) XO
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