My hands are painful today, and it's difficult to lift the kettle for tea-making, so I decided to treat myself to a nice manicure and a hand massage with lovely scented hand cream. Then I applied some bright, fuschia pink nail polish which is very, very tarty indeed, but I don't care at all. I feel a lot better after a bit of self-indulgence!
My hands look rather good now, although at 64 years of age, they are lumpy, veiny and crinkly.
I looked at them and I thought:
"Well done hands! You've lived a long life and done a lot of things, so you're entitled to look worn and weathered"
I decided that the old hands deserved a poem - and now I'm going to inflict it on you - as though you weren't all suffering enough already!
These old hands of mine:
Gnarled and twisted, like branches on a wind swept tree.
So many things they’ve done in all this time, you see!
Once starfish pink and small, they played all day
But as years passed, they put the childish toys away.
These serious grown up hands of mine:
Have nursed the sick and tended mothers lying
With new-born babes;
They held the hands of those in pain,
Or past all hope and dying.
These mother’s hands of mine:
They wore a wedding ring, and held my family close by,
And waved a fond farewell,
When it was time for them to fly
These hard worked hands of mine:
They’ve cooked and cleaned and been so busy all these years
Applauding family joys
and sometimes wiping tears.
These Grandma’s hands of mine:
Hold a tiny child once more,
and wonder what might be in store
For these new little hands of hers?
I
loved it.
Duloxetine and sore gums
Fibromyalgia Is Destroying Me
Thanking again,
