Hands Across Time

In my family, we are left with so much handiwork from our mothers’ busy hands. I have my grandmother’s crocheted scarf, very precious and carefully stored, not to be worn. And a quilt she made—such tiny stitches. What their hands have done in their lifetimes are amazing: they’ve given love and care, provided food and shelter, a heritage that goes on…

How many hours mothers/grandmothers/sisters etc. spent, creating lovely embroidered pillowcases, crocheted tablecloths. And I have the crocheted rectangle used to cover the upper window of a front door. Then there are the crocheted chair arm doilies, and doilies to protect the chair backs. So many doilies, of every kind, the starched ruffled kind—sugar water, wasn’t it? That held those ruffled dainty doilies? And braided rag rugs, necessary floor coverings, and every scrap used. My mother’s rag rug is draped over my hope chest. Remember those? The hope chests?

I cannot imagine the eye strain demanded of such fine treasured work.

I wonder about the peace they found, crocheting and embroidering such lovely work. I wonder if that inner quiet is therapy we all need now.

While I do not crochet etc., my hands are busy—sometimes I paint or bake, or type a new novel/story. (I’m preparing for a lift-off of a trilogy right now, working on my newsletters and beta readers/reviewers.) But I think of those who gave us much, and the beautiful, treasured bits they left behind…

Please know that I welcome your comments. Please do share?