Her hands were dry and cracked. They moved with purpose. Strong but gentle. The movements were quick. One chore completed and her hands moved to the next chore.
I spend hours watching her hands. They fascinated me. I wanted to learn how to move my hands in the same way.
I spend as much time as possible on my grandparent’s farm. Sitting for hours, I would watch my grandmothers hands.
Everything my grandma’s hands did was, done with love.
With love, a frameable printable
One moment, her hands kneaded a large lump of dough. Pinching and rolling into dinner rolls. The next moment her fingers move quickly popping green beans on the front porch.
I love watching and learning how to do laundry using the old wringer washer. We would roll it to the middle of the back porch. Fill it with hot water and use a washboard with a bar of soap on stains. I knew someday I would need to know how to put clothes through the rollers.
My grandmother would slice strips of bacon. Standing the slab on end and make quick slices back and forth making each slice the same thickness. I knew that would be hard for me to learn. Would my bacon slices be too thin? to thick? or just a pile of pieces?
When I had children, I hoped they wouldn’t like bacon, because I would never learn cut even slices.
I have a washer without wringers. Bacon and bread come already sliced. But if need be I could manage.
I do know my chores would be, done with love. No matter the outcome.
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