My Mom's Hands
My mom had the most beautiful hands and nails.
I mean I never remember a chipped nail, they were thick, gorgeous perfectly filed, always like a dusty rose color.
On her deathbed, I created this aromatherapy mixture of lavender and frankincense to rub her body with to take away the hospital smell and to make her feel soothed and loved.
You know when you get really sick and you just don’t want to be touched?
Well one day near the end she said, as I was massaging her beautiful hands, “Muffin, no more herbs”.
I type to you with the most gorgeous nails of my life. Yes I’m taking my calcium and yet they are really pretty. I feel in my heritage of women perhaps there is a coming of age in femininity, an acceptance of grace, a willingness to be supported, live our dreams, give ourselves permission for pleasure and beauty that has created my nails.
I mean my nails have sucked.
Now my problem is having to file them down
And it makes me feel my mom is close.
I remember when Barbara Striesand filmed a movie outside my classroom at Columbia in NYC… she has gorgeous hands too. And nails.When a woman’s Truth is expressed in her hands, to me it’s like Grace in Action. The way we touch, caress, nurture, tickle, wear rings… it’s as if straight from our hearts down our glorious arms to our hands and celebrated in our nails… we express feminine love.
I remember the way the Sugar Plum Fairy would hold her hands so elegantly as her feet would do all those fast pointy things… her hands would stay calm, serene and floating.
What an odd post, eh?
Talking about hands, and yet when we slow down enough to breath in the grandeur around us, beauty abounds, pleasure abounds, gratitude abounds, reverance abounds.
Know that I’m here to give you a ‘hand’. To hold you. Touch you deeply. Thank you for letting me in.
Blessings, deliciously, Allana>