The beatings will continue until morale improves
June 13, 2008|Comments (none)
Pity the work glove. Worn, torn, and unwashed — work gloves take a real beating. With poison ivy juices, sweat, and dirt/manure/compost mingling on the fingertips — work gloves often have a unique musk that speaks volumes about the places they’ve been. Nobody knows the troubles they’ve seen or the storms they’ve weathered. A pair of work gloves is (in many ways) the perfect symbol of simple living.
Ode to thee, humble work gloves. Today, I will clean, oil, and mend you. Or maybe tomorrow. Let’s face it. I don’t deserve you.
No, today I will actually follow through. I will mend gloves. After all, they are the only thing between the hands of my wonderful hardworking husband and the barbs from the millions of prickly vines on our property. Sigh. I owe them a lot. They protect the hands of the man that I love. Those are important hands! They will tenderly wipe away the tears from my children’s eyes, soothe the dogs in a storm, and reach for my hands in quiet moments. And the gloves are perfect moulds of those hands and this life… treasures in their own right.
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