“If there’s a part of my body that can’t be beat, I love my feet” is a line from a song by Shona Laing, popularized in New Zealand in 1975.
The chorus repeats “I love my feet” in what could only be described as the ultimate example of the power of affirmations because 40 years later, (sadly) I can still remember it!
And sing it, I do. Often – usually when I am lavishing some tender loving care and apologising to the long suffering appendages after they have supplied the heavy duty weight bearing which invariably comes with unsuitable footwear.
Actually, song lyrics or not, I am rather keen on my feet. Not particularly fussed on anyone else’s but I like their shape, especially in summer sandals, and they usually work well for me. As do my hands, even without a song to remind me of their redeeming attributes.
The little finger on my right hand has a lean to the left, as though it’s desperate to ensure it’s included in whatever activity the rest of the hand is up to. And its top knuckle has a lump on the outer side. Fascinating, right?
Well, perhaps only to me. And my sister too.
That’s because my feet, my hands and most especially that little finger, are my Mothers’ too.
Hers are the hands that knitted, crocheted and sewed up a storm during my younger years. Always in motion. Always gentle, especially when she laid her hand on my aching forehead. I swear her hands could wipe away any pain.
They still stir, preserve, cook and bake. They place jigsaw puzzle pieces, text, manoeuver a mouse, hold a book and lovingly knit for her great grandchildren.
Those 80-year-old hands of my Mum still carefully tend her garden despite, or maybe because of, the impact of arthritis.
And in my book, that makes anything she produces, uncomplainingly, all the more precious.
I have loved watching my Mothers’ hands go about their business for 54 years.
And every time I pause and really look at that little finger of mine, I think of my Mum, with gratitude. Not just for all she does with her hands, but for the instant connection; the reminder and recognition that part of me is so very clearly borne of her.
Which bits of your body do you appreciate most?
Which of your best body bits create connection or a sense of ‘belonging’ for you?
Tell or show us here (only seemly photographic evidence please!)