Dirty Hands

I love getting my hands dirty.  I know that it comes from my grandmother Mamie and my mom.
As we were buying plants for our garden today, a woman asked me how could she keep the dirt and water from spoiling her manicure.  I suggested the type of gloves that many use to wash dishes.

We have a nail brush in both bathrooms.  We have worn out several.  Neither of us are big on using gloves unless there are briars and such involved.  I love bare feet walking on dirt, sand or grass and I love the feel of soil running through my fingers.  My hands would never be considered beautiful, but I know that they tell many stories.  The callous fingers from steel guitar strings, the spots from sun and age.  They are always dry from painting.  And I am rather phobic about germs since I have immune issues, so my hands get washed a great deal.

We planted tomatoes and peppers and replenished some herbs, repotted others and freshened up the front of the house with pink impatiens.  Rick and I have both experienced epsom salt soaks tonight and I think bed time will happen soon.  He  just made me a cup of hot peppermint tea. We are exhausted.  Wishing you all a beautiful spring week.

Goodnight, Sweet dreams