Last week my hands were occupied practicing and perfecting figure-8 and bowline knots. They threaded rope through harnesses and ATC devices. They felt useful as they scanned rock faces searching for the best hand holds. They protested when I had to take off my gloves and adhere to the cold rock slab early in the morning. They warmed up with the friction of the belay rope sliding quickly between them. They supported me as I used them to push my body toward a higher and more desirable position on the mountain. They were grateful to cup a warm mug of cocoa at the lower saddle. They packed gear carefully and assisted in rappelling. They popped raw almonds into my mouth regularly and lifted cold, perfect water to my lips. They clipped and unclipped carabineers. They splashed perfectly clear water over my face at the Meadows. The got dirty and felt strong.
This week my hands are occupied turning pages of story books. They are cutting up fruit, spreading sandwiches and washing dishes. They are combing hair and brushing little teeth. They are wiping up spills and folding laundry. They are correcting pencil grip at the table and finger placement at the piano. They are clutching a cup of ice each time I leave the house and are spending quality time with my steering wheel. They are tickling cute little bodies and giving high-fives.
While the business of my hands this week is significant beyond description,
please don’t tell me I’m crazy for missing it, just a little.