Hand Socks

When you put your mind to it; I mean really put some honest thought into the deep things and get a more focused slant on what really matters you could think about gloves. Bear with me here. I was moving through my home today and caught a glimpse of the house -hold glove collection hung on the wall in one of those multi-pocketed plastic shoe tree sheets that hangs on the back of the closet door. There are dozens of them. I noticed that in this vast and varied collection there are all sizes, types and colors ranging from petite pink little girls gloves with the frillies and ponies to the well worn leather gloves that have many scars testifying to their protecting of the hands they covered. Stories of cold weather, gardening, things hauled, loads wrestled, tires changed, snowball fights and snazzy fashion numbers that go oh so well with the elegant gown my little flower bought for the big wingding at the forum. I realized that here is a good indication of true wealth. The myriad of children’s gloves well worn, torn and stiff from repeated soakings denote healthy kids who take life by the reigns and go forth brave and wide eyed to experience what the seasons have to offer. The gardening gloves tell of times spent kneeled in the Earth coaxing life from the soil and learning the value of sweat equity. The worn leather work gloves with the holes in the finger pads and the shine in the palms from ropes that passed through a strong grip – of tools wielded in skill and understanding to provide for a loving family. I thank the Good Lord for these gloves that took the brunt of the abuse to protect the hands they cover until they finally wear to the point of disintegration. Times are good when you have gloves.