This is a picture of my hand. A younger picture of my hands. They were nice hands, soft, smooth, yet tough enough to pull weeds and scoop rock hard ice cream. These hands have never been afraid of hard work.
There was a time I made sure my nails were always polished, and my hands moiturized. I was a blackjack dealer in Tahoe in my 20s. My hands were out there everyday. Okay, I dropped the whole deck of cards in my tray of money once. The pit boss came over with a crap table stick and started stirring the cards around like we were cooking. LOL! That was a great memory!
Really, I'm not worried about my looks. I am who I am, and I'm okay with that, as long as nobody screams and I don't scare little children. But I am kind of fascinated with the changes that are happening year by year. When I look at my hands I can see my brothers hands too. What does that say about them? Weird.
I looked around for a drawing that I made of my hand back in the 80's. I had just found the book Drawing from the Right Side of your Brain. It's all about drawing using spacial areas, rather than trying to copy the picture. You turn the picture you are trying to copy upside down so you only see spaces, not the actual picture. When I was done, it was MY hand. That was cool.
I don't spend a lot of time focusing on me. Maybe that's why I'm shocked everytime I look down at my hands and see this: