My Mother's hands

I I used to really groove on black and white photos. Rarely did I shoot color.
I like color better now. But I think I'm also less dramatic these days.
Being in too many bands can burn out your melodrama gland.
I think that's not such a bad thing.
Mom's 81 this year. I wonder how many people have eaten food cooked by these hands, she's been a cook since she was about 15, has run giant supper club/wedding halls, cooked a few decades at a summer camp, and met my father when she got the job as a cook at a restaurant he owned.
That was about sixty years ago, in the same small town she's living in still.
I grew up in big kitchens, surrounded by giant mixers, deep fryers and ovens, and a swarm of folks at dinner that were not blood family, and I think I'm the better off for it. It taught me early that family is more than shared DNA and blood.