My mom was always busy at home.
I saw my mom touching objects with her hands – building them, cleaning them, putting together broken pieces, and covering things up to hide their flaws.
I also noticed different ways she handled each object. Some objects she seldom took out, taking precautions in handling as if they embodied some kind of magic.
With others, she was more rough, continuously rubbing, squeezing, and wiping until I wasn’t sure if she was loving them or abusing them.
Home was where I witnessed such various forms of caregiving take place. It was mesmerizing to watch my mom’s hands move in many different ways. I could sit and stare at her strong, beautiful hands for the longest period of time.