As I fight traffic to get across town, I keep thinking of the time I need to fist wrap before JKD class begins.  I considered the knuckle bruising I experienced a month or so ago and work the area of my hands that still hurt.  I look at my hands and consider all the work they have done.  I think of all the meals they have prepared.  The number of the bottles I had to prepare to feed my darling babies. The number of diaper changes that they’ve gone through.  The number of times these hands have seen me through the face-to-palm moments and absorbed all my tears. The number of letters that I’ve written to myself.  The number of emails that I have composed to express interest, disagreement, or deliver work instructions.  I consider how these hands keep me going further with work, with my health, or reaching for my goals.  I consider my hands as I think about when I wake and feel some cramping.  Are those the early signs of the aging process that I so adamantly reject?  The tell-tale signs of things to expect in the future.  The notion that I could possibly lose some functions of my hands.  The hands tired out and exhausted from the work performed to earn a dollar.  I’ve learned to appreciate my hands and all the ‘miles’ that I put on them.  All the things they have seen me through.  For all the times that I have been able to reach out to someone to connect with them.  Most importantly, for all the times my hands come together for prayer full of gratitude or supplication.  These tired old hands weathered with time and work.  Surely traffic will free up soon so that I can properly fist wrap in order to prevent injury to my precious hands.  To avoid a broken finger, a bruised knuckle, or a wound to the skin.  I must plan better or double my drive time to arrive wrapped and ready to roll with the punches.  These hands are like gold!