These hands held my mother when she was tiny, and delivered her younger brother, my uncle, when my Granny went into labour in the middle of a snow storm.
They've built kitchens and extensions and stair gates and caravans,
They've mended broken furniture, and improved things that didn't work as well as they could.
And last week they helped me plane off the runners under some lovely old oak drawers that had decided they had fitted for long enough and were going to get a bit big for their holes.
I love my Grandpa's workshop/garage. I love the rows and rows of ancient jars with hand written labels full of every fixture and fitting you could ever want.
I love the tools all stored in their original boxes, and the piles and oddments of assorted woods just waiting to be put to good use.
My Granny says she's a 'garage widdow', I can think of worse things to be!
These hands haven't been idle in the last 88 years, and they certainly weren't going to stay put long enough for me to take a picture.