Those Calloused Hands

Yesterday, I noticed the gloves I use at the farm where I volunteer each Friday are worn out.

Looking at those gloves, I tried to recall when I first noticed how rough my Father's hands felt compared to my own. Was it when he taught me how to properly shake hands? Then I wondered how long, doing the work he did, it would have taken him to wear out a pair of gloves. Had he ever owned any? When I thought of his deeply calloused hands, I decided he probably did not.

Driving home, I thought of a post I wrote in January called "Fridays With Mom & Dad". Decided it was important my brother knew about that particular post; I e-mailed it to him. How do you help preserve  memories of people you've lost? Who helps you? What triggers your memories of those people?