Hands

Because I have been working in all our gardens recently my hands this morning were kind of talking to me, if you know what I mean.  I’ve been breaking up dirt clumps, planting seeds and pulling weeds.  It’s logical they would be expressing their desire to be rested.  It’s kind of crazy how the mind works but this also reminded me of the hands of others.

My Grandmother’s for one.  As a little girl I would sit next to her in church and run my fingers over her knuckles and long slender fingers.  They always seemed so big and elegant.  My fascination with her hands always made her smile.  My son’s hands look so much like my dad’s hands.  Vincent doesn’t have any mannerisms that remind me of my dad but when I see Vincent’s hands I think of dad.  And that makes me smile. 

Other than these useful tools I’ve been given and the memories they inspire, right now they could use a good scrubbing.  Whether or not they get it I can say that my hands are happy today and proud of all they have done.  And you never know, maybe they too will be a featured film in someone's memory someday.  I sure hope so.