Hands

A few weeks ago, HSF wrote a post (is that what it’s called?) about her hands, and it got me thinking about my own hands, other people’s hands, and also hands in general.

HSF asked the question:  What do my hands say about me?  Hmmm.   That’s an interesting thing to think about.  Probably my hands say that I’m middle-aged, I weigh too much, and I do some odd and interesting things.  Here’s the description:  My skin has recently become older-looking and feeling.  I’ve been a grandma for about 19 months, and I’m beginning to get grandma hands.  There are some brown spots and some saggy, wrinkly parts on the backs of my hands.  I’ve had arthritis for about 25 years, and my knuckles are big.  I have hangnails and deep, slit-like things because I tear thread with my fingers instead of cutting it.  These little crevices change colors periodically, because most of the tools of my trade involve some amount of food coloring or paint – playdough, watercolors, fingerpaints, etc.  My hands hold many memories for me – there’s a scar on my right middle finger that I got when I was about 5 and I jammed my finger between my bike tire and the fender of the bike (think old-fashioned Schwinn, but at the time it wasn’t old-fashioned – it was new!).  The nail grows funny on my right index finger because  few years ago I knicked it in the band saw.  There’s a little patch on the tip of my right middle finger where I ran it up against a running bench-grinder.  There’s a scar on the left middle finger where it got caught while I was pounding together metal shelves for basement storage.  I have scars on the lower inside of both palms from having carpal tunnel surgery.  So there’s my litany of injuries…

I wear two rings, one on each hand.  On my left hand I wear my wedding ring, of course.  I love this ring, and I have from the moment I saw it in the jewelry store at Trolley Square.  If you look at it from the right angle it looks like a bow.  When Piano Man and I were talking about marriage, my friend Joytoholdher and I went ring shopping together at Trolley Square.  I found this ring, fell in love with it, and went home.  Joytoholdher went back to campus (U of U), found Piano Man, and made him go to Trolley Square with her to see the ring of my dreams.  Neither of them ever said anything to me about it, of course, until later.  Well, I told Piano Man that I had found the perfect ring, but somehow we never made it to the store to look.  A couple of weeks later, Piano Man and I were going to a dance at Hotel Utah and I needed new earrings to match the dress I was planning to wear, so my mom and I went to Trolley Square to look for the earrings.  I took her to the jewelry store to show her “my” ring, AND. IT. WAS. GONE!!!  I couldn’t believe my eyes!  It was a sad and tragic moment, to say the least.  Well, eventually I found new earrings and went home and got ready for the dance.   Piano Man picked me up and we went to dinner at The Heather, then went downtown to Hotel Utah.  In the parking lot, before we went into the building, Piano Man got all nervous and pulled something out of his pocket.  IT WAS MY RING!!!  HOORAY!!!  So we went to the dance that night as a newly-engaged couple and we lived happily ever after!  🙂

OK, that was a long story that was NOT about my hands, but whatever.  Moving on.  On my right hand I wear my mom’s wedding ring.  It’s not flashy and it’s not expensive, but it was hers and I love it.  I plan to be buried with it on so that if she wants to wear it for eternity, I can give it to her.  Hope that all works out…

Now about hands…I think hands are the most amazing tools in the world!  Think about it – your hands can do almost anything!  My own hands have sewn baby quilts, and prom dresses and everything in between.  They have knitted sweaters and crocheted (not very successfully) slippers.  They have painted “crafty” things and have stitched amazing hardanger designs.  They have baked dozens of rolls, cooked thousands of meals, and baked who-knows-how-many cookies, cakes, pies, etc.  They have cut and sanded wood, built knickknacks, pounded nails,  shingled a roof,  and painted walls a myriad of colors.

My hands have cuddled baby faces, wiped baby tears, changed baby and big-people diapers, soothed fevered brows, traced scars on a little chest, and changed icky surgical dressings.

My hands have turned the pages of many books and played the piano and the organ and have led singing.  They have held many tiny hands as they learned to write and to read.

My hands have lifted many forks, but not many hand-weights.  They have created many messes, but cleaned up not-so-many.  They are not very good at changing a tire or doing other car work, using a computer, or doing anything especially scientific.

My hands have held other hands, big and small, for multiple reasons over many seasons.  My favorite hands to hold are attached to Piano Man.  After almost 30 years of marriage, I still get a tingle when he takes my hand.

My hands have three times touched the face and hands of a beloved parent for the last time.

So  many things hands can do.  Think of the blessings of hands.